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The bus took off, swaying and lurching. He’d looked out at her face, staring up from outside. Stark and pale, dark eyes huge, receding into the distance. The last time he’d seen her in life.
He’d worn the necklace from that minute on, like a talisman. When Mamma died, he’d become terrified to let it get cold. He’d got the notion somehow that as long as the gold pendant stayed warm, he could imagine that it was her warmth. The last of her warmth.
Even though all the rest of it was in the hard ground.
Then Rudy and his goons came to the diner that morning, long ago. Rudy had recognized the necklace, and ripped it off his neck.
And that was that. Gone. That warmth had gone cold.
Did you see my locket?Rachel was crowing to Val, lifting up her dark curls, twirling and preening for her father. He held out his arms and she climbed up onto his lap, getting her due of kisses.
Like a drum roll, on the edge of his consciousness. A crescendo of anxious urgency. Something he was supposed to do, see, understand, but what? It swelled, louder, until it filled him up. No room for his lungs to expand. Feelings, pounding on the door of his higher brain functions from below. Demanding to be translated into conscious thought.
He tried to relax, open up, fishing for it. Running over everything he’d seen, thought, remembered. Mamma. Rachel’s necklace. Mamma’s necklace, warm from her body. Rachel’s delicate neck, like the stem of some heavy-headed flower, so beautiful, it could break your heart.
Did you see my locket?
He closed his eyes, trying again, following vaporous trails of emotion, of thought while the drum roll got louder, the knocking more desperate. The scent of his mother’s perfume, mixed with the tang of fear sweat. Her icy hands, fumbling in the dark, struggling with the clasp. Her hands had been trembling. She’d kissed the back of his neck.
Go, go, quick, quick.
“Zia,” he said. “Remember Mamma’s necklace?”
Zia Rosa turned from a tray of cupcakes that she was frosting. “Yeah, sure. The one Rudy took. Your great-grandmother’s, from the old country. A courting gift to yourbis-nonna,from yourbis-nonno.”
“That was a locket, right?” he asked. “One that opened?”
She frowned. “’Course. Magda kept a picture of you in there. Same one I got in my wallet. A lock of your hair, too, remember?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t know it could open at all,” he said. “It never opened for me. Maybe it was soldered shut.”
Lily touched his wrist, a worried line creasing her brow. She’d caught his vibe. It made her uneasy. “What is it?” she asked.
He seized her hand. “Tell me again, Lily. Exactly what your father said, at the hospital when you saw him last.”
Lily sighed. “Bruno, please. I’ve been over it a thousand times. He told me that you had to lock something, but he didn’t say what, and I have no idea what he—”
“No.” He cut her off. “No, just repeat his actual words. Word for word. No paraphrasing. Verbatim. Please, Lily.”
And the drum roll crescendo was suddenly audible to her, too.
Her face paled. She swallowed, blinking as her eyes flickered to the left, narrowing in concentration. “He said…he has to lock it.”
“He has the locket,” Bruno repeated, softly.
Her eyes went wide. She pressed her hands to her mouth. “Oh, God, Bruno. Oh, God. Magda had a locket? And she gave it to you?”
He nodded.
“Well? Where is it?” she burst out. “Who has it?”
He shook his head. “It’s gone,” he said.
She looked around, frantically, as if the locket should be lying around in plain view. “What do you mean, gone? You mean lost? Stolen?”
“Both, in a sense,” he said.
Zia took over for him. “That filthyfiglio di puttanaRudy, he took it,” she informed Lily. “That day they came to the diner and attacked Bruno. Three big guys, against one twelve year old boy who just lost his mamma.Teste di cazzo.”
