One time, when Joseph was in an unusually reflective and candid mood, he’d said to me, “I should have been killed in France about ten times – so every day is a gift.” Indeed. I felt the same way after three years at sea.
Susan had her arm around me, and Edward and Carolyn stood off to the side, staring quietly at Grandpa’s grave.
I placed the bouquet of flowers beside the other bouquet and said to him, “I’m home, Dad.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
My mother arrived first, and I could see that she and her grandchildren were honestly fond of one another. Too bad it wasn’t Harriet who had the hundred million.
We sat on the patio with a pitcher of sangria, which was as close to a third world drink as I could come up with for Harriet. I said to her, “For every bottle of wine we drink, a rice farmer in Bangladesh gets a Scotch and soda.”
Susan and Harriet are on the same page when it comes to organic food, so we snacked on bowls of bat shit or something, and chatted pleasantly.
I was actually starting to like my mother, which was easy to do if I blotted out everything from my birth until about ten minutes ago. But seriously, she was a person who, if nothing else, cared; she cared about the wrong things, or cared about the right things in the wrong way, but at least she was engaged in life.
On that subject, I wondered what she had spoken to Father Hunnings about. And who actually approached whom? Harriet, like Ethel, seemed to care more about the oppressed people of the world, whom she’d never met, and about animals and trees that never hugged her, than about the people around her, such as her son and daughter. But there seemed to be a new Harriet taking form – one who cared about her grandchildren, and who also spoke to her priest about her estrangement from her son. What was she up to? Well, maybe with Ethel’s death, Harriet had caught a glimpse of her own mortality, and she’d realized that the route to heaven began at home.
Harriet was asking Carolyn and Edward about their jobs, and she seemed genuinely interested, though with Carolyn she had some problems with the criminal justice system. And on the subject of criminals, I wondered if Anthony Bellarosa had come out of hiding to be with his family for Father’s Day. Most probably not, but if he had, I’d know about it because, as per my suggestion to Felix Mancuso, the FBI or the NYPD were staking out the Santa Lucia church cemetery in Brooklyn where Frank Bellarosa had been laid to rest.
Anna would be at the cemetery, and as per Anna, so would Frank’s other two sons, Frankie and Tommy, and maybe Megan and her kids as well. Although Megan never knew her father-in-law, one of the conditions of marrying into an Italian family was the requirement to visit the graves of every family member who’d died in the last century.
According to Mancuso, Mom’s house in Brooklyn and Alhambra Estates were being watched all day. Personally, I didn’t think Anthony would come out of his hole, especially today when he knew the FBI would be watching his and his mother’s house. But Anthony might visit his father’s grave. And if Uncle Sal had the same thought, Anthony might be dead in the cemetery before he got arrested.
Anyway, Harriet and Carolyn had exhausted the subject of a bachelor of arts degree in humanities for serial killers, and Harriet asked me, “Why are there armed guards at the gate?”
I explained, “Mr. Nasim thinks the ayatollahs are after him.” I concluded, “I blame our government for that.”
Harriet knows when I’m being provocative, and she never rises to the bait. More importantly, according to Susan, Harriet didn’t know about Anthony Bellarosa living next door; if she had, she’d insist that we share that disturbing fact with Edward and Carolyn. When we were young, Harriet used to say things to me and to Emily like, “Your father has a bad heart, and he may die at any time, so you should be prepared for that.” I think, perhaps, she’d gotten hold of a very strange book on how to raise children.
In any case, Edward and Carolyn and everyone else just assumed that the armed guards had been hired by Nasim for his stated reasons; no one, so far, had thought there might be a second explanation for the security.
Nevertheless, I changed the subject to Ethel’s wake and burial, which led me into telling Harriet, “We all went to visit Dad’s grave today.”
My mother looked at me, but did not reply. Well, this was still a sore subject with her. I’d missed the funeral, and my reason for that – I was at sea and didn’t know my father had died – was not cutting it. As far as she was concerned, this was just another example of her son never missing a chance to cause his mother hurt and pain.
I asked her, “Were you there today?” Say no. Please say no.
She replied, “I left a bouquet on the headstone. Didn’t you see it?”
“We did. But I know how you feel about cut flowers.” So I thought Dad had a girlfriend. “So I wasn’t sure that was you.”
“Who else would leave flowers on his grave?”
Maybe Lola, the receptionist with the big jugs, or Jackie, the hot office manager. I replied, “I don’t know. I’m just pointing out that you don’t approve of cut flowers.”
“That was all they had for sale.”
“Right. Anyway, it’s a very beautiful spot, and I’m sorry we didn’t coordinate going together.”
“Well, I’m glad you went.”
Meaning, I’m surprised you bothered. Some people spread sunshine and warmth; Harriet spreads guilt. Did I say I was starting to like my mother?
On the subject of cemeteries and funerals, Carolyn commented that she had watched a few minutes of the Gotti funeral on a TV in the bar where she’d met her friends last night. She commented, “I understand the family, friends, and so-called business associates turning out, but those people on the street – waving and cheering, and making the sign of the cross – that was… depressing. And then they interviewed some people who were saying that Gotti was a hero, a man who cared about them, and who gave back to the community – like he was Robin Hood.” She asked, rhetorically, “What is wrong with those people?”
Harriet had an answer. “People feel alienated from the traditional forms of governmental power, and they are looking for heroes who…” And so forth.
Carolyn, a recent convert to law and order, wasn’t buying her grandmother’s explanation of why the downtrodden citizens of Queens, New York, gave John Gotti a hero’s send-off.
Anyway, this subject was uncomfortably close to the subject of Frank Bellarosa’s life, death, and funeral. I was afraid Harriet was going to say something like, “John, you went to Frank Bellarosa’s funeral, after Susan killed him. Don’t you think that the common person felt that they had lost a hero?” I’d have to turn that question over to Susan. Whoops. Slap.
I asked, “Did anyone see the Yankee-Mets game yesterday?”
Well, before we could analyze the game, William and Charlotte arrived, punctually at 4:00 P.M., and fired up the party. Charlotte practically ran to Edward and Carolyn and smothered them with kisses. And Crazy William shouted to Carolyn, “You get more beautiful every time I see you, young lady!” Then he boxed playfully with Edward, and he gave me a manly swat on the ass and shouted, “Hey, big guy! Let’s crack open some brewskis!”
Well, not quite. But William did accept everyone’s wishes for a happy Father’s Day with a forced smile. He even mumbled to me, “Happy Father’s Day.”
William and Charlotte passed on the sangria and turned down my offer of martinis, but they each had a glass of white wine, which to them was like drinking tap water. We sat around the table and made small talk, which consisted mostly of Charlotte telling everyone what she and William had been doing for the last few days. I was surprised she remembered, and no one gave a rat’s ass anyway. William was mostly quiet, thinking, I’m sure, about our past and future negotiations.