“What was your first clue?”

She thought a moment, then said, “Well, it’s their problem.”

“It is. And don’t let them make you feel guilty. You’re a good daughter, but they’re manipulative, narcissistic, and self-centered.” Plus, they’re assholes. I added, “And they don’t care about seeing their grandchildren.”

Susan sat at the table, and she looked sad. So I said, “We’ll have a nice Father’s Day together. I promise.”

She forced a smile.

I hesitated, then took her hand and said, “If me leaving… I mean, leaving for good, will-”

“If you say that one more time, I’ll kick you out.”

I stood and gave her a big hug, then said, “Your father and I have a date to discuss business, Sunday night or Monday morning.”

She thought about that and said, “I don’t like being discussed as though I was a blushing virgin.”

“You’re not a virgin?”

“What are you going to talk about?”

“Well, the deal.” I let her know, “We need a prenuptial agreement. That’s what will make the deal work.”

“This is not a deal. It’s a marriage.”

“Not when you’re a Stanhope. And that’s your problem, not mine.”

“All right. Talk to him. Try not to screw up my allowance and my inheritance.”

“Do you care?”

“No. But take care of the children.”

“I will.” I added, “Whatever it takes.”

Then she said something that did not shock me. She said, “God forgive me, I hate them.”

She was a little weepy, so I put my arms around her and said, “We’ve moved on from the past, and now you have to move on from your parents.”

“I know.” She said, “I feel sorry for them.”

It’s hard for me to feel sorry for anyone worth one hundred million dollars, especially if they’re assholes, but to be nice, I said, “I know what you mean… I feel sorry for Harriet, and I felt sorry for my father… and I think he died feeling sorry for himself. But… we are not going to become them.”

She nodded, stood, and said, “Let’s do something fun today.”

Well, I just pushed the Stanhopes out the door, and it doesn’t get more fun than that. I asked, “What would you like to do?”

“Let’s go to the city and have lunch, then go to a museum, or shop.”

“Shop?”

“When was the last time you were in Manhattan?”

I replied, “September of last year.”

She looked at me, nodded, and said, “I’ve never been to Ground Zero.” She thought a moment, then asked, “Is that something we should do…?”

“It’s not exactly a fun day in the city.”

“I know… but you were there… can we do that today?”

“You can let me know how you feel when we’re driving in.”

“All right…” She took my hand and said, “I feel safe when I’m standing next to you.”

“That’s very nice.” I said to her, “I never felt so alone and so depressed in my life as I did when I came back to New York last September.”

She said, “Carolyn came to Hilton Head, and she said to me, ‘Mom, I wish Dad was here.’ And I said to her, ‘Me, too.’”

I replied, “Well, I’m here.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

As we drove toward Manhattan, Susan looked at the skyline and observed, “It’s so strange not seeing the Towers there…” Then she said, “Let’s go to Ground Zero.”

I glanced at her and replied, “All right.”

So we drove the Taurus into Lower Manhattan, and spent some quiet time on the observation platform overlooking the excavated ruins. It was hard to comprehend this tragedy, and harder to understand the senseless deaths of so many human beings, including people we knew. The gray, drizzly day added to our somber mood.

We took a walk through the streets of Lower Manhattan. When I worked here, this was a very busy and bustling part of the city, but now the streets and sidewalks look emptier than I remembered, and I knew that had to do with September 11. Maybe I’d be working down here again, but with a new firm, of course – one that valued my brash career decisions, my sailing adventures, and my past association with organized crime. In fact, getting a good job was not going to be that easy – Anthony Bellarosa’s generous offer notwithstanding – so, since I might be the only person who would hire me at my required salary, I should work for myself. My future father-in-law would be delighted to finance my new firm, and Carolyn could work with me, and we’d be Sutter amp; Sutter: tax law, environmental specialists, and women’s legal rights.

Susan asked, “What are you thinking about?”

I told her, and she smiled and asked, “Which of those areas would you feel comfortable working in?”

We walked up to Chambers Street and entered Ecco restaurant, where I used to bring clients. After we were seated, I looked at the lunch crowd, which was mostly Wall Street types who are easy for me to spot, though I didn’t see a single face I knew. Ecco’s clientele also included high-priced defense attorneys who had business in the nearby courts, plus a few high-ranking law enforcement people from nearby Police Plaza and Federal Plaza. I looked around for Mr. Mancuso, but I didn’t think he’d splurge on a sixty-dollar lunch, though maybe this is where we’d have our beers one night after work.

Susan asked, “See anyone you know?”

“No, I don’t. And it’s only been ten years.”

She commented, “Ten years can be a long time.”

“It can be.”

We had a good lunch, with a good bottle of red wine to take the chill out of our bones, and we held hands and talked.

After lunch, we took a walk to my old office building at 23 Wall Street, and as I always do with visitors, I pointed out to Susan the scars in the stone that were caused by the Anarchists’ bomb at the turn of the last century. She was sweet enough not to remind me that I’d shown this to her about twenty times.

I was going to enter the big, ornate lobby to look around, but I noticed that there was now a security point right near the door, complete with metal detectors and tables where you needed to empty your pockets. This was a little jarring, and also depressing, so we moved on – not that I wanted to take the elevator up to Perkins, Perkins, Sutter and Reynolds to hug and kiss my former partners.

Well, I was ready to leave Memory Lane and take a subway or taxi up to Midtown for some really great shopping, but Susan said to me, “Let’s walk to Little Italy.”

I didn’t reply.

She said, “We need to go there as well.”

I thought about that, then agreed, “All right.”

So we walked in the drizzle up to Little Italy and found ourselves on Mott Street, which hadn’t changed much in ten years, nor had it changed much in the last hundred years.

A minute later, we were in front of Giulio’s Ristorante. Not much had changed here either in the last hundred years, though I know for a fact that the plate-glass window and the red café curtains had been replaced ten years ago – right after Frank Bellarosa caught a double- barreled shotgun blast in his Kevlar vest, and sailed backwards from the sidewalk, then reentered Giulio’s through the window.

I looked down at the sidewalk where Vinnie had fallen after he took a single shotgun blast full in the face from less than six feet away. The shooters, two of them, had been crouched on the far side of Frank’s limo, which was parked at the curb… then I saw both men stand and rest their arms and shotguns on the roof of the car… then they fired… two for Frank, and one for Vinnie, and the sound of the blasts was deafening.

Then the guy who had fired only one shot and I made eye contact.

Susan said to me, “John… what happened?”

I looked at her. She’d been inside the restaurant, still at the table with Anna, and I realized I’d never told her exactly what had gone on out here.

I hesitated, then related what happened to Frank and Vinnie, and continued, “So the shooter looks away from me, then looks back at Frank, who’s half in and half out of the window… Vinnie is definitely not a problem anymore… so I guess the guy decides that Frank is taken care of too, and he doesn’t have a good shot at him anyway… only his legs… so he looks back at me – like… he’s not sure what to do about me.”