Family Honor

Chapter 18

Millicent was looking at one of the cityscapes I was painting. It stood on an easel in the studio, under the skylight where I got the sun until midafternoon.

“Is that supposed to be Boston?” she said.

“It’s supposed to be a painting,” I said.

“Of what?”

“How Chinatown looks to me when you approach it from around Lincoln Street.”

“I never been to Chinatown.”

“Really? You like Chinese food?”

“I never had any.”

“We’ll go,” I said.

“What if I don’t like it?”

“Chinatown?”

“Chinese food.”

“Don’t eat it,” I said.

“What if I’m hungry?”

“I don’t plan to starve you,” I said. “We’ll go eat some other kind of food.”

“Even if you’ve already paid for the Chinese stuff?”

“Yes. Sometimes six bucks doesn’t mean a thing to me.”

She looked at the painting some more. I hadn’t told her about the Irish guys. I might have to, because she might be the only one who knew what they wanted. But right now it was like training a horse. I just wanted to gentle her down.

“How come you painted this?” she said.

“I liked the way it looked, the shape of it, the colors at that time of day.”

“You mean it’s not always the same color?”

“Color is a function of light,” I said. “Light changes, the color changes.”

“Weird,” Millicent said. “You get paid for this?”

“I sell some pictures,” I said.

“Will you sell this one?”

“I don’t know.”

“So you might be wasting your time.”

“I don’t think of painting as a waste of time,” I said.

“Well, if you don’t get paid, what good is it?”

“I like it.”

“That’s all?”

“I know how to do it. I like doing it.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all,” I said.

She was quiet for a while. When we got home she had immediately gone into the bathroom and put on her new underwear. Some of which was pretty nice.

“Like the dog,” Millicent said.

“The dog?”

“Yeah. You have a dog just because you want to, no good reason.”

“Maybe that is a good reason,” I said.

“You supposed to have a reason for stuff,” Millicent said.

“Like why you ran away from home?”

“I told you, I don’t like it there.”

“Oh yeah,” I said.

Rosie had found the long rhomboid of sunshine that slanted in through the skylight, and was lying in it on her back, with her short legs sticking straight up and her tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth.

“I’m going to have to tell your parents I found you,” I said.

“You told me you wouldn’t.”

“No. I told you you didn’t have to go home.”

“You tell them and they’ll make me come home,” she said.

“I won’t tell them where you are, but they have the right to know you’re alive and well.”

“They’ll make you tell,” Millicent said.

“No,” I said.

“You work for them.”

“I work for myself.”

“But they’re paying you.”

“That’s their problem.”

“You won’t tell them where I am?”

“No.”

“Ever?”

“I don’t know about ever,” I said. “But I won’t tell them until you and I have decided it’s in your best interest.”

“Even if they won’t pay you anymore?”

“Even then.”

The doorbell rang. Rosie was instantly on her feet in full yap. As I walked to the door I took my gun off the bureau and held it at my side. I looked through the peephole. It was Richie. When he came in Millicent was as far at the other end of the loft as she could get.

If Richie saw the gun, which he did because he saw everything, he didn’t comment.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hello.”

There was never anything casual when we saw each other. No greeting was routine. There was a kind of charge between us that had been there since we were in elementary school and became pals, without any knowledge that my father was trying to put his father in jail. And his uncle. I had never not been glad to see him, even in the depths of it, when we couldn’t stand each other and he was so possessive I thought I’d fragment. Even then I was always aware that seeing him was special, and I was always aware that it was the same for him.

Rosie was ecstatic. She jumped and wiggled and chased her tail until Richie picked her up and held her in his right arm while he rubbed her belly with his left. She managed to lap his face awkwardly while this was going on.

“Millicent,” I said. “This is my ex-husband, Richie Burke. Richie, this is my friend Millicent Patton.”

She stayed at the far end. Richie put Rosie down and walked the length of the loft and put his hand out.

“Hello, Millicent.”

She took his hand, limply. I’d have to speak to her about that. I hate a limp handshake.

“How do you do,” Millicent said with no hint of enthusiasm.

Richie walked back to the kitchen and sat at my counter.

“You called?” he said.

I put the gun back on top of the bureau.

“I did,” I said. “I have to run out and talk with Millicent’s parents and I wondered if you could stay with her?”

“Sure.”

“Julie’s working, and Spike’s working and I know you work, but you’re not on a time clock and... I’m babbling.”

“Sure,” Richie said.

“I’m not telling anyone she’s here,” I said.

“And you don’t want anyone to come take her away,” Richie said.

He spoke softly so that Millicent wouldn’t overhear him. She was as far away as she could get and still be in the loft, staring out my east window at the Fort Point cityscape.

“That’s right.”

“Which you fear is a possibility.”

“You noticed the gun,” I said.

“Yeah. I’m very alert.”

I told him about the Irish guys.

“That’s it,” Richie said. “All you know is two Irish guys?”

“That’s all Tony said.”

“Tony thinks all non-Africans are Irish,” Richie said. “Doesn’t mean it’s anyone we know.”

When Richie said we, it always meant his family.

“I know.”

“I’ll ask around, however,” he said.

I nodded.

“Millicent,” I said loudly enough for her to hear. “I’m going to talk with your parents.”

“He going to stay here?” Millicent said.

“Yes. I’ll be an hour or two.”

“And you don’t think I can take care of myself?”

“He’s here for Rosie,” I said. “Anything I should tell your parents?”

“No.”

I took my gun off the bureau and put it on. Richie walked to the door with me.

“You have a gun?” I said.

He smiled at me.

“Of course you do,” I said and went out.

Behind me I heard the dead bolt slide into place on the inside.