The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry(47)

Many years after Daniel Parish’s death and a half hour after Chief’s Choice, Lambiase decides enough time has passed to make a particular inquiry of A.J. “I hate to overstep here, but would you check if your sister-in-law is interested in going on a date with a not-bad-looking law enforcement officer?”

“To whom are you referring?”

“Me. I was kidding about the not-bad-looking part. I know I’m not exactly the blue-ribbon cow.”

“No, I meant who do you want me to ask. Amelia is an only child.”

“Not Amelia. I mean, your ex-sister-in-law, Ismay.”

“Oh, right. Ismay.” A.J. pauses. “Ismay? Really? Her?”

“Yeah, I’ve always kind of had a thing for her. Going way back to high school. Not that she ever noticed me very much. I figure none of us is getting any younger, so I should take my chances now.”

A.J. calls Ismay on the phone and makes the request.

“Lambiase?” she asks. “Him?”

“He’s a good guy,” A.J. says.

“It’s only . . . well, I’ve never dated a police officer before,” Ismay says.

“That’s starting to sound awfully snobbish.”

“I don’t mean to sound that way, but blue-collar men have never been my type.”

And that worked out so well with you and Daniel, A.J. thinks but does not say.

“Of course, my marriage was a disaster,” Ismay says.

SEVERAL EVENINGS LATER, she and Lambiase are at El Corazon. She orders the surf and turf, and a gin and tonic. No need to put on a show of femininity as she suspects there won’t be a second date.

“Good appetite,” Lambiase comments. “I’ll have the same.”

“So,” Ismay says, “what do you do when you aren’t being a cop?”

“Well, believe it or not,” he says shyly, “I read a lot. Maybe you wouldn’t think it’s that much. I know you teach English.”

“What do you read?” Ismay asks.

“Little bit of everything. I started with crime novels. Pretty predictable that, I guess. But then A.J. got me into other kinds of books, too. Literary fiction, I think you’d call it. Some of it doesn’t have enough action for my taste. Kind of embarrassing, but I like young adult. Plenty of action there and feelings, too. I also read whatever A.J.’s reading. He’s partial to short stories—”

“I know.”

“And whatever Maya’s reading, too. I like talking about books with them. They’re book people, you know. I also host a book group for the other cops. Maybe you’ve seen the signs for the Chief’s Choice?”

Ismay shakes her head.

“Sorry if I’m talking too much. I’m nervous, I guess.”

“You’re fine.” Ismay sips her drink. “Did you ever read any of Daniel’s books?”

“Yeah, one. The first one.”

“Did you like it?”

“Not my cup of tea. It was very well written, though.”

Ismay nods.

“Do you miss your husband?” Lambiase asks.

“Not really,” she says after a bit. “His sense of humor sometimes. But the best parts of him were in his books. I suppose I could always read those if I missed him too much. I haven’t wanted to read one yet, though.” Ismay laughs a little.

“What do you read, then?”

“Plays, the odd bit of poetry. Then there are the books I teach every year: Tess of the d’Urbervilles, Johnny Got His Gun, A Farewell to Arms, A Prayer for Owen Meany, some years Wuthering Heights, Silas Marner, Their Eyes Were Watching God, or I Capture the Castle. Those books are like old friends.

“When I’m choosing something new, though, something just for myself, my favorite kind of character is a woman in a faraway place. India. Or Bangkok. Sometimes she leaves her husband. Sometimes she never had a husband because she knew, wisely, that married life would not be for her. I like when she has multiple lovers. I like when she wears hats to block her fair skin from the sun. I like when she travels and has adventures. I like descriptions of hotels and suitcases with stickers on them. I like descriptions of food and clothes and jewelry. A little romance but not too much. The story is period. No cell phones. No social networking. No Internet at all. Ideally, it’s set in the 1920s or the 1940s. Maybe there’s a war going on, but it’s just a backdrop. No bloodshed. Some sex but nothing too graphic. No children. Children often spoil a story for me.”

“I don’t have any,” Lambiase says.

“I don’t mind them in real life. I just don’t want to read about them. Endings can be happy or sad, I don’t care anymore as long as it’s earned. She can settle down, maybe open a little business, or she can drown herself in the ocean. Finally, a nice-looking jacket is important. I don’t care how good the insides are. I don’t want to spend any length of time with an ugly object. I’m shallow, I guess.”

“You are one heck of a pretty woman,” Lambiase says.

“I’m ordinary,” she says.

“No way.”

“Pretty is not a good reason to court someone, you know. I have to tell that to my students all the time.”

“This from the woman who doesn’t read the books with the ugly covers.”