Best Place to Die (16 page)

‘Is this Jimmy Olsen?' she quipped, seeing Lil's name on the caller ID.

‘That's who I feel like,' she said. ‘Where are you?'

‘Costco, figured I'd stock up, and then try to do a walk-through late this afternoon in Mom's place and Alice's as well.'

‘They're going to let you in?'

‘I got through to Kyle and he said that on an apartment-by-apartment basis they're going to let families and residents do a quick go-through and see if there's anything they can salvage. I'm also hoping to do some insurance photos. He doesn't think the Fire Marshall's going to want people in there for more than fifteen or twenty minutes. I'm not looking forward to it.'

‘Ada, I hate to add to that . . . but I need your help.'

‘Of course.' She listened as Lil told her about being the first on the scene of Wally Doyle's suicide. ‘How horrible.' There was a pause, and for a moment Ada wondered if the connection had been broken. ‘Lil?'

‘It is horrible,' she finally said. ‘And there's something wrong with me. Oh my God.'

‘What?' Ada asked, pushing her cart out of the way of another shopper who wanted her share of spinach pies.

‘Ada, he's dead, probably killed himself and all I can think about is being the first with the story. That's why I called you, I need you to come over here and get my camera, then pick out the best shots and get them to the paper.'

Ada smiled, loving the excitement in Lil's voice, her confusion, her passion. And then she looked up. ‘Damn!' Rose and Alice were no longer in sight, likely having been cut off at the dumpling station. ‘Lil, there's nothing wrong with you, other than we've both been going with too little sleep since the fire. Whatever emotions you need to feel about a man you barely knew killing himself will come. Don't feel guilty about this, or about getting this story.' Ada thought of Lil, how she'd looked that morning as she'd brought her her tea, so excited, giving her a quick peck on the cheek and then off to write. ‘People can live their entire lives without real passion, or, if they find it, they somehow manage to run away from it, or snuff it out. The one thing we know for certain – and Lord knows we've seen enough of it lately – life is short.'

‘It is,' Lil said. ‘So I'm not a total ghoul?'

‘I didn't say that, but a ghoul with a passion.' She added, lowering her voice, ‘My ghoul.'

‘So that's what they were singing.' Referring to The Temptations' classic.

‘Yes, Lil,' she said and, catching the allusion, sang a quick line in a pitch-perfect alto: ‘
Talking
'
bout my ghoul
. . . let me round up Aaron and the ladies and I'll get there as quick as I can.' She hung up, glanced at the time, and, seeing none of her companions, dialed Aaron. ‘We need to move fast,' she said. ‘Find my mother and Alice and meet me at the checkout.'

‘But . . .'

‘Aaron, no buts, we've got a ton of things to do this afternoon, and I need your help. Please, just find them.'

Putting her weight into it, she maneuvered the heavy cart toward the front of the cavernous store. As she made a wide left, she saw Alice and Rose in a crowded throng around the kiosk for David's Cheesecake. ‘Mom,' she shouted, as the cart picked up speed. ‘Alice.'

Her mother, whose hearing aides had been lost in the fire, didn't budge as she pointed to a berry-topped custard tart, and indicated she wanted two samples. Alice waved. ‘Hello, dear.'

Ada, unable to halt the forward momentum of the laden cart, yelled back, ‘Alice, time to go home.' Seeing that didn't have the desired effect, she added, ‘Let's see Johnny.' Moving a bit too fast now, it took all her strength to keep from hitting other shoppers or veering into a mountainous display of men's bathing suits. Digging in with her heels she slowed the cart, and, like a plane coming for landing, approached the shortest check out. The line moved fast, and, while waiting, she dialed Aaron again. ‘I'm in check out
now
! Your great-grandmother and Alice are at the cheesecake booth. We need to move.'

‘But they have the newest
World of Warcraft
and the price is better . . .'

‘Fine,' she said, knowing a shake down when she heard it. ‘Just get here, and bring Alice and Rose.'

‘Thanks, Grandma.'

