Cheated By Death (8 page)

“Big deal—I’ve been bugging her to do that
for months.”

Maggie sighed and finished putting the cake
together, dotting the top with goo-covered cherries. It looked like
a picture out of
Gourmet Magazine
, but it wasn’t something I
wanted to eat.

She looked at me with sympathy. “Don’t worry,
I made a nice, boring apple pie for you.”

“Thanks. We can head over as soon as you’re
ready.”

She rinsed her hands, dried them, then
reached for her coat. “I’m ready.”

A minute later we’d crossed the driveway and
I opened the door, letting Maggie in ahead of me. The house
welcomed us. The aroma of roasted turkey was like ambrosia.

Brenda stood at the kitchen counter, slicing
carrots. “Come on in,” she called. Maggie set the cake down on the
counter and stepped forward to give Brenda a hug.

“Gee, you’d think it was months—not
days—since you two last saw each other.”

“Not to mention the fact they’re on the phone
for hours at a time,” Richard said, entering the room. “Hi,
Maggie.” He received a peck on the cheek despite his greeting.
“Who’s thirsty?”

“I am,” Maggie said. “Got any sour mix?”

“Whiskey sour it is,” he said, anticipating
her request.

“Beer for me,” I said.

I watched Richard make the drinks, noticing
he filled a glass with club soda for Brenda.

“Shall we adjourn to the living room?”
Richard asked.

“Sounds good to me.”

“I’ll catch up in a minute. I want to finish
this,” Brenda said. Maggie hung back to help her.

I followed Richard, who set his drink on an
end table by one of the leather wing chairs. He turned on a couple
of lamps while I settled on the far end of the comfortable leather
couch.

I sipped my beer and studied my brother’s
face. “Maggie says something’s going on with you two.”

“She’s very astute.”

“You going to tell me?”

His smile was enigmatic. “Not just yet.”

I took a sip of beer. I don’t like playing
games. But this was his party. They’d probably finalized their
Christmas vacation plans. Some exotic locale, no doubt.

I cleared my throat. “Are we going to the
Bills game next Sunday?” He had season tickets.

“Sure.” Richard sat down, took a sip of his
drink.

Now what could we talk about?

Richard stared into his drink, looking
thoughtful.

“Something wrong?”

“I got a call from an old school friend this
morning. He’s in private practice in Rochester.” He took a sip of
his drink.

“And?” I prompted.

He didn’t look up. “A colleague of ours from
the old days was killed recently. He wondered if I’d heard. The
alumni bulletin will probably mention his passing.”

I got a queasy feeling in my gut, reminding
me of those disturbing dreams I’d been having. “How’d he die?”

“A hunting accident. Marty had a string of
bad luck. His son died in a motorcycle accident last spring, then
his wife was murdered—apparently in a robbery gone wrong. Jim said
Marty had been drinking heavily and quit his job with the
state.”

Giggles from the hallway distracted me.
Richard’s face lit up as Brenda entered the room. Maggie placed a
tray of veggies and dip on the coffee table, settling beside me.
“Dig in,” she said.

“It’s that sun-dried tomato kind you like,”
Brenda told me, taking a carrot and gouging some out of the ceramic
dish. She perched on the arm of Richard’s chair.

I studied the two of them. They looked . . .
smug.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Brenda’s smile was radiant. “We’ve known for
a while, but we didn’t want to say anything.” She looked to
Richard, who nodded for her to continue. “We’re pregnant!”

“I knew it!” Maggie cried and jumped up to
hug Brenda.

I sat there, stunned, my stomach
knotting.

Pregnant. This announcement didn’t bring me
joy—but what I felt was more than simple apprehension. The threat
of HIV hanging over Richard’s head—both their heads.

“Jeff?” Richard prompted.

“I thought you said you guys couldn’t have
sex. Not even with a condom—until six months after—” That terrible
night flashed before my mind’s eye. The shotgun blast—all that
blood. Richard, desperate to save a dying man—with no latex gloves
to protect his bare hands.

“How?” I asked.

“Brenda laughed. “I must’ve become pregnant
just days before our wedding.

In fact, they’d been married five months, but
because of the threat of AIDS, they hadn’t yet consummated their
marriage. And yet Brenda didn’t really look pregnant.

