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I didn’t hesitate. “Big fat yes in bold neon lights for my part. It’s totally real, man.”
That made him smile and let out a low whistle. “Isn’t that something,” he said. “Dominic’s in love.”
“Keep that to yourself, okay?”
“Come on,” he scoffed. Then he flashed me a rueful grin. “You have a safe trip, brother.”
He stood up and offered me a handshake. Then he pulled me closer for an affectionate man-hug.
My flight left at eleven and would land at eight a.m. New York time. I hadn’t flown in years, and even though I was exhausted, I didn’t think I’d be capable of relaxing in midair, especially considering the plane was nearly full and smelled like stale bagels.
“Excuse me,” said the woman beside me. She’d been trying to get a wiggly toddler settled in the seat beside her since we’d boarded. “Would it bother you terribly to turn off the overhead light? Unless you plan to read or something,” she added.
“No bother,” I said, and switched it off because I’d just been staring at nothing and thinking about the past anyway.
“Thank you,” the young mother said gratefully and settled a blanket over her little boy.
Then I closed my eyes and didn’t open them again until passengers began cracking open their tiny window shades to watch the sunrise. I pried my window open and kept a keen eye out until the Manhattan skyline came into focus. For ten years I’d only seen the city of my birth in movies and in my memory. Laying eyes on it again was like running into a long-lost friend whose face has never completely left your thoughts.
The captain’s voice crackled over the plane’s loudspeaker. “Folks, we’ll be landing in New York’s JFK Airport in just a little while here. Skies are clear on this early October morning, and the current temperature is fifty-two degrees. If you’re in town for a visit, have yourself a grand time in the Big Apple. But if you’re returning, then welcome home.”
The little boy sitting beside his mother began clapping. He smiled at me when I looked over. I smiled back.
Luckily I hadn’t needed to check any luggage, but it still took some time to get off the plane, find the rental car desk, and obtain the keys to a red Honda Accord. By the time I was on the Belt Parkway out to Long Island, it was almost ten o’clock.
Traffic wasn’t bad. Rush hour had passed, and anyway, people usually traveled east to west in the morning, not the other way around. When I was a kid, sometimes we’d ride out here to visit the beach in the summertime on the rare days Papa Leo could bear to turn the kitchen over to someone else. When I thought of Long Island, I thought of sand and the Jones Beach boardwalk. But as I drove through Nassau County, I saw that most of it just looked like ordinary suburbs.
According to the GPS, Steven’s house was only twenty-four miles from the airport. I didn’t really have a plan, other than to hang around near his house and wait for someone to appear. Artie Cavendish’s report was thorough, considering the short notice. He’d found out that Steven had been working as a package delivery driver for five years and that he’d moved around three times in the two years he’d been living in Nassau County. Of course Artie’s report didn’t cover more important questions, like whether Steven was still a gambler with a bottle perpetually in his hand. Or if he was capable of taking care of his girls in the wake of his wife’s death.
At some point I realized I was starving. Long overdue family confrontations shouldn’t be tackled on an empty stomach. I pulled off the parkway and found a diner before I reached Levittown.
While I chowed down on a hearty breakfast of waffles and eggs, I kept mulling over the idea of texting Melanie. Something like “Miss you, babe” or “Wish you were here” seemed corny and inappropriate right now. I could message her under the pretense of asking if everything was all right at work, but that would probably just rub her the wrong way.
Once I was back in the rental car, I was hit by the fact that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spent an entire day without working. Even on holidays I always found a reason to drop by the restaurant and do something that wasn’t even important. That was a big difference between me and Gio. He was no less dedicated, but he’d found a way to balance work and life. Funny, for a long time I’d thought of work as the same thing as life. Only lately had I realized I was wrong all along.
The house where Steven lived was on a narrow side street with maple trees and front lawns and sidewalks littered with orange leaves. The houses were all well kept and neat, except for one. I knew it was Steven’s rental house even before I double-checked the address. Unlike the houses surrounding it, this one seemed to droop under the weight of being unloved.
I took a couple of deep breaths before I walked up to the front door. In fact if I hadn’t spent the entire night flying to the other side of the country, then I might have lost my nerve before I rang the doorbell. But no one was home anyway. I listened for any hint of sound inside and heard only the echo of the doorbell chime. No car was in the driveway, and the only clue I had that anyone actually lived here was the child’s bicycle that leaned against the house just beyond the side door.
Reluctantly I returned to the car and waited.
I waited for a long time.
At two p.m. I had to piss so bad I couldn’t think straight, so I drove over to a 7-Eleven to use the bathroom. When I returned, a battered black Chevy Malibu was sitting in the driveway of Steven’s house.
This time when I got to the front door, I knocked instead of ringing the doorbell. There were footfalls, the sound of the lock being turned, and then the door opened.
Steven Esposito’s sorrow was written all over him. He was still physically formidable, but his shoulders drooped, his hairline had receded, and his face bore the weariness of grief.
At least that was his expression before he saw me standing at his front door. Then his expression changed to openmouthed shock. I figured fury would follow, but he just kept blinking and looking stunned. He opened the screen door and squinted at me like I was an apparition.
“Dominic,” he croaked.
“Hi, Stevie,” I answered in what I hoped was a humble tone of voice.
Steven shook his head as if he was trying to shake himself awake. I got the feeling he would have been less shocked to find that a talking penguin had arrived to summon him to the North Pole.
I waited for him to invite me inside. I waited for him to punch me in the mouth. He didn’t do either.
