Out Of Love Part 19

"I wear them all the time. They're comfortable."

"But you don't walk for miles every day, do you?"

"Are you going to make me walk for miles?"

"You wanted Polish food, right?"

"Well"-she drew out the word-"that's not exactly what I said."

Judith smacked her arm gently. "I heard what you said. And I'm taking you to Teresa's and force-feeding you borscht."

"That's beets, right? I can handle beets." She offered her elbow to Judith, who steered them through the park and out the other side. "Your boss must be a slave driver to keep you late on Sat.u.r.day."

"Normally, I'd say yes, but my opinion of him skyrocketed today."

Carmen heard the story of the two women making a final, poignant trip. When Judith's voice cracked, it stirred Carmen so much she instinctively pulled her closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "That's very sad. And I'm sorry it's hurting 131 you."

"I'm just glad I was able to help them out."

"Of course you are."

Judith went on to talk about her boss's gesture, but Carmen was still caught up with the sensation of wanting to give comfort, to hold her close. It was strange to feel that way, because it wasn't Judith's tragedy, just something that moved her and made her sad. And for that reason, it made Carmen sad too.

They walked several blocks, stopping finally at a diner on First Avenue.

"This is probably the best traditional Polish food you're going to find in Manhattan," Judith said as they were shown to a booth. "I can't believe we're getting a table so fast. Usually, they're packed."

"Hope that doesn't mean the cook quit." She studied the menu. "Look at all these porcine delicacies . . . pig's feet, pig's knuckles. Can't they just serve ham?"

"Where's your sense of adventure?"

Carmen closed her menu. "It's sitting across from you. Order whatever you think I should have."

"If Cathy were here, she'd probably make you get the borscht. But I think you ought to try the pierogi too. Do you want meat or vegetables?"

"I probably should get vegetables. I don't usually eat a heavy meal in the middle of the day."

"It's better for you than eating it at night, you know. Let's get some of both . . . with a cuc.u.mber salad and some potato pancakes."

An obviously harried waitress slid two overflowing gla.s.ses of water across their table and pulled an order pad from her ap.r.o.n.

Carmen kept expecting her to say something, but she took the order from Judith and left without a word.

"Not very friendly."

"Really? I didn't notice," Judith answered. "Did you have 132 your conference call?"

"I did. I probably would have forgotten it even after we talked about it last night, but Cathy called a half hour ahead of time to remind me."

"She really keeps you organized, doesn't she?"

"I don't know what I'd do without her . . . or actually, what I will do without her. She wants to retire."

"Aren't you two the same age?"

"Yeah, but she's got grandchildren she wants to play with. She hates traveling to conferences because she won't get on an airplane." She took a sip of her water and wiped the excess drops off the table with her napkin. "At least she's willing to work my schedule. Where else am I going to find an administrative a.s.sistant who'll call me on a Sat.u.r.day morning?"

"Your whole staff seems to be like that."

"They are. I'm lucky to have every single one of them. I know if we had an important deadline, they'd all be in the office on a Sunday afternoon."

"And I bet they stay with you because you take care of them,"

Judith said.

"I try to. But I've come to depend on Cathy so much that I don't keep up with things like I should."

"No one can do it all."

Cathy said the same thing every time she persuaded Carmen to hire more help and delegate responsibility. "Speaking of not having to work on Sat.u.r.day, have you thought any more about Sofia?"

"You mean while I was sleeping? We just talked about that a few hours ago."

It was impossible not to appreciate Judith's quick wit. "I plan to nag you until you call her."

"Fine. At least give me a couple of weeks to see if this being able to stand my boss is permanent."

The waitress interrupted to deposit an armload of plates and 133 bowls. Carmen was surprised when she actually spoke, pointing out which of the dumplings contained meat, and which contained vegetables.

"Why don't we set these in the middle?" Judith rearranged the plates so they could share. "My brother likes the potato pancakes."

"You started to tell me about him last night. He lives in Brooklyn, right?"

"That's right. Victor . . ." She swallowed a bite of pierogi and took a sip of water. "Victor lives in a group home for adults with mental disabilities. He's cla.s.sified as severely r.e.t.a.r.ded, but he's able to do a lot of things for himself. He even has a part-time job at McDonald's."

The information came as such a shock that Carmen floundered for a response. "So he . . . lives in a group home." What was the right response?

"Yeah, he's been away since he was twelve. That's when he got too big for Mom to handle. He was violent sometimes, and she was afraid he would hurt somebody."

Carmen hoped her reaction had seemed more normal than it felt. She had never been confronted with the issue before, at least not with someone close to her. The only thing she could do was follow Judith's lead. "Is he still violent?"

"Not often, but he gets very agitated if his routines are disrupted. Then he's more dangerous to himself than he is to someone else."

"What does he do?"

"Mostly, he just tries to run away."

