Saint John of the Five Boroughs. Ed Falco
feel of moss under her cheek and the low, rustling half whistle of wind through leaves. She didn’t want to think. All she wanted was to lie there quietly with the sound of wind and the odd, dreamy sensation of movement that she knew was an illusion but felt real, a sensation of sliding and sinking as if everything outside her were drifting away and she was falling backward into a dark space. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself lying on the ground while Grant stood over her, watching her. In her mind, she saw him scowling, and when she opened her eyes, there he was, just as she had imagined, standing close by and looking down at her—only he wasn’t scowling. She couldn’t name the expression on his face except that at first it seemed impassive, merely observing—and then in the instant after she opened her eyes, it changed to a smirk, and he turned his back to her and walked off along the path toward his bike, leaving her where she lay, a white body curled up on a bed of dark green moss. She didn’t get up until she heard the roar of the motorcycle engine behind her, and only then because she thought it was possible that he might simply drive off and leave her there—but when she came up off the trail, he was waiting for her astride his bike, his helmet pulled down over his head, his face hidden behind the black mask. She pulled on her own helmet and pulled down the mask, and they drove off without a word, her arms again wrapped around him, the bike again speeding over dark roads.
KATE was barely conscious of the rosary’s polished black onyx stones sliding between her fingertips as she waited apart from dozens of other churchgoers clustered in bright sunlight outside St. Andrews. Behind the elaborate Gothic facade of the church, in the stone and marble vestibule, Corinne was flirting outrageously with Dave Price, who was several years too young for her and had been separated from his wife, Lucille, for about five minutes. When Corinne had volunteered to drive to church, Kate had explained that Hank was stopping by and that she needed to get back in time to straighten out her house. Corinne had said, “Sure, no problem,” and now Kate was nonetheless waiting at the curb, her hand buried in a leather pocket-book strapped to her shoulder, running her fingers along the polished stones of her rosary. Still, the sun felt good on her arms and shoulders. She tilted her head toward a perfectly blue, cloudless sky and tried to relax, though her fingers kept working the linked black stones, following the circular path down to the medal of the Virgin Mary, down to the cross.
A month after Tim had died suddenly, thanks to an aneurysm that had probably been waiting to kill him since birth, Corinne’s husband, Stan, had died suddenly from a heart attack that was almost certainly connected to his liberal use of cocaine. Kate and Corinne, church acquaintances, had become friends, even though they couldn’t have been much more different as people. Kate was thin, always had been, a few pounds over skinny, with a fair complexion and auburn hair she kept cut in a bob, and she had a cheerleader’s cute if unremarkable face. Corinne was wide in the hips, big-boned and fleshy, a few pounds short of being fat, with long, curly hair that cascaded over her shoulders. She had a round, strikingly pretty face. Kate typically wore loose-fitting dark slacks and a light-colored blouse. Corinne was given to flowing dresses in a variety of floral patterns. Kate was small-breasted; Corinne’s breasts were ample. Kate worked in an office for a modest salary. Corinne made jewelry, which she sold at art fairs around the country, though she didn’t have to work thanks to a substantial inheritance. What the two women shared, however—each waking one morning to find her husband’s lifeless body alongside her in bed—made up for their differences. When Corinne was in town, they met regularly for lunch or coffee, went to movies together on weekends, and were walk-in-without-knocking guests at each other’s houses. At the moment, the friendship was strained. Corinne was getting to be expert at annoying Kate, currently, for example, by flirting with Dave Price, who should be thinking about his marriage, not Corinne.
A blond-haired boy in a red shirt ambled boldly up to Kate and then stared. She let go of the rosary, squatted to his level, and said hi. The boy smiled shyly before turning and running back into a cluster of women. Kate straightened up to find Corinne approaching her, shoulders bobbing from side to side in a little dance of pleasure once they made eye contact. When she was close, she leaned into Kate and whispered, “Guess who’s stopping by Dave’s tomorrow night with a bottle of wine?” With exaggerated suggestiveness, she added, “To comfort him.”
Kate laughed and tried to look amused. “You’re too much,” she said, and then put a hand on Corinne’s arm, directing her toward the parking lot. “Come on. I have to get my house cleaned up. I’ve got guests coming.”
“What?” Corinne said. She linked her arm with Kate’s. “You disapprove?”
Kate hadn’t meant to sound disapproving. Ordinarily she would have denied it, but now she found herself walking alongside Corinne in silence.
“Oh, come on, Katie.” Corinne bumped shoulders with her playfully. “Dave needs a good roll in the hay, and so do I.”
Kate said, “I’m not saying anything.”
Corinne said, “I know you’re not,” meaning her silence was saying it all. “You think because he’s only separated a couple of months—”
“Has it been that long?” Kate waited at the passenger door of Corinne’s car. She drove a vintage Thunderbird convertible.
“Don’t get bitchy. You know I hate bitchy women.” Corinne went around the car to open the door and glared exaggeratedly at Kate over the roof.
Kate laughed because she knew that was what Corinne wanted. Once in the car, she said, “I guess I do think it’s fast with Dave. He and Lucille haven’t been split up more than a month. If you get involved with him now, you know what people will say.”
“Okay, first,” Corinne said, one hand on the ignition key, leaning forward, her head resting on the steering wheel as if she were tired, “they may only have been split up a little while, but that marriage was winding down for years. I know for a fact they were in counseling at least two years. And next, I don’t give a flying fuck what people say—except maybe you.” She leaned back and started the car. “You want to take the top down?”
“Too hot,” Kate said. “Plus the wind’ll make a mess of my hair.”
“And can’t have that when Hank’s coming over.” Corinne started the car and pulled slowly out of the parking space.
“What’s that mean?”
This time it was Corinne who was quiet. She negotiated the lot and nosed out into the Roanoke traffic.
Kate said, “Oh, please, Corinne. He’s my brother-in-law. My married brother-in-law,” she added. “My married brother-in-law with a seven-year-old son.”
Corinne’s eyes were fastened on the car in front of them, an aging green minivan with a couple of toddlers throwing things at each other in the rear seats. She brushed a hand over her breast, smoothing the fabric of her dress. “Look,” she said, “Katie . . .”
“Yes?”
Corrine was watching the car in front of her, but she seemed to be someplace else, someplace far away. “Sometimes,” she said and stopped abruptly, as if she needed another second to think. “Honey,” she said, “it’s like, with you—I don’t know what you’re thinking.”
Kate said, “What are you talking about, Corinne?”
Suddenly Corrine’s face was red and she was angry. She said, “How do you see yourself, Kate? Do you plan on living the rest of your life—I mean, is Avery and your job—Is that all you want?”
Kate laughed. “Okay, look,” she said, “go ahead and sleep with Dave. I’m sorry I questioned you. Really.”
“I’m serious.” Corinne tossed her hair back, as if shaking off Kate’s attempt at humor. “What’s your plan, honey? My plan is—Truth, Dave’s lonely and he’d love to get me in bed. So why not? It’s not like either one of us is a kid. I’m not lonely, but I like sexual intimacy.”
“Really?” Kate said. “Oh, yes, you’ve mentioned that.”
“Well, I do.” Corinne gave Kate one of her bemused