The Executor Part 8

"You didn't say so earlier."

"It slipped my mind."

She stared at me. I think she knew I was lying. "Very well. Before you go ..." She reached into her sweater pocket and took out her little blue pleather checkbook. Normally she kept it upstairs, in her room-never on her. What was going on? Had he asked her for money? I tried to glare at him, but he wasn't paying any attention to me.

"Mr. Geist." She waved the check at me, and of an instant I grasped the purpose of calling each other Mr. Mr. and and Ms. Ms. It wasn't affectionate, or a sly joke. She meant to establish a boundary. If I'd missed that, it was n.o.body's fault but mine. It wasn't affectionate, or a sly joke. She meant to establish a boundary. If I'd missed that, it was n.o.body's fault but mine.

I mumbled thanks and took my allowance.

"You are quite welcome," said Alma. "Enjoy your dinner."

THE EVENING WAS MILD, and I stalked the brick canyons around Harvard Square, hoping that its crowds would work like white noise, drowning out the resentment that I felt guilt over feeling. A group of teenagers had gathered in front of the entrance to the T: the Pit Kids, suburban goth-punks with safety pins in their ears, their ragged outfits belied by years of expensive orthodonture. Inexplicably they reminded me of Eric-I think it was the bony elbows and the get-bent sneers-and I turned and made my way to the Common, where I slumped listlessly on a bench to watch a coed softball game. By then I felt more pathetic than angry. Really, I thought, grow up. The woman was almost eighty years old. She had earned the right to entertain whomever she chose, certainly a relative. Judging by the shape of his face, a blood relative. Alma's sister was older than her, making it hard to believe that he was actually her nephew. Great-nephew, more likely, which meant that in calling him "nephew" she meant to express intimacy. Hadn't she that right? It wasn't up to me to decide on whom she chose to bestow affection. She could talk to him all day long if she wanted. It was none of my business. More to the point, n.o.body had said anything about kicking me out. My reaction reflected my own insecurities, nothing more.

That didn't excuse him, of course. Probably he had a drug problem. Who else dressed that way? I was no fashion plate, but at least I combed my hair. No, my dishevelment was artful; his the product of indifference. I kept thinking of the smug ease with which he occupied my chair-and wasn't that my right, after all this time, so many hours spent in it, to think of it as mine?-not to mention the way he'd eyed my check, the air of ent.i.tlement he carried....

Unable to face going home, I walked to the Science Center and stood at a computer kiosk. I hadn't checked my e-mail in two weeks, and now I faced heaps of spam. Coming here had been a bad idea: I felt lonelier than ever.

Against my better judgment, I clicked COMPOSE and entered Yasmina's address. Then I erased it. Then I typed it again. I repeated this process several times before moving the cursor to the body field.

Hi there. It's me. (Obviously.) Sorry to drop in unannounced (so to speak), but I was thinking of you and wanted to let you know.Don't worry. It's nothing malicious. I'm doing well. I have a new job and a terrific roommate. Your BACKs.p.a.cE.

I have a new job and an unbelievably cushy living situation.Nothing much to report besides. I haven't done any writing recently, but that's okay; I feel more focused than I have in a long time. I don't mean that as an insult, so please don't take it that way. Your decision was the right one-good for both of us. I wish it hadn't come to that; I wish there could have been another way. But you know me. I try to be philosophical about these things.(Ha, ha.)I want you to know that I will always think of you with great loveBACKs.p.a.cE fondness BACKs.p.a.cE.

warmth, and that I am sorry I couldn't be the person you needed. He is out there somewhere, and the day you find him will be his luckiest.

Joseph Halfway home, the catharsis I'd hoped for still hadn't come. Instead I felt like a bully, forcing my way into her inbox. I turned around and walked back to the computer kiosk, intending to write a new e-mail, ent.i.tled READ FIRST and instructing her to disregard the previous e-mail.

Too late.

hiive been trying to get in touch with you. please if you can give me a call. i would like to talk.

y

11.

