Before I met Adeleine, no one seemed to understand me. My mother and father didn’t understand me. My father always felt I fell short of my potential. I never knew what my potential was—that is the problem. What’s more, there was so much out there that people seemed to want, and the thing about me is, I never wanted it. It seems to me that rising to the occasion of one’s potential is partly related to wanting, so on some level my problem was, and is, I don’t want enough. I want just enough to get along, that’s all. Nothing more. As to money, I don’t give a damn about it. Everybody obsessed with money—as if it can make you happy! Certainly the lack of money may make you unhappy, but it’s never been proven that an excess of money will make you more happy.
What’s important is that you figure out how to be happy with who you are—and this was a view that Adeleine and I both shared. But my dad didn’t understand my type of happiness. He was an immigrant from Poland, and he didn’t understand how I could be happy not wanting anything at all. He also sensed I was prone to laziness. All he understood was hard work. If you have time on your hands, he liked to tell me…
If you have time on your hands, Art…
Yes Dad.
It seems you have too much time on your hands.
What do you mean?
What I mean is, if you have too much time on your hands, maybe you’re not working hard enough. Maybe you ought to consider working a little harder than you appear to be working.
For what reason, Dad? I’m happy.
Bah. Happy! You need to be successful.
How successful? Successful like you?
Well I certainly want you to be more successful than me.
But you’re successful enough, Dad. Look at you. You have Mom and me. There’s Jason. You have a nice house in the suburbs. A good job…
But you with your brains, Art. You can do more than me. You should go farther. The son should always improve on the father. The father lays the foundation; the son builds the building. That’s the way it is from one generation to the next.
But I don’t want your life. I’m happy with the life I have.
But the life you have, don’t forget, is provided to you free of charge from me. And don’t think I’m going to bankroll you forever.
I didn’t realize that’s how you thought of it, Dad—that you were bankrolling me.
When you’re a child, Art, you’re a child. You can be whatever you want to be. But when you’re a man, you’ll have to learn how to stand on your own.
I don’t know if I wanted to stand on my own. I wanted human connection, and I found that with Adeleine.
I remember when I met Adeleine, one of the first things she told me was she could tell I was happy. She really admired that in me. I admired it in her, too. And it was then, I suppose, when a bond began to form. We even talked about it.
There is something here, isn’t there, Adeleine?
What do you mean?
A bond. Do you feel a bond forming between us?
And in mock silliness she would say back to me, countering my seriousness:
Yes, I see a bond forming between us, Art. It is a strong bond. It is a bond meant to last. It is a bond that is unbreakable and we will stay cemented to each other forever and ever until death do us part.
At which point she would begin laughing, and I would begin laughing, and at such times the death-do-us-part bit seemed like it would never happen. Not to us. Things like death-do-us-part happen to others. But it spares happy people such as ourselves.
Of course, it didn’t end up sparing us. It got us just like it got everyone else. Sooner or later the seeds of our own destruction are planted, and sometimes they grow before we are ready. Or as she once so unforgettably said, remember the monstrosity you evoke may come home to sleep with you.
Such was the case with my Adeleine, and with my determination to stick with the detective business.
¤
My wife wasn’t in the ground two weeks when I got a call from the bricklayer.
Let’s meet, he said.
OK?
We need to talk.
Where would you like to meet?
How about that coffee shop?
It was a hot day. The sun was beating down. I waited in a courtyard outside the coffee shop. There were a few tables in the courtyard and a fountain that was spraying water. The courtyard was empty but I had a good view of the place so it seemed strategically the best place to meet him. It was a safe public place. Nothing would ever happen here. But then again, maybe anything in the world could happen anywhere. Adeleine’s death had taught me that much. I felt sick to my stomach, but I sat there waiting for him. Since Adeleine died, I had no taste for strangers. I also had a funny feeling about this meeting, so I’d brought my Ruger. I’d loaded it with live rounds and holstered it in a Bianchi leather waistband holster that Cal, in a fit of generosity, had given me. I did not feel righteous.
I wished for alcohol instead of coffee, but coffee it was. I stared up at the sky half worrying some malign act was going to fall down upon me, and half hoping to see her up there smiling down on me.
Hi, Art.
Hi, Adeleine.
How are you?
Terrible. Devastated. Crushed. Broken. I could go on, but I won’t. I want to hang myself from a rope in the garage and call it quits. Suicide is the only true medicine in cases like this. I don’t have the heart to shoot myself. Not after what happened to you. I’m sorry what happened to you. I truly am.
I’m sorry too, Art. It’s not what we discussed, is it?
No, Adeleine. This is not what we planned. Suddenly the appetite for life has escaped me. I’ve stopped eating. I go days on end like this, and then suddenly I realize I’m on the cusp of starvation so I binge-eat to catch up. My heart races at night and I wish it would just blow so I could be done with it, but the heart is a strong organ. I wish you were here with me.
You’re on your own now.
Meg left me.
I’m sorry.
I want her to return. We love her so very much, don’t we honey?
Yes we do.
Then there he was all of a sudden. The bricklayer.
?
He came loping from around the corner. By the looks of him I was glad I had my gun. He shouted: Hello detective. He insisted I stand up so he could shake my hand. His hands trembled.
I didn’t budge.
Get up, detective. Stand up! I want to shake your hand.
I got up and reached my hand out. I thought to punch the shit out of him and crack his skull open, but I was wary. He grabbed my hand with both hands, and brutally squeezed it; he shook it up and down like a water pump.
Hello, detective, he said. Good to see you again, he says. Thanks for coming out today! Jesus it’s hot. Are you drinking coffee, detective? Good, I’m glad you’re drinking coffee. That’s what detectives like you do for a living, apparently. You sit in coffee shops drinking coffee while the rest of us work. You sit in coffee shops like vultures waiting to feast on your next meal.
Listen, it was you who called me to come out today.
Yessir. Sit, detective. Please. Sit down. Please. I’m glad you came. Now sit down. Relax. I want you to sit and be calm, detective. This is between friends, because I want to ask you something.
Shoot.
No, sit first. Please sit, detective.
So I sat. I looked at my watch and I informed him I wasn’t getting paid for this.
No need for payment here. This is just a friendly visit, but I want to ask you a question. A serious question. You asked me some questions, a few weeks ago. Now do you mind if I ask you a question or two, detective?
I remained silent.
OK then. Let me speak and I will ask it. Suppose someone, detective. Suppose some person tried to take your wife away from you.
Yes.
Let me ask you that again, detective. Suppose there were some person who tried to take your wife away from you…