Do Not Go Gentle (20 page)

“Then what
is
the answer?” Eileen cried. “We don't have enough money coming in. I don't know how much more plainly I can put it. We're nearly broke, Jamie.” She took the forms from his hand. “Filing for disability is one of the only options we have left.”

“I don't want to file for disability, damn it.”

“Don't swear at me. I'm not the problem here.”

“And I am?”

Eileen slammed the forms down on the desk. “No, you exasperating man. The fact that you're
sick
and they can't find an
answer
is the problem. All we can do is make the best of a bad situation.”

They stared at each other for several seconds. Jamie and Eileen did not fight often, but like any married couple, they had their moments. Finally, Jamie sighed and rubbed his eyes. Then he put his hand over Eileen's. “I'm sorry, my love. I truly am. You're right, of course. We don't have a choice, but these forms—there are so damned many of them. Fill in this, attach that, get a notarized statement from each of your physicians, your pharmacists, your family, your neighbors, everyone you feckin' know.”

Eileen chuckled. “It's bad, love, but not quite that bad. Nor do I think we have to do this alone.” She took both of Jamie's hands in hers. “I was talking to Roxanne yesterday about our situation.”

“You told her about our finances?”

“Peace, man. Of course I didn't tell her any specifics, but Jamie Griffin, if you think it's a state secret that you're sick and we're in a bad way, I've got some very disappointing news for you, my dear.” When Jamie had the good grace to be abashed, she continued. “Roxanne talked with Bill, and he has a suggestion.” Bill Murphy was an attorney who lived next door with his wife and two children. Their eldest, Jennifer, was the same age as Caitlin, and the two girls were close friends. Consequently, Eileen and Roxanne had become close over the years, as had Jamie and Bill. “Bill said to tell you that there are attorneys who will take cases like this on a contingency basis.”

“A contingency basis?” Jamie asked. “Meaning we don't pay anything up front?”

“Correct, and if they don't win, we don't pay the attorney anything at all.”

“And if we do win?”

“Then we pay the attorney a percentage of whatever disability benefits you receive.”

“How much of a percentage?”

“Anywhere from a quarter to a third of the benefits they obtain for us.”

“Are you feckin' serious?” Jamie shook his head. “No way. I'm not going to give up that much money to some shyster.”

Eileen slapped her hand down on the forms again. “So you'll fill these out then? You'll make arrangements with the doctors, the insurance companies, the pharmacy, everyone required to fill out these forms in order to file for disability benefits? Can you then also deal with the legal tangle of requirements the disability insurance company will throw in your face once you do file these forms?”

Jamie sat in silence for several minutes. Eileen waited him out. She knew they had reached a point where she could no longer prod him. He would have to take the final step himself. Finally, Jamie exhaled loudly. “No, of course not. We both know I couldn't have done that even when I wasn't sick.”

Eileen put her hand on his cheek and raised his face. “I know that, sweetheart. I know. That's why I insisted that we sit down and hash this out. We can't afford to wait and see what happens any longer. It would be different if any of the doctors had an answer or even an idea. We might be able to buy time once they started working on curing you, but they have nothing, and it leaves us with no choice. If we file for disability and get it, then they finally figure out what's wrong with you in six months or a year, you could go back to work. I'm sure the insurance company would be perfectly happy to stop paying benefits. Two-thirds of something is better than one hundred percent of nothing.”

Jamie smiled weakly. “You're right. As always, you're right.”

Eileen smiled back. “I'm not always right, you big idjit. I'm just never wrong, even when I am.”

They both laughed and hugged each other. Then Jamie nodded. “Alright then. I'll call Bill and get some names of disability attorneys.”

Jamie watched as Eileen got up and walked out of the room. He picked up the phone to call his friend, but paused before punching any buttons.
It's all coming true,
he thought bitterly.
Every feckin' thing from my nightmare. My life is coming apart at the seams and there's not a thing I can do about it.
Jamie entered Murphy's phone number and waited for an answer.

* * * *

Riona Griffin let herself out of the house early on a cool, crisp October Saturday morning. She was going to a neighborhood clean-up project sponsored by her teen group, Sheret. Normally, she would have bounced into her parents' room and insisted that someone get up and drive her to her meeting place. However, things were far from normal in their household.

Parents often think that children are unaware of adult problems. Nothing could be further from the truth. While children sometimes missed minor things, they were, by nature, curious, and even minor events rarely escaped their attention. While Riona and Caitlin did not get along well, they were still sisters, and they were both worried about their father and the situation in which the family had found itself. Consequently, they had been walking on eggshells, and by unspoken mutual assent, they also put aside their own sororal squabbles in the face of the more serious problems facing their family.

Riona was meeting Peter Franklin, a neighborhood boy Riona's age. Even though he attended BC High (an all-boy school) and Riona attended Elizabeth Seton (an all-girl academy), the fact that they only lived three houses apart on their street helped to offset the fact that they attended different schools. Peter's mom, Angela, was one of her mom's best friends, so Peter and Riona had grown up playing together. They had begun drifting apart until they both found themselves participating in Sheret. They were not as close as they once were, but still comfortable enough to agree to ride together on the T to their meeting place.

When she reached his house, Riona saw that Peter was waiting on his front porch. Tall for his age, about six feet, Peter was slender and dark skinned. While there were not a large number of African-Americans in their section of Dorchester, they weren't an oddity either. Peter's mom, Angela, was Cape Verdean, but very dark skinned.

“Hey,” she said in a non-committal greeting.

“‘Sup?” Peter replied.

“Same old. How about you?”

Peter shook his head. “Just trying to keep my head above water at school.”

They walked in silence for a while, then he asked, “How's your dad, Ri?”

Riona sighed. “The same—still the same.”

