Cheated By Death Read Free

antiques;
he’s white, she’s black. She would’ve made one helluva Boy Scout:
loyal, trustworthy and sometimes she’s got the gift of second
sight. Not like me, but she’s a kindred spirit. Most important,
she’s family.
    When she came back, she took plates out of
the cupboard while I gathered a knife, spatula and napkins, and
Richard poured a caffeine-free Coke for her and got me a beer. We
sat at the table, each taking a slice of pizza.
    “Did you tell him?” Brenda asked, and took a
big bite.
    “I completely forgot,” Richard said. “I saw
your father today.”
    Every muscle in my body tensed. “And?”
    “When I told him who I was, he cried.
Apparently he has a lot of regrets.”
    Was I one of them?
    “He didn’t know you were back in Buffalo,”
Richard continued.
    “How’d he know I ever left?”
    Richard shrugged. “He knew you were in the
Army, and that you’d lived in New York. He even knew your wife was
murdered. He seemed to know more about your past than I do.”
    I wasn’t sure how to react to that—anger came
close. “Then why didn’t he ever contact me? Why—?”
    “I don’t know. But he wants you to call him.”
Richard reached into his pocket and withdrew a slip of paper.
    Spidery handwriting noted my father’s name,
address and phone number.
    “He said he goes to bed around nine-thirty,
so if it isn’t convenient tonight you can call him after eight
tomorrow morning.”
    I didn’t know if I wanted to call him,
let alone when.
    I stuffed the paper in my pocket and turned
my attention to the pizza on my plate. Too many things crowded my
brain. Too many conflicting emotions threatened to choke me.
    Richard and Brenda ate in awkward silence for
a minute or two. I sipped my beer and tried not to think. Finally,
Richard broke the quiet. “Peterson is out for the next six weeks.
They asked me to cover for him.”
    Brenda looked up. “Oh, hell.”
    “Who’s Peterson?” I asked.
    “One of the clinic doctors. He broke his leg
rollerblading with his son over the weekend.” He looked at Brenda.
“I’m going to need some serious time off by Christmas. How about a
trip?”
    “The Quebec Winter Carnival is in January,”
she said.
    He nodded. “Maybe.”
    Despite talk of vacation plans, the tension
seemed to grow. I pretended not to notice.
    “Jeffy,” Brenda said casually. “Can you drive
me to the clinic tomorrow?”
    I swallowed. “Sure. Is the car acting
up?”
    She shook her head. “I’d just feel better if
I didn’t park it in the lot for a while. There’s been some
trouble.”
    Richard looked up. “Oh?”
    “The protesters,” she said offhandedly, and
got up to refill her glass, but even across the room I could feel
her anxiety rise.
    “I thought things were better,” Richard said.
He turned his attention to me. “Eat.”
    “I thought so, too,” she said, “but they’re
hanging in there. Today they started chanting like monks. It’s
unnerving,” she said, not facing him.
    The two of them had started out volunteering
together at the hospital’s clinic, but since mid-summer Brenda had
worked several days a week at a women’s health center where the
occasional abortion was performed. That didn’t set well with some
of the area’s religious zealots. For Brenda to even mention it
meant she was concerned.
    Though there hadn’t been a major incident in
Buffalo in the years since Dr. Barnett Slepian was murdered,
Amherst still seemed to be the focus of the pro-life movement in
this part of the state.
    “We’ve talked about this before. It’s time
you quit,” Richard said.
    “What I do is important.”
    He let out a long breath, and I wished I
wasn’t sitting in the middle of a discussion I’d heard too many
times.
    “Yes, it is,” Richard agreed. “But you don’t
need the money, or the aggravation—especially now.”
    She looked away. “It’s only until they find
someone to replace me.”
    “Do you promise?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    They both