Saxony sat on the couch and crossed her legs. Petals put a paw up next to her and then looked at Anna for couch approval. When nothing was said, she took it as a "yes" and worked her way up, one slow leg at a time.

"When he arrived in New York, he went to work for an undertaker. Oh, I'm sorry – would either of you like a brandy or drink of some kind? Some Kahlъa or Tia Maria? I've got everything over there."

We both said no, and she sank back down into her chair.

"All of this is a big secret, though. Very few people know about my father's first job."

I looked at Saxony, but Saxony looked at Anna. Then she spoke for the first time since dinner. "How long did he work for this undertaker?"

It was a loaded question, because Lucente himself had told me the answer when I saw him. Nine months.

"Two years." She had the paperweight in her hands again and was rolling it around and around.

I looked at Saxony, but Saxony looked at Anna.

"What did he do for him?"

"Do?" Anna shrugged and smiled at me as if the question wasn't worth answering and wasn't my friend dumb for asking it.

"Well, he didn't do any normal things because he got sick every time he saw one of the bodies. Really! He said that whenever they called him into the rooms where they did their work, he would take one look and run out for the bathroom! Poor Father, he was never meant to take care of the dead. No, do you know what he did? He cooked. He took care of the kitchen and cleaning the place."

"He never did any work for the man? Not even after he'd been there awhile?"

She smiled warmly at me and shook her head. "Never. My father had trouble looking at an animal killed in the road. But you know, I'll tell you a funny story for your biography, Mr. Abbey. Once in a while he would go with them to drive the truck when they picked up a body. This time they got a call to pick up a man whose apartment was on the sixth floor of a walk-up building. There was no elevator. When they got up there they opened the door and the body turned out to be three hundred pounds!"

"Three hundred? What did they use to get him out of there – a forklift?" Despite the fact that she was probably lying about this too, the idea fascinated me.

She liked my forklift. She snorted and actually slapped her knee. "No, not quite. What they did was send Father downstairs to make sure that no one was on the stairs or coming into the building. Then when he called out to them that it was all clear, he started back up. Suddenly he heard this big bump. Then bump bump. He looked up through the stairwell and saw them rolling the body down the stairs with the toes of their shoes. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine opening the door to that apartment building and seeing a three-hundred-pound body come bumping down toward you?"

"You can't be serious."

She held up the three middle fingers of her right hand, palm-out, and shook her head. "Girl scout's honor,"

"They rolled him down the stairs? Down six flights of stairs?"

"Exactly."

"Well, what'd they do when they got him there? Wasn't he all damaged and everything?"

"Yes, of course, but then they took him back to the funeral parlor and fixed him with makeup and those things they use. The next day at the funeral, Father said he looked as good as new."

Baloney or not, it was a good story, and I could detect a bit of her father's narrative flair.

She put the paperweight back down on the side table. "Would you like to see his study? I think you might be interested."

"Ms. France, you don't know how much I'd like to see his study!" I was already halfway out of my chair.

She led the way, Petals second, Saxony, then me. Always the gentleman.

When I was a boy I used to sit with my brother and sister at the top of our red-carpeted staircase and watch my parents get ready to go out for the evening. We would be in our pajamas and fuzzy brown Roy Rogers slippers and the hall light would touch just the tips of our warm toes. The parents were too far away for us to hear what they were saying to each other, but we were cozy and sleepy and they looked so sleek and beautiful. That was about the only time that I ever saw my father as anything more than just "my pop," who wasn't there most of the time and tried to love us too much when he was. I hadn't thought about that in years – one of those little Proustian memories that are so easy to forget but so cherished when you happen across them again. Hiking up the staircase to France's office brought it all back so clearly that I had a momentary urge to sit down on the steps and feel what it was like again. I wondered if Anna had ever done the same thing with her parents.

A light went on before I got to the top. Just as I arrived, I caught sight of the three of them disappearing around a dark corner.

A voice called out, "Are you still there?"

I quickened my step and called back, "Yes, yes, I'm right behind you."

The floor was a blond, bare wood that had been carefully stripped and sealed and reminded me of houses in Scandinavia. No tables or chairs or sideboards here, no pictures on the walls. The house seemed to have separate upstairs and downstairs personalities: pure up, cluttered and crazy down. I turned the corner and saw light spilling out of a narrow doorway. No sound of voices or bodies moving around. I came up to it and walked through and was instantly disappointed. There was literally nothing in the room but a large oak rolltop desk and a swivel chair tucked into the leg hole. There was a green blotter on the desk and an old orange Parker "Lucky Curve" fountain pen. Nothing else.

"It's so empty."

"Yes, it's very different from the living room. Father said that anything distracted him when he worked, so this is the way he wanted his room." A phone that turned out to be behind the door rang, and she excused herself to answer it. Sax went up to the desk and ran her hand over the top of it.

"Blinded? What do you mean, blinded? It's impossible. How did it happen?"

I looked at Saxony and knew that both of us were eavesdropping. Anna's face was tight, and she looked at the floor. She looked more angry than upset.

"All right, all right. Stay there and I'll come as soon as I can. What? No, stay there." She hung up and ran her hand across her forehead. "I'm sorry, but one of my friends was just hurt in an accident. I have to go to the hospital right away. I'll drop you at your house."

"I'm sorry. Is there anything we can do? Really, we'll be glad to."

She shook her head and looked out the window. "No. No, there's nothing." She turned out the light, and without waiting for us, hurried down the hall toward the stairs.

5

"Are you awake?" She touched me very lightly on the shoulder with one finger.

I rolled over in bed so that I was facing her. The light from the full moon came in through the window and cut long white patches across her hair and pale blue nightgown. Even half-asleep, the color reminded me of looking in France's living room before Anna had turned on the lights.

"Awake? Sax, I'm not only awake, I'm –"

"Please don't be funny with me, Thomas. I don't want you to be funny now, okay? Please?"

I couldn't see her face clearly, but I knew from the tone of her voice what it would look like. Eyes impassive, but her lips would be turned down at the corners, and after a while she would start to blink a lot. It was her silent sign that she wanted to be touched and held. As soon as you did, she clutched you twice as hard, and it made you sad and it made you wonder if you had the strength at the moment for both of you – which was what she was demanding.

"Are you okay, babe?" I cupped the back of her head and felt the clean smoothness of her hair.

"Yes, but just don't talk now. Hold me, please, and don't talk."