“Bummer. Everything okay in your house?”

After a few moments, she said, “It's tense, but we're getting by.”

“Sorry, Ri,” Peter said. “I really am.”

“I know,” Riona replied. “Let's do our thing today and let me get my mind off it.”

“Sure.”

They walked, and then rode in silence to their meeting place, a park not too far north of the JFK/UMass T stop. It wasn't the greatest section of town, but during the daytime, it was no big deal for two people to walk. They reached the park without incident and split up without another word to join their respective groups of friends. It wasn't like they were ashamed to be seen with each other, they just moved in different circles.

Riona bounded to greet her friend, Kelly O'Toole. Like Riona, Kelly was a musician and a basketball player. “Hey, Skins.” she said gaily. Kelly played the drums.

Kelly was about Riona's height, and the two girls looked a lot alike. In fact, they sometimes convinced unsuspecting teachers that they were sisters. “Hey, Windbag.” Since, like her mother, Riona played clarinet, Kelly called her windbag, a wordplay of woodwind.

Sylvia Turner, a middle-aged woman who reminded Riona of a school librarian was the Sheret group leader. She handed them litterbags, gloves and litter sticks. “Here you go, ladies,” she said far too cheerfully. “Let's go have some fun, shall we?”

As the woman left to torment other volunteers, Riona glared at her while putting on her gloves. “I may be cheerful in the morning, but she's just putting on an act.”

“I know, right?” agreed Kelly. The two girls slung the litterbags over their shoulders and walked off together into the park. Their group had volunteered to clean up the park as one of their community service projects. Kelly made a face as they approached a pile of garbage. “Some people are
such
pigs, I swear.” She stabbed a moldy, half-eaten sandwich with the litter stick and placed it carefully in her bag.

Despite the gross nature of much of what they collected, the work went quickly. The girls had several classes together as well as band and basketball, so they chatted as they worked. Just after lunchtime, Ms. Turner blew a loud whistle, calling them back to a large black and white van parked near the center of the park. They gathered to dump their trash into central containers and to get some lunch—soda, sandwiches, and chips provided by Sheret. The day had warmed up and it was pleasant sitting on the grass in the sunshine, eating and relaxing.

They had finished their lunch and were turning in their supplies. The park was large, but with the dozen or so kids involved in the project, it had not taken too long to police it. Riona and Kelly chatted a little while longer as the group dispersed. Peter Franklin drifted toward the girls as his friends took off in their own directions. Then, Riona heard her name, “Riona.”

“Oh, wonderful,” she muttered under her breath to Peter. It was Ms. Turner.

“Riona. Come over here please. There's someone I'd like you to meet.”

“Just shoot me now,” Riona whispered, but turned and displayed a bright smile as she walked to the group leader, beside the van. There was a short, slender man with dark hair and a beard standing and talking with Ms. Turner. Riona didn't recall having seen him around before.

“Riona,” said Sylvia Turner. “Riona, you may not be aware of this, but Sheret actually belongs to a much larger group.”

“Really?” Riona tried to make it sound like she was interested.

“Yes, it's a very worthwhile group, and I'd like you to meet the head of that group.” Ms. Turner's face lit up oddly, as if she felt like she were in the presence of some celebrity. “Riona, this is
Kohen
ibn Ezra, the head of the Disciples of Endor. Sheret is one of their many outreach groups.”

“Pleased to meetcha,” mumbled Riona, shaking hands with the man.

ibn Ezra gazed at her frankly, in a way that made Riona uncomfortable. “It is I who am pleased to meet you, Ms. Griffin,” he replied, holding her hand just a moment too long for Riona's liking.

“I was telling
Kohen
ibn Ezra about what a wonderful, hard-working volunteer you are.”

“No big deal,” Riona demurred.

“Oh, but it is a big deal, Ms. Griffin,” protested ibn Ezra. “We find so many young people unwilling to spend their time in service to others. Ms. Turner has mentioned you to me as someone who might be willing to assume additional responsibilities within Sheret.”

“Additional responsibilities?” Riona asked warily.

“Nothing too arduous, I can assure you,” ibn Ezra said with a laugh that sounded even more fake than Ms. Turner's. “As you know, we have team leaders within Sheret, and Ms. Turner has put you forward as someone suited to filling such a role.”

“Really?” Riona couldn't stop herself from blurting out the word, disbelief and all.

“Don't act so surprised, Riona,” scolded Sylvia Turner in a light-hearted tone. “You shouldn't sell yourself short. You're a valuable asset to us, and I can't think of anyone more qualified for the position than you.”

Riona struggled for the right words. “Well, I'm honored, but I'll have to check with my parents first. They don't like me making commitments without their permission.”

“As it should be. I understand completely,” said ibn Ezra. “I don't think it will require a great deal more of your time—it will just be some additional responsibilities when you work with us.”

“Okay, well, like I said, let me talk it over with my folks.”

“No problem. Just let Ms. Turner know what you decide. It was nice meeting you, Ms. Griffin.” To Riona's relief, he didn't try to shake hands again. She turned and walked away with Peter.

Once they had left, Achan ibn Ezra turned to Sylvia Turner. “She is the daughter of Jamie Griffin, the police detective?”

Sylvia Turner's face lit up with surprise. “Why, yes. Do you know Detective Griffin?”

ibn Ezra smiled coldly, but Sylvia Turner didn't notice. “Only in passing. I'm sure he doesn't even recall meeting me,” ibn Ezra lied smoothly, “but I am pleased to meet his daughter. Keep me posted on her progress—she seems to have a great deal of promise.” He turned and walked away, pleased to be able to tell the Qedesh that he had access to one of the troublesome detective's daughters.
I would imagine this will be a most excellent pressure point,
he thought smugly.
Most excellent.