Jessicaalmost laughed. She cleared her throat instead. No laughing was one of the bigrules of the game. 'Wow.' It was all she could muster.

    'Isthat wow I once had a 33-inch waist, or wow green velvet?'

    Thiswas a no-win question. She opted for the velvet.

    'Well,'Byrne said. 'I bought them in New York in my Thin Lizzy days. I really wantedto be Phil Lynott. You should have seen me.'

    'Iwould pay good money for that,' Jessica said. 'A lot of women in the departmentwould chip in, too.'

    'Whatabout you?'

    Jessicaglanced at her watch. 'My God. Look at the time.'

    'Jess.'

    'Okay.When I was nineteen, going to Temple, I had a date with this guy - Richie Randazzo.He invited me to his cousin's wedding in Cheltenham and I saved for threemonths for the cutest little red dress from Strawbridge's. It's a size four. Istill have it.'

    'What,you're not a size four?'

    'You arethe greatest man who has ever lived.'

    'Asif this were in doubt,' Byrne said. 'One question, though.'

    'What?'

    'Youwent out with a guy named Richie Randazzo?'

    'Ifyou didn't factor in the mullet, the rusted-out Toronado with the fur-trimmedrearview mirror, and the fact that he drank Southern Comfort and Vernor's, hewas kind of cute.'

    'Atleast I never had a mullet,' Byrne said. 'Ever.'

    'Icould always check with Donna, you know.'

    Byrnelooked at his watch. 'Look at the time.'

    Jessicalaughed, letting him off the hook. She fell silent for a few moments, lookingaround the attic. It occurred to her that she would never be back in this room.'Man.'

    'What?'

    'Mywhole life is in these boxes.' She opened a box, took out some photos. On topwere pictures of her parents' wedding.

    Outof the corner of her eye Jessica saw Byrne turn away for a second, giving herthe moment with her memories. Jessica put the photos back.

    'So,let me ask you one more thing,' she said.

    'Sure.'

    Jessicatook a few seconds. She hoped that her voice was going to be steady. She puther hand on one of the boxes, the one with the piece of green yarn around it.'If you have something, some memento that is a part of your life, and you knowthat the next time you see it, it's going to break your heart, do you keep it?Do you hold onto it anyway? Even though you know it is going to cause you painthe next time you look at it?'

    Byrneknew that she was talking about her mother.

    'Doyou remember her well?' he asked.

    Jessicahad been five years old when her mother died. Her father had never remarried,had never loved another woman. 'Yeah. Sometimes. Not her face, though. Iremember how she smelled. Her shampoo, her perfume. I remember how in summer,when we went to Wildwood, she smelled like Coppertone and cherry Life Savers.And I remember her voice. She always sang with the radio.'

    HeavenMust Have Sent You. It was one of her mother's favorites. Jessica hadn'tthought of that song in years.

    'Howabout you?' she asked. 'Do you think about your mom a lot?'

    'Enoughto keep her alive,' Byrne said and leaned against the wall. It was hisstorytelling pose.

    'WhenI was a kid, and my father used to chew me out, my mother would always runinterference, you know? I mean physically. She would physically get inbetween us. She wouldn't make excuses for me, and I always ended up gettingpunished, but while my father was upbraiding me she would stand with her handsclasped behind her back. I'd look at her hands, and she always had a fifty centpiece for me. My father never knew. I'd have to do my time, but afterwards Ialways had fifty- cents to blow on a water ice or a comic book when I gotparoled.'

    Jessicasmiled, thinking about anyone - especially Paddy Byrne - intimidating herpartner.

    'Shedied on my birthday, you know,' Byrne said.

    Jessicadidn't know. Byrne had never told her this. At that moment she tried tothink of something sadder than this, and found herself at a loss. 'I didn'tknow.'

    Byrnenodded. 'You know how you always notice your birthday when you see it printedsomewhere, or hear it mentioned in a movie or on television?'

    'Yeah,'Jessica said. 'You always turn to the people around you and say hey . . .that's my birthday.'

    Byrnesmiled. 'It's like that for me when I go to the cemetery. I always do a doubletake when I see the headstone, even though I know.' He put his hands in hispockets. 'It will never be my birthday again. It will always be the day shedied, no matter how long I live.'

    Jessicacouldn't think of anything to say. It mattered little, because she had never meta more perceptive person than Kevin Byrne. He always knew when to move thingsalong.

    'So,your question?' he asked. 'The one about whether or not to save something, eventhough you know it will break your heart?'

    'Whatabout it?'

    Byrnereached into his pocket, pulled something out. It was a fifty-cent piece.Jessica looked at the coin, at her partner. At this moment, his eyes were thedeepest emerald she had ever seen.

    'It'sa strange thing about heartbreak,' Byrne said. 'Sometimes it's the best thingfor you. Sometimes it reminds you that your heart is still beating.'

    Theystood, saying nothing, cosseted in this drafty room full of memory and loss.The silence was shattered by the sound of a breaking dish downstairs. Irish andItalians and booze always led to broken ceramics. Jessica and Byrne smiled ateach other, and the moment dissolved.

    'Readyfor the big bad city?' he asked.

    'No.'

    Byrnepicked up a box, headed for the stairs. He stopped, turned. 'You know, for aSouth Philly chick, you turned into kind of a wimp.'

    'Ihave a gun in one of these boxes,' Jessica said.

    Byrneran down the steps.

Chapter 25

    Byten o'clock they had everything in the new house. What had seemed like areasonable amount of goods in the Lexington Park house now filled up everyroom, every corner, every cabinet. If they put the sofa and two of thedining-room chairs on the roof, they could just about make everything fit.

    Byrnestood across the street from the row house. A pair of older teenage girlswalked by, reminding him of Lucy Doucette.

    Whenhe had first met Lucy at the group regression-therapy sessions she had seemedso lost. He did not know much about her life, but she had told him enough forhim to know that she was troubled by a traumatic event in her childhood. Herecalled her efforts at the regression-therapy group, her inability to recallanything about the incident. He didn't know if she had been molested or not.Running into her accidentally in the city reminded him how he had promised tolook in on her from time to time. He had not.

    'Kevin?'

    Itwas a tiny voice. Byrne turned around and saw that it was Jessica's daughterSophie, bundled up, standing on the sidewalk in front of the porch. The frontdoor was open, and through it Byrne could see Peter Giovanni inside, leaningagainst the handrail, keeping one eye on his granddaughter. Once a father,always a cop.

    Byrnecrossed the street. For a long time Jessica had insisted that

    Sophieshould call him Mr. Byrne. It had taken a while for Byrne to change that, andit looked like it had finally taken hold. Byrne got down to Sophie's level,noticing that she wasn't as small as she had been even last year at this time.'Hey, sweetie.'

    'Thanksfor helping out.'

    'Oh,you're welcome,' Byrne said. 'Do you like your new house?'

    'It'ssmall.'

    Byrnelooked over her shoulder. 'It's not that small. I think it's pretty cool.'