“You could say something positive,” Richard
said, eyeing me.

“Sorry.” I laughed nervously, tipped my beer
bottle in his direction. “Congratulations.” I stood, reached over
to shake his hand. “When?”

“About four months from now,” Brenda
answered.

“You’re almost through the second trimester?
If I gain five pounds—I look it,” Maggie complained.

Brenda smiled. “Hey, I feel every pound of
it.” She patted her belly, her baby bump barely noticeable. “Too
much can go wrong during those few months. And because of Richard’s
situation—” She looked at him, her expression darkening. “I guess I
didn’t want to say anything to jinx myself.”

I choked on my beer as a sick rush of fear
coursed through me. Something told me Brenda would never carry her
baby to term.

I couldn’t stop coughing. Maggie slapped me
on the back and Brenda and Richard were on their feet, clucking
like concerned medical professionals.

“I’m okay,” I rasped, took a few careful
breaths and cleared my throat. Richard scowled but said
nothing.

“Well, if the rest of us can all swallow our
drinks,” Maggie said, glaring at me good-naturedly, “I propose a
toast. To Baby Alpert. Or should that be Baby Stanley-Alpert?”

“One name is enough,” Brenda said.
“Alpert.”

That made Richard smile.

“May he or she be as happy and healthy as we
are tonight,” Maggie finished.

“Hear, hear,” I said, raised my glass, and
hoped to God it would come to pass.

Maggie settled on the couch again. “Have you
picked out names?”

“I’ve been scanning the baby book for
months.” She laughed. “We’ve narrowed it down to maybe twenty.”

“What room will you use as a nursery?”

“Jeffy’s old bedroom,” Brenda said.

“Wonderful. I’ve got scads of ideas for
decorating it.”

“I’ve got to check the turkey. Come on in the
kitchen and tell me,” Brenda said.

Once they left, the silence dragged. I
drained my beer, unsure what to say. Subdued, Richard still worked
on his Manhattan.

I forced a smile. “So, you’re going to be a
daddy?”

“Yeah. If I’m still around when the poor kid
graduates from high school, I’ll be—” He did a little mental
arithmetic and frowned. “Oh, God, sixty-seven.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I thought
Brenda wasn’t interested in having children?”

“She wasn’t interested in getting married,
either. But here we are. It’s a natural progression, isn’t it?”

“How long have you known?”

“Since September. To tell you the truth, I
thought you would’ve guessed—or rather, gotten one of your funny
feelings.”

I thought about it for a moment. “I have been
getting funny feelings about Brenda. But I never put it all
together. Damn slipshod of me.”

“This doesn’t change anything. I mean, I
don’t want to lose what we have. I value your friendship.” He
colored in embarrassment. “I need you—if only to play catch with
the kid when I’m too old.”

Or if he wasn’t there?

I forced a smile. “Thanks.” I leaned back
against the couch. “First I find out my father’s still alive, and I
have a sister I never knew about. Now I’m going to have a little
niece or nephew. Eight months ago I had no family at all.”

“Have you and Maggie thought about getting
married?” he asked.

“That’s rushing it a bit. Besides, Maggie’s
not eager to tie the knot again. Besides, I’m not exactly a
bargain. I can’t support myself, let alone a wife.” Maybe I never
would.

Richard shrugged. “If she wants a family,
time’s getting away from her.”

“It doesn’t matter. She had a hysterectomy
three years ago.”

“Oh—that’s right.” He looked genuinely
sorry.

“I’m sure she’s already plotting how to spoil
your kid. Has Brenda told her family?”

“She called her sister, Evelyn, last night.
I’m not sure the news was well received. Her mother definitely
wouldn’t want to know. And since she gave Willie our address,
Brenda doesn’t want to speak to her anyway.”

I shook my head ruefully. “Life’s too short
for that kind of shit.”

“Tell me about it.” He was quiet for a
moment, then raised his glass. “No more somber talk. This is a
celebration. We’ve—I’ve—got a lot to live for.” He took a sip of
his drink.

Richard’s forced smile only increased the
anchor weight on my soul.

