Just One Night Together (Flatiron Five Fitness #3) - Deborah Cooke Page 0,79
and told herself that was all she’d expected.
Had he booked a memorial service for his mom? Haley hoped so, but she wasn’t going to phone him to find out.
“We might be moving,” she told Ninja. He jumped up and strolled toward her, winding his way around her ankles, then looking up at her before meowing again. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave you.” She reached down and was surprised he didn’t move away. She rubbed behind his ears and he closed his eye, leaning into it for a moment. He even purred a bit, his tail flicking.
Haley crouched down to give him a good rub. “I’ll go down and ask the super to look in on you, make sure there’s fish in your dish. But I’m coming back. If I go to Illinois, we go together.” He meowed his approval of that, then gave her one of his intent looks, as if to say that he’d hold her to it.
When he jumped up and went to his favorite perch on the window sill, Haley went down to talk to the super.
Nathan Buchanan was grabbing a bagel on his way out the door to work. His mom was at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper while she finished her second cup of coffee. He couldn’t understand her obsession with the obituaries. Every day she read them and circled the names of any people she knew. The Saturday paper took her ages to read and she often got the ones from the city, too. Sometimes she had to dig out old yearbooks or address books to confirm whether she knew the person or not, especially if there wasn’t a picture.
Nate thought it was morbid. One thing he’d learned in Afghanistan was to make the most of every day, and savor every good thing in life—because you never knew when it would all go to hell. He wanted to focus on life, not death. Present, not past.
“Oh, isn’t this sad?” his mom said and he hoped she didn’t really want an answer.
“You could read the births and announcements,” he said. “That would offer more cheerful news.”
“Maybe I would if there were any brides or pregnancies in the family.”
“Don’t give me that, Mom. You only want the second if it comes after the first.”
His mom laughed then snapped the paper, refolding it so the article was on top. She tapped it. “Look at this. I remember seeing this ballerina dance. She was so beautiful.”
Nate glanced at the picture. It was old, but that didn’t hide the truth. “She is pretty.”
“Was. This picture has to be thirty years old. No, closer to forty. She defected from Russia, you know, for love.” His mom sighed, running her finger over the article. “Yes, here it is. She fell in love with a carpenter, Marco Perez, while on tour and dancing in New York almost exactly forty years ago. She defected to be with him and they had one son. Damon. Then the carpenter was killed in an accident. So sad...”
“Wait a minute.” Nate turned in the act of leaving the kitchen. “Her son was Damon Perez?”
“Is. Yes, his name is right here. He’d be about your age, I guess, Nat, maybe a little older, given the date of her defection.”
“I served with a guy named Damon Perez.” Nate returned to his mom’s side and took another look at the paper.
“I would think it’s a common name.”
“Yeah, but he was from Queens and his mom was a dancer. I think he said a ballet dancer. His dad had been a carpenter, but he was dead.”
“Really?” His mom handed him the paper and Nathan stood at the counter, so intent upon reading it that he forgot his bagel. “‘Survived by her son, Damon.’” He tapped the paper. “I bet this is him.”
“Don’t you know? I mean you keep in touch with a lot of your friends from the service.”
“Perez wasn’t pals with many people. He was kind of a loner.” Nathan waved his artificial hand. “He was there that day, my commanding officer actually.”
“Well, then, why didn’t you keep in touch?”
“He never answered me.”
His mom’s eyes brightened. “Do you think he blamed himself for the other young man’s death?”
“I don’t know. When he didn’t respond, I thought maybe he’d moved on to other things. I know he left the service.” Nate shrugged. “I thought maybe he got married or went back to school. I remember he’d signed up without finishing his degree.” He frowned. “I forget what it was, though.”