Carmen absently took a bite of the potato pancake, her mind reeling with questions and things she thought she should say.

"But he hasn't done that in a long time."

"Do you see him often?"

"I usually go every Sunday. We take the subway up to Greenpoint where Mom lives. She has a big lunch and then we 134 all take a walk together or something."

"That's nice."

"Yeah, he looks forward to it every week. If I can't make it, he gets confused about what day it is and they have a hard time getting him ready to go to work the next day."

"What happens when your mother goes?"

"Mom can't bring herself to go, not even for his annual review. She's been like that ever since I turned fifteen and started going by myself. I think she still feels guilty for having to put him somewhere."

"That's too bad. I'm sure it was best for everyone."

"For Victor, especially. He's healthy and happy, and he does more for himself now than anyone ever thought he would."

Suddenly aware she had stopped eating, Carmen scooped another pierogi onto her plate. "So Victor is why you said your husband knew that asking you to move to Boston was the same as asking for divorce."

"And why Noelle knew I wouldn't consider coming with her to Paris."

And why their own relationship would probably be limited to occasional weekends in New York, Carmen realized. "It's wonderful that you're so devoted to him."

"I've loved him as long as I can remember. I was probably four or five years old before I understood that he wasn't like everyone else."

Carmen loved her siblings too, but with a family of over-achievers, everything had always been easy. Perhaps it was growing up with a brother like Victor that had made Judith the way she was-a woman who seemed to care more about others than she did about herself.

Judith waited solemnly on the sidewalk, granting Carmen all the time she needed to view the World Trade Center memorial 135 site. On the way from the restaurant, she had described her memories of that awful day, watching the smoke billow as sirens wailed throughout the city. But the physical site of the disaster was something people had to experience for themselves.

When Carmen joined her on the sidewalk, there were tears in her eyes. "Every time I come to New York, I think about doing that. I'm glad I finally did."

"What was it like in Chicago?"

"They evacuated our building-we're in the Sears Tower- and the Hanc.o.c.k Building. Most of us just went back home. I called everybody that day and talked about it. It was like I needed to touch everyone I knew."

She took hold of Carmen's hand as they started walking away from the site. "It was like that here too. I wanted to go be with Mom, but the only way out of Manhattan was on foot."

"What did you do?"

"We all hung out in the hallways with our doors open. That night, a bunch of us sat out on the steps."

"People got closer, even with strangers."

"Yeah, we aren't all that close anymore, but I think we all feel like we went through it together. At least we know each other's names now." Following Carmen's lead, she slowed her pace to a stroll, noticing a slight limp in Carmen's gait. "You okay?"

Carmen hesitated, but finally muttered, "I hate being wrong, almost as much as I hate admitting it."

"Your feet hurt."

"Just the left one. I think I'm getting a blister on my little toe."

"That's enough walking for today, then." She felt a wave of disappointment that their time together was almost over, and that this would probably hasten Carmen's departure. "Do you want to go back to your hotel?"

Carmen checked her watch. "I should head back there about four, but it's only three. Why don't you invite me to your place?"

136.

"Of all the places in New York, surely we can find something more interesting than my place."

"I didn't hang around today to see New York. I stayed to be with you."

Though she loved hearing that, Judith wouldn't let herself read too much into it. In the back of her mind, this whole weekend had been about erasing the ugly memory of what had happened at the convention. That was done, as far as Judith was concerned, no matter what happened next. She genuinely liked the person underneath Carmen's corporate persona, and she felt a.s.sured that Carmen now saw past her resemblance to Brooke.

"We can go to my place if you promise not to make fun of how small it is."

"Would I do something like that?" Carmen asked, her voice tinged with mischief.

The subway was out of the question with Carmen's foot hurting, since it meant walking a couple of blocks on each end. Judith stopped at the corner and dropped Carmen's hand. "Stay put. I'll get us a cab." Three taxis pa.s.sed before one lurched to the curb.

She held the door while Carmen slid into the backseat. "Eighth Avenue and Fifteenth Street, please."

Carmen kicked off her shoe and examined her injured toe.

"How is it?"

"It feels good to sit."

"Are you familiar with the term walk-up?"

"You mean an apartment without an elevator? Sure."

"And the term fifth-floor walk-up?" She laughed evilly at the look of horror on Carmen's face. "Sure you don't want to go back to your luxurious hotel?"

"I've already checked out. They're just holding my bag." She looked at her toe again. "Can you bring me oxygen on the third floor landing?"

"It's a pretty good setup for never having to entertain. People find out where I live and say 'forget it.'"

137.

"Do you really not want me to come?"

"No, I do. But you should know that I don't show my place to just anybody."

"Are you saying I'm special?"

The taxi stopped suddenly at the corner, saving Judith from having to answer what was becoming obvious.

She counted out a small stack of ones to cover the fare, and held out her hand to help Carmen from the backseat.