Everyone, including his father, blamed the change on the death of his mother. In a very roundabout way, they were right.

14

The overpass receded in his rear-view mirror, and with it the memory of that night. Jack wiped his sweaty palms against his slacks. He wondered where he’d be and what he’d be doing now if Ed had dropped that cinderblock a half-second earlier or later, letting it bounce relatively harmlessly off the hood or roof of his folks’ car. Half a second would have meant the difference between life and death for his mother—and for Ed. Jack would have finished school, had a regular job with regular hours by now, a wife, kids, stability, identity, security. He’d be able to go through a whole conversation without lying. He’d be able to drive under that overpass without reliving two deaths.

Jack arrived in Manhattan via the Lincoln Tunnel and went directly crosstown. He drove past Sutton Square and saw a black-and-white parked outside Nellie’s townhouse. After making a U-turn under the bridge, he drove back down to the mid-fifties and parked near a hydrant on Sutton Place South. He waited and watched. Before too long he saw the black-and-white pull out of Sutton Square and head uptown. He cruised around until he found a working pay phone and used it to call Nellie’s.

“Hello?” Gia’s voice was tense, expectant.

“It’s Jack, Gia. Everything okay?”

“No.” She seemed to relax. Now she just sounded tired.

“Police gone?”

“Just left.”

“I’m coming over—that is, if you don’t mind.”

Jack expected an argument and some abuse; instead, Gia said, “No, I don’t mind.”

“Be there in a minute.”

He got back into the car, pulled the Semmerling from under the seat and strapped it to his ankle. Gia hadn’t given him an argument. She must be terrified.

15

Gia had never thought she would be glad to see Jack again. But when she opened the door and he was standing there on the front step, it required all her reserve to keep from leaping into his arms. The police had been no help. In fact, the two officers who finally showed up in response to her call had acted as if she were wasting their time. They had given the house a cursory once-over inside and out, had seen no sign of forced entry, had hung around asking a few questions, then had gone, leaving her alone with Vicky in this big empty house.

Jack stepped into the foyer. For a moment it seemed he would lift his arms and hold them out to her. Instead, he turned and closed the door behind him. He looked tired.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“Vicky, too?”

“Yes. She’s asleep.” Gia felt as ill at ease as Jack looked.

“What happened?”

She told him about Vicky’s nightmare and her subsequent search of the house for Nellie.

“The police find anything?”

“Nothing. ’No sign of foul play,’ as they so quaintly put it. I believe they think Nellie’s gone off to meet Grace somewhere on some kind of senile lark!”