Looking at her cart, food to last a family for a month and some basic clothes for Rose and Alice, she rethought all that needed to get done.
Pick up Lil's camera, have Aaron load the pictures on the computer, email them to the paper, drop off and put away groceries, stop at the post office and try to track down Rose and Alice's mail and do change-of-address forms, locate Rose's insurance policy . . . probably can do that online.
And, thinking that if she didn't despise Jack –
yes Ada, be honest you can't stand your son-in-law
– he could be helpful with the whole insurance claim thing considering it was his company that had Rose's policy. Putting her smaller items on the belt, and leaving the larger ones in the cart with the bar codes facing up, she spotted her companions. ‘Tremendous,' she muttered, seeing that Aaron wasn't the only one taking advantage of her urgency. He had in fact found her mother and Alice, and they in turn had decided the strapping seventeen year old made a good cheesecake-carting Sherpa.

‘Did you get one of each?' Ada asked, as the stack of six oversized cake boxes landed on the conveyor belt, topped by a chit that the cashier handed to her assistant for Aaron's pricey – albeit discounted – video game.

‘They're delicious,' Rose said, and added, whilst smiling at her daughter, ‘Almost as good as the ones I got at Katz's . . . 'course I can't do that any more. Because someone insisted I move out of my perfectly lovely apartment into . . .'

‘Fine, mother,' she said, wondering if between her and Lil's freezers they'd be able to store it all.

‘I want to go home,' Alice said.

‘We're going home,' Ada replied, trying to keep an eye on the flashing prices as the checkout woman scanned the bar codes. As she reached into her bag for her purse, her cell went off again. ‘Aaron, can you get that?'

‘Sure.' He took the phone.

She swallowed at the total.
$578.98? And over a hundred bucks in cheesecake.
Giving her mother a quick look.
Of course, cheesecake is delicious.
She handed over her American Express. As her goods were arranged into the cart, she caught part of Aaron's conversation. ‘Who is it?' she asked.

‘It's Kyle, he says that if we want to get into Rose and Alice's apartments we need to get there ASAP.'

‘What?' she said, taking her receipt. ‘Aaron, you push this thing, and let me have the phone.'

‘Kyle, it's Ada Strauss, what's going on?'

‘I just wanted you to know,' he said, sounding exhausted. ‘They're letting a few people back into their apartments accompanied by fire fighters. I got clearance for both my grandma and Rose, but this is a time-limited offer. I overheard some guy from the insurance company telling the Fire Marshall his company wouldn't take any responsibility for injuries incurred as a result of people getting hurt. It's now or never for trying to retrieve anything.'

‘We'll be there,' Ada said. And, feeling like a contestant on some bizarre game of
Beat the Clock
, told Aaron, ‘Let's move.' She then realized her mother and Alice had strayed. She spotted them at the pizza window, ‘Ladies,' she shouted, ‘we're leaving, now!'

A
n hour later at Nillewaug, Ada's son-in-law and Aaron's father, Jack Gurston, couldn't have been in a worse mood. ‘Moron!' Needing to get away from that dolt of a Fire Marshall. His eyes, red rimmed from smoke and ash, seemed set to pop from his harshly angled face, as he sat in the back of his Lexus, his navy suit reeking from burned plastics and accelerant. As a senior adjuster for The Clarion his primary objective was to contain the insurance company's exposure. But this . . . a nightmare and the kind of thing that could lose him his job if he weren't careful.
Moron, what the hell is he doing letting civilians back into that place? One fall and . . .
He knew he needed some rest, but what he needed and what The Clarion expected – although his Vice-President boss would never say it out loud – is get the job done and minimize The Clarion's payout.

And that's when he saw them.
‘Fuck no!' Wondering if it was possible for things to get worse, but there his interfering bitch of a mother-in-law, her mother – whom he didn't mind so much – some old redhead in green sweats, and Aaron. His jaw tightened and he shut his eyes, the familiar rage always so close.
My son the fag. How could he do that to me? Not my son.
He knew that Rose lived here, at least she used to, so they wanted to get back in. Of course, and wouldn't it be great if the one who had a fall was his relative? Maybe his fag son. Wouldn't that look great? He glared at the quartet who were all clutching empty black garbage bags. They were headed toward a side entrance, like they were planning to just waltz back in. Moron Fire Marshall probably said it was OK. Or, thinking of Ada, who had no respect for how things were supposed to be, just assumed she could do whatever the hell she liked.

He shut his laptop and yanked open the car door, his long legs pumping fast as he broke into a jog and headed them off. ‘What are you doing here?' Spittle flew from his mouth.