What was I thinking? Thanks to medical
science, being HIV-positive was no longer a death sentence. It was
a big inconvenience to those who suffered from it, but with the
right combination of drugs people like Magic Johnson had survived
well into his second decade of good health.

Still, as I raised my empty glass in salute,
I looked forward to later when I could go back to my own place, and
get blissfully drunk, and not feel so damned responsible for the
coming disaster. Because I couldn’t get over the feeling that
whatever happened to Brenda’s baby would somehow be my fault.

Sophie Levin
wasn’t always home. Late
at night I’d drive by the apartment where she lived above a bakery,
and the place would be dark. If it wasn’t, I’d drop in on my way
home from work and share a cup of coffee or hot chocolate and shoot
the shit with the elderly woman who’d come to be my friend. Much as
I hated the word, I thought of Sophie as my “psychic” mentor. She
saw colors—auras the new-age gurus call them. I tapped into others’
emotions. But we were kindred spirits.

A quick look at my watch confirmed it was
after three. I’d left a sleeping Maggie back at my place and walked
the two miles to Sophie’s place. As anticipated, the light was on
in the shop’s back room. I jogged across Main Street and moments
later rang the bell. Sophie appeared within seconds.

“I’ve been waiting for hours,” she scolded
me. “An old lady like me needs her rest.”

I followed her through the retail shop and
into the back room where she held court. Two cups of steaming cocoa
sat on the scared little card table, along with a plate of
macaroons and a sheaf of paper napkins.

“I just put the marshmallows in. See, they’re
hardly melted.”

I pulled off my jacket. “How’d you know I’d
come by?”

She smiled. “It’s a gift.” She sat down and I
took the seat opposite. “So. Talk,” she said.

I took a sip of cocoa—wishing it was bourbon.
“What do you do when you know something bad will happen to someone
you care about?”

She met my gaze, her smile fading. “You
couldn’t ask an easy question?”

“I’m serious.”

Her gaze was grave. “What is it you
know?”

I told her about my premonition of death for
Brenda’s baby, and the bad feelings I had about the Williamsville
Women’s Health Center.

“Losing a child is probably the worst thing a
woman can experience,” she agreed.

I thought about my mother. Losing Richard had
just about destroyed her. But he’d been a living child.

“You could tell your brother,” Sophie said,
“but it won’t do any good.” She shook her head sadly. “People don’t
like hearing bad news. They blame you, when you have no control of
the future. I tried so many times to warn people—to help. They
resent you. Some hate you for it.”

“I was hoping you’d tell me something
positive.”

“You know what you know. All you can do is be
there and be strong for her—and your brother. Because they will be
devastated.”

I got up, paused at the doorway, and looked
through the shop to the bakery’s empty parking lot beyond. “I don’t
know how or when it’ll happen. She could trip over a stair, have a
miscarriage—it could be stillborn for all I know. I just know there
isn’t going to be a baby.”

“Then you must keep her safe, and be there
for her when she needs you.
You
can give her hope.”

I let out a sigh. “There’s a danger at that
health center. But I’m not sure what.”

“Then perhaps your brother is right. She
should just stop working there.”

“She won’t.”

“She’d believe you if you told her what’s to
come. She knows about these things.”

“Even if she knows, nothing she or I can do
will change the outcome. There will be
no
baby.” I let out a
breath. “Maybe that’s what I really came here to talk about—fate.”
I turned back to face her. “There’s nothing I can do to stop what’s
going to happen. It’s not my fault. Why do I have to suffer with
it? Why do I even have to know?”

Sophie toyed with the paper napkin by her
cup. “You must believe that you
can
make a difference. And
sometimes you have to try to change the world, even when you know
you will fail. Otherwise, the cost would be your soul.”

“I don’t understand.”

She pursed her lips. “I was safe, here in
this country. I had my husband, my children. But I knew war would
tear my homeland apart. My family sacrificed so that I could go
back to Poland to bring my parents to America. I wanted to keep
them safe, even though part of me knew it was hopeless. Once there,
I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t save them from their destiny. My
father died of dysentery in the camp. My mother . . . she died from
the gas. They threw her naked body into the oven. This I saw—and
more. Yet I was spared.” Her voice cracked as tears filled her
eyes.