Tips for Living(80)

Sue Mickelson and her girlfriend remained in their seats, whispering to each other. They finally rose and brought up the rear of the line behind Hugh’s Latina housekeeper and her son. They were the only other people I recognized besides Grace, Tobias and his wife. Where was Abbas? Surely, he’d driven out for this. Who were the rest of these mourners? Granted, it looked as if Tobias meant what he said—“just family and a few local friends.” But not that long ago, I would have known everyone. It was as if the life Hugh and I shared for twelve years had never happened. It had been erased.

Sue Mickelson, towering in high heels, was gazing absently across the room over her girlfriend’s head when she spotted me. I saw her eyes flicker and her expression change. She leaned down and said something to her partner, who turned to look. So did the housekeeper and her son. The couple in front of them began whispering to each other, glancing furtively in my direction. Word traveled down the line. As more heads turned, my face flushed, and my vision clouded with tears. I was shaking with anger. I wanted to scream: “Did any of you people even know Hugh? He would have hated this funeral. He wasn’t religious!”

But I said nothing. I spun around and marched back through the doors and out of the vestibule to wait for Grace in the lot. On the steps I stopped short, still vibrating. Distant voices shouted—probably the press firing off questions around front.

Crawley had moved his squad car directly across the street and was watching me through the opening in the hedges. I wasn’t going to let him gawk anymore. Defiant, I charged over to my car, plunged inside and slammed the door.

Staring savagely at the side of the chapel, I cranked up the heat and switched on the radio. Scary pipe-organ music. I turned it off. In the quiet that followed, I heard a familiar voice torturing the English language.

“You are hearing me now?”

There he was. Abbas Masout rounded the corner on the path that led from the front of the chapel along its side to the parking lot. He spoke into the phone while bending and twisting his torso in search of a better connection.

“Hearing me now?”

He wore a black turtleneck under what looked like a black wool painter’s jacket topped with a black cashmere scarf. The man was elegant.

“Yes, come to memorial service at gallery tomorrow. Three o’clock. I am seeing you then.”

Of course Abbas was going to host the memorial at the gallery. That made sense.

“Sorry, another is calling. I must go. See you tomorrow.”

Abbas switched the phone to his other ear and craned his neck.

“Hello, Anina? Anina, did you get my message? I have tried to reach you. Sorry, I am in Pequod now. Yes. A small service. And Hugh’s brother wants estimation on his paintings, so I stay this afternoon.”

Tobias was already trying to determine what Hugh was worth. Outrageous. But more condemning evidence.

“Yes. Thank you, Anina. I am doing my best. How could I not? But you will come to the memorial tomorrow at the gallery? Good. Then I go to London for some weeks. We will reschedule our meeting after London.”

He leaned too far to the right and nearly lost his balance.

“Hello? Anina? Hello? Agh, shit.”

Abbas continued cursing his dropped call until he saw me through the windshield.

“Nora!”

I pressed the button and my window rolled down.

“Hi, Abbas.”

“My God, Nora.”

He came around to the driver’s side. Then he leaned in the window to look more closely at my face through the rising steam of our breath. It was good to see him.

I wondered what he thought of that brutal eulogy.

“Dear girl, you came. I didn’t see you inside.” He shook his head. “The brother. His talk was terrible, no?”

“Awful,” I agreed.

“You must come to the city tomorrow. We will do a beautiful thing at the gallery at three.”

He began to study me the way I’d seen him evaluate a work of art so many times in the past. Lips pursed. Close-set eyes narrowed and penetrating as he took measure of the painting’s effect on him. Analyzing where it fit into the marketplace and how much he could profit from it.

“You are looking stunning today. Like Cossack princess.”

“Thank you.” I couldn’t help smiling a little inside. Even at a funeral, Abbas’s chauvinism was irrepressible.

He raised an eyebrow. “I think you must have a new man.”

Ben. Our dinner was tonight, and I had so much to tell him. I hoped I’d find the nerve.

“I do.”

“I am happy for you, Nora.” He sighed. “You know my feeling. Hugh should have never let you go. He should have given you a baby. You were good for him.”

So that’s how he saw it. I guess he wasn’t keen on Helene. But what about whether Hugh was good for me?

“Thanks . . . For the record, I was the one who let him go.”

“Ah, of course. Anyway . . .” He trailed off and looked sad. He rubbed his eye. He was starting to cry. “So much history. I see you and I remember. How much time Hugh and I spent together, how much we enjoyed arguing for sport. How he loved my baba ghanoush.” He blinked, fighting back his tears.

“Three, four times a week we were talking. Three, four times a week for all those years. In my mind, I am still speaking with Hugh all the time.”