Ada turned, and Aaron's head shot around like he'd been struck.

Jack was breathing heavily, meeting Ada's witchy blue eyes. His gaze raked over Aaron, not wanting even to look at his son. The last words he'd said to him: ‘
You disgust me.
' ‘What the hell do you think you're doing here?' he repeated.

It was Rose who spoke, her pale blue eyes looking up at him. ‘Hello, Jack. I'm so glad you're here.' No irony in her voice. ‘We were told we had a few minutes to go back and try to get . . .'

He stared at his wife's grandmother who he knew was in her nineties – the only decent member of the family. She so reminded him of his own grandmother, dead for over twenty years and one of the few people who he knew without doubt had loved him. ‘I'm so sorry, Rose.' Realizing, through his layers of exhaustion, just how devastating this must be for her. He looked at the pathetic black plastic bags she was holding, obviously with the intent of retrieving what little she could of her possessions. Having been to hundreds of fires he knew that going back in the day after was fairly standard, unless the structure was unstable. Having already been through the building, he knew the concrete and steel infrastructure would not collapse, which might have made his job easier. What was driving him absolutely mad was the level of chaos. Rescue workers, fire fighters, boneheaded volunteers from half a dozen agencies, and cops – local, state, and in the past hour Feds in unmarked cars and dark suits. He'd practically screamed at the Fire Marshall, ‘
Who's in charge, here?
'

To be met by the man's infuriating answer: ‘
Depends who you talk to.
'

‘You shouldn't go in alone,' he said, keeping his eyes on Rose. Knowing that to look at either Aaron or Ada would make things worse.
In fact
, he decided,
pretend they're not there.

‘Would you come with us?' Rose asked. ‘The firemen all seem so busy, and you look like you belong.'

He sighed, realizing she was right. That with his Clarion ID tag around his neck, no one would bother him. ‘OK,' he said, knowing that if he didn't, word would get back to Susan, not that she'd say anything, just more of his wife's silent martyrdom. ‘But just fifteen minutes.'

‘In each of their apartments,' Ada said.

‘Fine.' He gave her the briefest glance, noting she looked different from the last time he'd seen her, not quite able to put his finger on it, and really not caring. And then a quick look at Aaron. The kid looked healthy, tall, too good looking –
a fag.
He turned his back not wanting to drag this on a second longer than necessary, just get in, get out, and try to get through the day.

Inside Rose's apartment, Ada was shocked at the devastation, and wondered how her mother was holding up.
Horrible.
She stared at the wall of framed family photos that months earlier she and Aaron had hung. Most of the glass now shattered, the images obscured by smoke, as her mind put names to the filthy faces. Tears streamed as she pushed the ruined sofa – one she'd known her entire life – against the wall so she could get to the pictures.

‘Let me help you.' Aaron grabbed the other end, and then scrambled up and plucked the pictures from their hooks.

‘We should have brought gloves,' she said, her hands covered in ash, jagged glass everywhere. Looking back she saw Jack, tall as his son, helping Rose retrieve her important papers from a metal filing cabinet that had swelled in the heat; the drawers not opening. In spite of herself, grateful for his somber presence. Noting how he wouldn't even look at Aaron, but he was helping, and right now that mattered. He was even being kind to Alice, who stood still in the middle of Rose's destroyed living room, occasionally asking, ‘Are we going home?'

‘What are the chances he'd be here?' Aaron whispered as he wrapped pictures in filthy towels from the kitchen and gingerly layered them into his garbage bag.

Ada nodded, her thoughts skittering over the enormity of what had happened and what lay ahead. ‘At least she wasn't hurt . . . not physically.' Her eyes wandering over her mother's possessions. Everything here having been selected from her Rivington Street apartment. Every dish, every vase, every piece of furniture connected to stories. The shattered Royal Doulton compote, with its scenes from Dickens, had been a wedding present. A clumsy ceramic pin tray made by Aaron's sister, Mona, in the fourth grade – she'd meant for it to be a mermaid, but the gaudily glazed lump, now blackened, looked like some horror show fish monster with breasts. It was of no intrinsic value, but Ada picked it up. ‘I think this will wash clean.' And taking a ruined afghan that Rose had made from off her favorite arm chair, she carefully wrapped it.