Sunlight streamed through the open window and fell in a large oblong on the hospital coverlet. My father was propped against some pillows. He looked drawn but was smiling. “So I guess you think I owe you,” he said to Herman, who stood at the foot of his bed.
Herman shook his head. “Did I say that? Did I say anything like that?”
I sat on the side of the bed. “No, I said it. You owe him, Dad. So do I. What kinda car you want, Herman?”
“Anything but a Jaguar,” Cam said, from the other side of the bed.
I laughed. “Come on, Herman, what do you want? Antique poker chips? I need a hundred pounds of kosher chicken. You don’t even have to split the breasts.”
He waved me off with a smile. “You already paid me back, Rita. You talked that district attorney out of charging me with murder.”
“It didn’t take much talking. It was a justifiable homicide and they knew it. Now what do I owe you?”
“You don’t owe me nuthin’. Nobody does.”
“Then send me a ton of Mindy’s business cards, will you do that at least? I’ll get one to every member of the Philadelphia bar. I’ll make her court reporter to the stars.”
“I’m just glad I was there, is all,” Herman said. “It was good I was there.”
What an understatement. I’d never forget seeing Herman behind the gun. I didn’t know he was going to bring one, but I was glad he did.
“Maybe you made a mistake, Herm,” Cam said. “Maybe you shoulda thought it over before you saved her. What’s one less lawyer? A public service?”
I took a swipe at him. “Listen to you. Big man. Kicking the shit out of a defenseless architect.” Not that I was entirely unhappy about Paul’s thrashing. It evened us up, almost.
Herman chuckled. “The poor zhlub. He was just tryin’ to protect you.”
“It’s not my fault,” Cam said. “How long was I supposed to wait, until he killed her? Whose money would I take on Tuesday nights?”
Now I really tried to hit him. “Bullshit! Next week I take your Social Security, Camille. You won’t have two hearing aids to rub together.”
“Nice talk, from my own goddaughter.” Cam waved at Herman. “Go for it, Herm. Ask her for a case of ivory chips. Ask her for two, they’re small.”
Herman shook his head. “It was just good I was there. It helped me, too.”
An odd thing to say. I looked at Herman, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Nuthin’.”
“It’s not nuthin’. Saving a life is not nuthin’, especially when it’s mine. What?”
Herman shoved his hands into his madras shorts. “Maybe that’s why, is all.”
“Why what?”
“Why I got out alive. Nobody else did in my company, except two of us. Maybe it was supposed to happen this way. I kept the gun all these years, maybe that’s why.” He shook his head in a way that said he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.
Suddenly the door opened and Uncle Sal came in. I took one look at him and my mouth dropped open. “Uncle Sal?”
“Sal?” Cam said. “You okay?”
Herman laughed. “Can you believe this guy?”
My father was in shock. “What the fuck are you supposed to be, Sallie?”
“What, you don’t like the way I look?” Uncle Sal asked. His thin gray hair was slicked back and he was wearing the black leather jacket and boots I’d bought for Herman. He looked like a septuagenarian Fonz. “Betty says I look real good. Handsome, like.”
“Betty?” I said.
“The tomato?” Cam said.
“The little one?” Herman said.
“With the red hair?” my father said.
Sal nodded. “You said fun is good, Ree. So I’m having fun. Look out the window.”
Cam and I got up and hustled to the window. Sucking on a cigarette in front of the hospital entrance was somebody’s grandmother, improbably red-headed, dressed like a nurse. Despite her age, she had a body to die for and eyeliner you could see from three floors up. “Betty?” I asked, incredulous.
“Isn’t she somethin’?” Sal said, jumping up to see over my shoulder. “I’m takin’ her for a ride.”
Cam laughed. “A ride? In what?”
“What?” my father said. “What? You don’t have no car.”
Sal pointed. “In that.”
Parked in front of the hospital was a Harley-Davidson, brand-new, in midnight black. It had sleek onyx curves, gleaming chrome pipes, and a leather seat that reclined like a Castro convertible. It was parked illegally, but the red-jacketed valets gaping at it didn’t seem to mind. I blinked, and blinked again.
“A motorcycle?” Cam said in disbelief. “Can you drive it?”
Sal nodded proudly. “Herm taught me how.”
Herman pushed aside the curtain. “I knew from the service.”
“A motorcycle?!” my father said. “Did you say a motorcycle?”
I just kept blinking. I had been through a lot. My boyfriend’s infidelity, sex with a ponytail I hardly knew, a man shot dead before my eyes, and now this. I was out of words. “Betty?” was all I could say.
“A motorcycle?” my father said. “You bought a motorcycle? Are you fuckin’ nuts, Sal?”
Sal turned on his stack heel. “I do what I want, Vito. You’re not my boss.”
Cam and Herman exchanged looks.
I blinked and blinked.
“Sal?” my father croaked, thunderstruck. He clutched his incision, at least I thought it was his incision and not his heart.
“And I didn’t buy it,” Sal added.
“The motorcycle? Then how’d you get it?” Cam asked.
I had a guess, but I didn’t want to say. I blinked at Sal, who smiled broadly.
“They gave it to me for the whole afternoon, Ree. And they even went for the accent.”
“Betty?” I blurted out.
At the end of the day, I was left alone with my father. I didn’t have any reason to rush away, and didn’t want to. The floor grew quiet after visiting hours were over and people with more respect for rules had said their good-byes. My father’s eyes closed as I tucked his coverlet under the thick mattress.
“You shouldn’ta done it, you know,” he said.
“I know.”
“I wouldn’ta let you do somethin’ that crazy.”
“I know that, too.”
“You coulda been killed, Rita.”
“So could you, Dad.”
“Is that why? You think my bein’ here is your fault?”
Of course. “Nah. You needed the vacation. I’m glad you got shot.”
He closed his eyes. “Miss Fresh.”
Thank you, God. “Did you have fun with David and his boyfriend?”
He smiled drowsily. “They were tellin’ me how to bake bread. They said put carrots in, but I’m gonna leave out the carrots. Carrots don’t belong in bread.”
“No.”
“They think I should sell the store. I think so too.”
Hallelujah. “Good idea, Dad.”
“I was gonna give it to LeVonne,” he said, but his sentence trailed off and his head dipped to the side. He was falling asleep. I pulled the coverlet down over his feet and he roused slightly. “So what are you gonna do, Rita?”
“Go to sleep, Dad. You’re half-asleep.”
“You got a choice to make.”
He meant Paul or Tobin. I had told him the whole story when we were alone. He had insisted on it, and truth to tell, it felt good to tell somebody.
“I bet you go back to that jerk.”
I felt a twinge. “It would help if you kept an open mind about Paul, Dad.”
“Either way, I love you. So bet me.”
“On who I end up with?”
“Yeah.” He smiled in a muzzy way, heavy. lidded as an aged cat. “I’m retiring, I need the cash. Fifty bucks says you marry Paul in a year.”
“You can’t bet about stuff like that, Dad.”
“Why not? I raised you better.”
I laughed. “Fifty dollars?”
“You heard me.”
“I hate to take your money, old man.”
“Hah. You’re just chicken.”
“Say what? I went after an armed man with a fish knife!”
“He was a lawyer.”
“So what?”
“Like I said,” he said, but dropped off to sleep before I could demand an explanation.