Getting Yasmina to meet me in person entailed an extensive negotiation; she wanted to keep it to a phone conversation. Left with no other choice, I played the birthday card. A cup of coffee: was that too much to ask? I upped the ante by suggesting an old haunt of ours, a cafe in the North End where they brewed espresso in a machine the size of a Sherman tank. She caved, as I knew she would. Her desire to keep me at arm's length could never outstrip her love of fancy hot beverages.

Upon arrival, we found the place shuttered. I tried not to take this as a sign. Yasmina let out a little cry of grief.

"When did this happen?" she said. "I was here like two weeks ago."

In the window was a letter dated March 23.

To all our dear customers, thank you for twenty wonderful years. We are sad to inform you that Ettore has pa.s.sed away after a long battle with cancer. The cafe was his life and he loved everyone who came in. We will all miss him forever.

I shuddered to realize that Ettore (whose name I had never known) had opened his cafe right around the time my brother drove a truck into a river and drowned.

We walked under the expressway, settling for the Starbucks near Faneuil Hall. Yasmina tried to pay, but I stopped her. "Give me the gift of self-respect."

She smiled crookedly, bit her tongue.

"I've been calling you for weeks," she said as we sat down. "It rings and rings."

"It's not my number anymore."

"You switched it?"

"I don't have a phone."

"Why don't you have a phone?"

"You canceled it."

"You didn't get a new one?"

"No."

"That wasn't-I mean, I waited one billing cycle. I figured you'd port the number over when you got a new phone."

"I didn't get a new phone."

"Oh. Well ... Well, I'm sorry."

"It's all right."

"We didn't discuss it. We should have."

"It's all right."

"And I was mad."

"I know."

"But I should've told you first."

"Forget about it. It's liberating, actually, not having a phone. You'd be amazed."

"I'll bet." She paused. "So what brought that on."

"Nothing in particular. I wanted to write to you, so I did."

". . . okay."

"I didn't realize we had a moratorium on e-mail," I said.

"Don't get mad."

"I'm not. I just don't see what the big deal is about me sending you an e-mail."

"It's not a big deal."

"Then why are you getting upset."

"I'm not upset. Please, Joseph. I'm-look, we're not together together anymore, and-" anymore, and-"

"I know. I'm well aware. Thanks for the reminder."

"Can you not, please."

I said nothing.

"I'm happy that you're doing well. I want want to hear that. Tell me about this job." to hear that. Tell me about this job."

I thought. "It's sort of like a research fellowship."

"Like a ... a think tank?"

"You could call it that."

"That's great," she said. "That's perfect for you. Haven't I always said that? And a new place? I thought you were living with Drew."

"For a while. Not anymore. Look." All the small talk was beginning to derail me. "I'm not sure how to say this."

"Wait," she said. "Wait."

"Let me-"

"Wait a minute. I know what you're going to say."

"You don't-"

"I do."

"Your family? Was that it? Because if that was the issue, then-"

"That wasn't the issue. That was never the issue."

"Strictly for my own edification-"

"Please stop," she said. "We can't have this conversation here." stop," she said. "We can't have this conversation here."

"Then where can we-"

"Nowhere. We can't have it anywhere, at any time."

"I'm trying to learn."

"There's nothing to learn."

"There's always something to learn," I said. "This isn't beyond me, Mina, I can und-"

"Please don't call me that," she said.

Stung, I said, "Why not."

"Because I'm asking you not to."

"But why." why."

"Would you please, please, keep your voice down."

People had begun to eye us over their lattes.

"Let's take a walk," I said.

She shook her head.

"Why not?"

"I want to stay here."

"Why."

"It's neutral territory."

"You don't trust me?"

"Of course I trust you-"

"Then let's go."

"Do you want to argue, or do you want to talk?"

"We aren't aren't talking," I said. "You won't let me." talking," I said. "You won't let me."

"Joseph." She put her head in her hands. "You're working yourself up."

"I am merely-"