Melancholy Baby

58

When Richie came to pick up Rosie, we were perfectly pleasant with each other. He sat on the couch and drank a cup of coffee. Rosie was beside him with her head on his lap.

“She’s such a silent dog,” Richie said.

“She is often lost in thought,” I said.

“That would be my guess,” Richie said. “She been okay?”

“Fine,” I said. “How is your life going?”

“Fine,” he said. “You?”

“Fine.”

“Does your wife mind Rosie?”

“No, not at all. She’s not used to dogs, but she thinks Rosie is great.”

“And she’s nice to her?”

“Sure,” Richie said. “Love me, love my dog.”

“I hear a small reservation,” I said.

Richie smiled. “She’s not crazy about Rosie on the furniture in the living room,” he said. “Or sleeping with us.”

“So what happens?”

“I prevail,” Richie said. “Just like you would.”

“But what about when you’re not there?”

“Rosie is always with me,” he said. “I take her to work, everywhere. She’s never alone with Kathryn.”

“But Kathryn’s not mean to her?”

“Of course not. You saw Rosie with her. Rosie likes her. Kathryn’s just not the same kind of dog person you and I are.”

The momentary sense of us-ness made me feel shaky. I didn’t want to say it, I wished I hadn’t said it. I hated it when I heard myself say it, but I opened my mouth and out it came: “Do you love her like you loved me?”

Rosie was leaning on his thigh. He was resting one hand on her back. He sat silently for what seemed like a long time without moving, looking at me. Finally, he took in a lot of air, softly, through his nose.

“No,” he said.

“Do you still love me?”

Again, the long, motionless time. This time, he moved his hand enough to pat Rosie softly. She resettled herself slightly to take full advantage of the patting.

“Yes.”

I felt as if I could hear my own pulse. I listened to my own breathing. My computer was on at the other end of the room. I could hear it hum.

“I’m seeing a shrink,” I said.

“Good idea,” Richie said.

“She’s very good,” I said.

“The best kind to see,” Richie said.

We looked at each other silently. Rosie wiggled over onto her back so that Richie could rub her stomach.

“I’m beginning to learn some things about myself.”

Richie nodded.

“I’m not exactly who I was,” I said.

“It’s tough work,” Richie said. “You should be proud of yourself for doing it.”

I nodded.

“I there anything you need?” Richie said. “The Burkes got resources, you know.”

“I never ever could quite be sure,” I said. “Are you involved in the Burke family business?”

Richie smiled a little.

“I’ve told you no before.”

“I know.”

“So I won’t again,” Richie said. “Lemme tell you a story instead. When I graduated high school, my father and my uncle Felix took me out to dinner. My father said to me, ‘You know what we do?’ and I said, ‘Yes.’ And my father said, ‘It’s the life we chose, Felix and me.’ and I said, ‘I know.’ And my father said, ‘It ain’t a very good life. I don’t want you in it.’ Now you have to understand, my father probably said one hundred words to me in my first eighteen years. For him, this was like the Sermon on the Mount. ‘You unnerstand?’ he said. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Awright,’ he said. ‘I want you to go to college, and when you get through, I’ll be able to set you up in some legit part of the, ah, family enterprise.’ And being me, and being eighteen, I say, ‘If I want to.’ And my father looks at Felix and they both smile and my father says to me, ‘You do anything you want that’s legal. Me and Felix can give you a head start, and I don’t see no reason you shouldn’t take it, but that’s up to you.’ ”

“And you never were in the rackets?” I said.

“No,” Richie said, and smiled. “I went to college, and when I graduated, they gave me the saloon as a graduation present, and there hasn’t been an illegal dollar spent there since I owned it.”

I didn’t know what to say. I believed him. Why the hell hadn’t I always believed him? Richie grinned again, thinking back.

“Here’s a nice touch, though. At this same dinner, my father also said to me, ‘Whatever you do, you’re a Burke, and not everybody is going to be your friend. I want you to learn to shoot, and to use your fists.’

“And I said, ‘I already had a few fights in high school.’ And my father smiled at Felix again and said, ‘Yeah, sure. But Felix will teach you how to do it even better. Shooting, too.’ ”

“And did he?” I said.

“Five afternoons a week for a year,” Richie said.

“And he knows a lot,” I said.

“Felix is getting older now, but he could still kill a man with a lollipop,” Richie said.

“And now you know how.”

“I do,” Richie said. “It’s not something you forget. And I practice.”

“But you don’t use the skills.”

“Not yet,” Richie said. “But since we’re talking about this, Sunny, you gotta understand. I come from a family of gangsters and thugs, and I’m neither. On the other hand, I love my family. I will never turn away from them.”

“It’s a fine line,” I said.

“It is,” Richie said. “But it is a line.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me this before?”

“I thought when I said I wasn’t in the business, you should have believed me.”

“You were right,” I said. “I should have. Does your wife know this story?”

“No.”

“Has she met your father and Felix?”

“Just at the wedding,” Richie said. “Neither was carrying a tommy gun.”

“So she doesn’t know what I know,” I said.

“No.”

I was thrilled.

“So,” Richie said. “You need anything?”

“A man named George Markham,” I said, “was shot to death last week in the parking lot in back of the Castle in Park Square.”

Richie nodded.

“Anything I could find out about that, including who did it, would be a great favor.”

Richie nodded again.

“I’ll speak to Uncle Felix,” Richie said. “Felix knows stuff.”

He put his coffee cup on the table and stood up. Rosie jumped down and went to the front door and wagged with her tongue out. I got her leash and gave it to Richie.

“When Rosie’s with me,” Richie said, “it’s like she’s with you.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I love her like you do,” Richie said.

I nodded. Richie opened the door, and Rosie surged through it as far as the leash would let her, and stopped and stood motionless, waiting. Richie looked at me for a minute. Then, with Rosie’s leash looped around his right wrist, he put his arms around me and hugged me. I was rigid for a moment, and then I hugged him back as hard as I could.

“Remember Yogi Berra,” Richie said.

My voice was muffled against his chest.

“It’s never over until it’s over,” I said.

“Something like that,” Richie said.

Then he patted me softly on the back, let go of me, went out the door with Rosie, and closed it behind him. I stood without moving, looking at the door, trying to get enough air.