Lawrence Block - Hope to Die

But, for heaven's sake, you have to knock yourself out to drag down a hundred thousand dollars a year, and how far does that go in New York in the twenty-first century? Any other medical specialty is almost certainly more lucrative. Forget the plastic surgeons, the anesthesiologists. Why, storefront family practitioners can see as many patients in an hour or two as he sees in a week.

A hundred thousand. The big law firms are offering $150,000 to kids fresh out of law school! No, forget the money. You can't do what he does for the money. You have to do it for love.

And that, of course, is where the real money is.

There is an awkward moment when he realizes that Peter has stopped talking, that there is an expectant quality to the silence. Has he been asked a question?

"Hmmm," he says, leaning forward, clearly giving the matter some thought. "Peter, do me a favor. Say that again, word for word, with the same inflection you just used. Can you do that?"

"I can try," Peter says.

And he does, bless him. And it is a question, just as he'd sensed, and Peter, having voiced it a second time, then proceeds to answer it himself. A breakthrough, thanks to his own inspired inattentiveness.

They think he's a genius. And, really, who is he to say they're wrong?

"Peter," he says, "I've been thinking about Kristin."

"Oh."

"I'm sure you've been thinking about her yourself."

"Some."

"Have you had any further contact with her?"

"I called her after what happened. I think I told you about that."

"Yes, I believe you did."

"And I'm glad I did, Doc. It was the decent thing to do. I wanted to, but at first I was, well…"

"Afraid?"

"Yes, sure, let's call it by its right name, huh? Fear. I was afraid."

"Would you like to sit up now, Peter?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Good. Take the chair. You were afraid to call, but you called, and you're glad you did."

"Yes."

He got to his feet, put his hands together, rocked back on his heels. "Peter," he said, "when two people relate in a certain way, when there's a particular magic that they create between themselves, it's really a rather remarkable thing."

"I know."

"I always sensed that magic with you and Kristin."

"So did I, but…"

"But you separated. You went to Williamsburg and she returned to her parents' house."

"Right."

"And that was inevitable. You were committed to the others, to Marsha and Lucian and Kieran and Ruth Ann."

"And to you, don't forget."

"Well," he says. His smile is gentle, self-effacing. "To me insofar as I embody in your mind your own best interests. You and the others shared a goal, and what we determined together was that Kristin did not share that goal."

"Not the way everybody else did."

"The five of you," he says, "are a family, Peter."

"Yes, we are."

"The house is perfect for you. You have a floor, Marsha and Lucian have a floor, Ruth Ann and Kieran have a floor. But you work together, you create this space together."

"Yes."

"As a family."

Family is the magic word; delivered with the right cadence, it can bring Peter almost to tears.

"Kristin had a family of her own," he says, "and she was not ready to change one nest for another. You made the right decision, Peter."

"I know."

"And she made the right decision, too."

"I know that now. I wasn't sure at first, but now I know you're right."

"But her situation has changed."

"Because- "

"Because she lost her family."

"It was a terrible thing."

What a way with words the fellow has! "A terrible thing," he echoes. "What do we get in life, Peter?"

"What do we get?"

"You know the answer, Peter."

"We get what we get."

"Exactly. We get what we get, and what we do with it makes it good fortune or bad. You and Kristin belong together."

"That's what I always thought."

Thought, he notes, rather than think. What's this?

"I think you should call her," he says, pressing. "I think you should visit her, I think you should be with her in her hour of need." Did he really say that? No matter. "You have broad shoulders, Peter, and that's what she needs right now, even as she needs once again to be part of a family."

"But- "

He waits. His hand goes to his throat, and his fingers find the rhodochrosite disc. He strokes it, feels its cool smoothness.

"There's this woman I sort of met, she's a sculptor? She lives on Wythe Avenue in Northside Williamsburg? She's really nice, and her values are the same as mine, as ours, and, and I thought maybe…"

The words trail off. He touches the pink stone disc again, thinks: Clarity. He waits a beat, then says, "Rebound."

"Pardon?"

He's on his feet, pacing, spins around to face Peter Meredith. He says, "Rebound, Peter! You're on the rebound! That's all this is."

"You really think so?"

"I know so. Stand up. Up! Yes. Face me, yes. Now close your eyes. Now hold out both your hands, palms up. All right. Are you ready?"

"Uh, I guess."

"Put your feelings for Kristin in your right hand. Feel the weight, the substance. Do you feel it?"

"Yes."

"Now put whatever it is you feel for this sculptor in your other hand. There! Do you feel the difference?"

"Yes."

"Open your eyes, Peter. Which hand is heavier?"

"This one."

"The body doesn't lie. It feels the weight of one, the lack of substance of the other. Tell me, then. Where is your destiny?"

"With Kristin?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"It's with Kristin."

"What's with Kristin?"

"My destiny."

He goes to him, embraces him. "Peter," he says, "I'm so proud of you. Do you know how proud I am?"

When the door closes he turns the bolt, sighs deeply. He could have killed Peter Meredith, could have reached out and killed him. A sculptor, playing with fucking clay in a Wythe Avenue shithole, someone to share his fucking values.

You have to lead these people every step of the way. Every step of the way!

"What'd be nice," Ira Wentworth said, "is a shred of evidence. Something I could take to a judge and come back with a warrant."

"You want everything handed to you," I said.

"That's me," he said. "Give me the easy ones every time. I remember when my father taught me to play pool. 'Son,' he said, 'always pocket the easy balls. Leave the bank shots and combinations for the boys with rich fathers.' "

"Sound advice."

"Yeah," he said, "but I didn't hear it from my old man, who as far as I know never picked up a pool cue in his life. I heard it from a guy I was playing pool with, right after I missed this three-ball combination." He shook his head ruefully. "It was so pretty I couldn't resist it."

"And you never got over it," I said.

"Never," he said, getting to his feet, "but I'm still young. There's hope. I'm going to start digging, see what I can find on this shrink. Maybe we'll get lucky and there'll be a sheet on him. Maybe I'll ask him where he was yesterday and he'll turn beet-red and blurt out a confession."

We shook hands all around, and he walked off, heading uptown. "He's pretty good," I told T J.

He didn't say anything. I turned and saw him gazing across the street, holding up a hand to shade his eyes against the afternoon sun. "Thought I saw somebody," he said, "but it ain't him."

"Nadler?"

"Ain't never seen him, so how would I know?"

"Then how do you know it's not him?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind," I said. "I'm going home. What about you?"

"Guess I'll go up around Columbia," he said. "Hear what they sayin' 'bout Lia."

I took my time walking home, trying to think of something useful I could do, and when I got there Elaine told me I was just in time.