Ronnie’s memory. But if he exposed himself—accidentally or on purpose—he’d harm her memory for his kids. And that was the never-ending loop he’d been caught in for weeks. He yawned. He hadn’t been sleeping. How to get the statue somewhere safe? For days Jack had called him hourly wanting to reopen negotiations until Tommy finally threatened to call his friends in the police department and turn them both in. “I’ll do it, asshole,” he told Jack. “Don’t think I won’t.” At least there’d be some honor in being honest.
Sinatra lifted his head and whined a little. “What do you say, Mr. S.?” He rubbed a few knuckles across Sinatra’s head, the place where his skin was a little slack and the fur soft. The dog panted with pleasure. From down the street he could see Stephanie waving at him. She probably wanted help with her bags. Sinatra started barking at something in the opposite direction.
“Shush, boy,” Tommy said, looking to see what was agitating the dog. It was a couple. The woman was on crutches and there was something uneven about her companion’s profile. They were walking slowly and looking at house numbers. As they got closer, Tommy couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A tall muscular man with one arm and a long-haired woman with a missing foot walking together down his street. It was his statue come to life. He stood and Sinatra’s barks turned to a menacing growl.
“Shhhh.” He picked the dog up and tucked him under one arm to keep him calm. He really needed to get some sleep. He blinked and shook his head a little, looked again but his vision hadn’t cleared. The statue was still there and it was coming toward him. He felt light-headed and looked up at the sky. He didn’t know why, what he expected to see up there. He thought for a minute he might faint. What was happening couldn’t be happening. He could feel his breaths becoming shallow and then a constriction around his chest, like someone was tightening a belt. The dog scrambled out of his arms and down the stoop and turned to face Tommy, barking in earnest now, scared.
Oh, please, Tommy thought, not now. Not the heart attack he’d feared, not while that statue was still in the house. He put a hand on the iron railing to try to steady himself. If the statue was in his house, how was it also walking down the street? Stephanie was yelling his name from one direction. From the other direction, the statue-come-to-life was getting closer. Sweat streamed down his back, and his palms were clammy. Sinatra was barking even harder. Holy Jesus, he was dying. He was having a stroke or a heart attack or both. He tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t.
“Quiet,” he said to Sinatra, but he wasn’t sure anything came out. His throat was tight and dry.
“Excuse me.” Now the statue was in front of him, talking, wanting to climb the stoop.
Tommy tried to speak but his lips wouldn’t work. They were coming for him, that’s what he was thinking even though he didn’t really understand what he meant. Coming for him? Who?
“Hey.” The man stepped closer and reached out with his one arm. “You okay, buddy? You don’t look so good.”
“What’s wrong, baby, why are you so upset?” Tommy thought the woman was talking to him, but she’d leaned her crutches against the stoop and was trying to soothe Sinatra who was barking at her outstretched hand. Tommy stared at her missing foot and then back at the man with one arm. He couldn’t tell in that moment if he was hallucinating or if he was dying, but whichever it was he knew it wasn’t good. Ronnie, he thought. Help.
“Call 911,” Tommy heard the man say. “Do you need a hand there, mister? What’s your name?” Vinnie’s voice sounded like it was coming through a long tunnel or across a static-filled connection. He couldn’t make out the words, but he heard the man say something about 9/11. Fuck. And right before Tommy pitched forward, he looked at them both beseechingly, his hand at his heart, his mouth a tight slash of pain.
“What?” Matilda said, her voice thick with concern and fear. “What is it, Papi?”
“Forgive me,” Tommy said. And then he fell, landing at Matilda’s missing foot.
CHAPTER FORTY–TWO
Tomorrow was Mother’s Day and Melody would wake up and spend the last day in her beloved house. Monday morning, the moving truck