What Have We Done (47)

“Well, I will. Because here’s the thing: My people all heard the same thing about this chick.”

It’s not like Michael to refer to women in such a way. Jenna listens.

“That she isn’t doing jobs for the money or ideology or the usual reasons.” He pauses. “She’s doing it for the sport.”





CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

DONNIE

A commotion at the front of Philadelphia’s Old Pine Street Church that morning causes mourners to spin around in their pews and the reporters stationed by news vans in the makeshift media village outside to perk up.

Donnie feels the eyes of them all as he’s being forcibly removed by two men in plainclothes identifying themselves as U.S. Marshals.

“Chill,” one of them keeps saying to Donnie, who’s jerking around, shouting, making a spectacle of himself.

“This is not how to respect your friend’s memory,” the other marshal says. They’re holding his arms tight, but there’s no menace in their faces. They’re trying to de-escalate. Maybe it’s because they know cameras are filming them, but he senses that they’re decent dudes and don’t want to arrest him.

He’s already made a fool of himself, so he considers doubling down and fighting more. The hotel minibar had mostly whiskey, which always makes him aggressive for some weird reason. But he releases the tension in his arms, extinguishes any fight left in him. It’s the sadness that ravages him—

not being able to say his piece, his tribute, to the best friend he’s ever had. Not being able to say goodbye to the kid who saved him over and over and over again. From the abuse. From himself.

He’ll never forget Mia’s face, twisted with anger, when she called the marshals over. Worse: Bell’s confused expression, unsure why Uncle Donnie was acting this way.

The two marshals escort him through the massive doors and down the steps of the porticoed entrance. They release him on the brick sidewalk on Pine Street and make clear they’re watching to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.

Donnie retreats. He needs another drink. Needs something to stop this pain in his heart.

He walks down Pine and into the cemetery. It’s an old one with headstones so ancient they’re covered in moss, the inscriptions worn off.

When he and Benny were kids, they’d play kick the can at the old cemetery in Chestertown.

They’d hide behind the tombs and in the overgrown weeds. The graveyard was nothing like this one with its well-maintained grounds. A good number of the Chestertown tombstones were kicked over or covered with graffiti. He remembers that Annie was superstitious and wouldn’t play there. She’d do this funny thing where she’d hold her breath when they’d walk past the cemetery, as if a spirit might get inside her if she breathed in.

Why does everything remind him of that time in his life? Of Benny and the kids at Savior House?

It starts to rain, which is about right.

Donnie hears someone call his name. More with the “Mr. Danger” nonsense. The rain is matting his hair on his face, and he brushes it aside with his hand.

An unfamiliar young woman with a large black umbrella approaches. She’s dressed in matching black with a strand of pearls laced around her delicate neck and seems to have followed him out of the church.

She looks him directly in the eyes, projecting what seems to be empathy. “I’m sorry about what happened at the service.” She glances back to the scene of Donnie’s latest humiliation. “The judge wouldn’t have liked that.” She pauses, explains, “I’m Zola. I was Judge Wood’s law clerk.”

Donnie stands there in the rain, not sure what there is to say.

“He talked about you a lot.” The young woman gives a tentative smile.

This surprises Donnie for some reason, the thought of Benny talking about him to his law colleagues. Donnie’s always assumed that he was a secret, an embarrassment to Benny.

The woman continues, “He told us how the first thing you did after your record became a hit was pay his college tuition.”

Donnie feels a tear spill from his eye. Remembering Benny protesting about the money—he was so proud and wanted to make it on his own steam. Donnie insisted, saying, Better the money goes to your education than up my nose. He was only half kidding, but he thinks it’s the reason Benny accepted the gift.

“He had your first album framed in chambers. A photo of you both when you were boys,” Zola says.

This nearly levels him.

Now Zola’s eyes well up. “He called me that day.”

Donnie studies her. What day? he wonders. The day Ben was killed?

“He made me promise that if anything happened to him I’d tell you something. I told the FBI about it, but I don’t know if they told you, so I wanted to…” Her voice trails off.

The hairs rise on Donnie’s arms and the back of his neck. His eyes tell her to continue.

“He said to say you’re the bravest person he’s ever met. His brother…”

“… from another mother,” Donnie says, finishing the familiar sentence.

Zola offers a sad smile.

Donnie’s chest shudders. Tears mix freely with the rain on his face.

“And he said—and I didn’t understand this part—but he said you would.”