The Lace Reader. Brunonia Barry

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СКАЧАТЬ of old photographs out of the bottom drawer of the buffet. He and Beezer have them spread out on every available surface, and there’s no place to pour. I hand the glass to Rafferty and unscrew the cap of the soda. It snaps when the seal breaks, so I know it’s still good—too good, actually. When I start to pour, it fizzes up and over the side of the glass. I don’t know if it’s because it is so hot in the pantry or because I’ve put too much ice in the glass, but before I reach the halfway point, it’s fizzing up and over the rim of the glass and is about to land on the Aubusson when Rafferty sticks a finger in the glass to stop it.

      We stand there stupidly, Rafferty with his index finger in the glass up to the second knuckle, me looking around frantically for something to put under it. “It’s okay,” he says. “It stopped.”

      “Sorry,” I say to him. Then, looking at his finger, I comment, “Nice trick.”

      “I used to be a beer drinker,” he says, “in my last life.”

      Beezer and Anya take a pile of the old photos to the window seat, begin shuffling through them. Jay-Jay, who’s invasive by nature, walks around the room, opening up cabinets and picking out objects he remembers from childhood. He spent a lot of time in this room when he was younger. He and Beezer played board games and poker in here when Beezer was home on vacation. They’d clear off one of the bigger tables and spread their stuff out, and I remember that it would drive Eva crazy. They would get rid of all the lace in the room, hiding it in drawers and under cushions, and she would still be looking for pieces for weeks after Beezer had gone back to boarding school.

      “Remember this?” Jay-Jay says, holding up a teapot in the shape of a bird.

      “I remember when you broke it,” Beezer says, looking it over, pointing out the crack.

      “She made us work off the debt serving high tea.” Jay-Jay goes back into the cabinet, digging deeper.

      “You got a search warrant to do that?” Rafferty says to him.

      “Oh, Towner doesn’t mind,” Jay-Jay says.

      Rafferty looks at me, checking. I shrug.

      “Curiosity killed the cat,” Rafferty says, then smiles.

      “And satisfaction brought it back,” Jay-Jay retorts.

      Rafferty shakes his head.

      “It probably makes him a good cop, though,” I say to Rafferty.

      “You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” It’s so genuine and unfiltered that I can’t help but laugh. He looks immediately sorry. The doorbell rings.

      “Saved by the bell,” he says, and rolls his eyes again. It’s as if Eva were in the room, channeling clichés through us.

      It’s the woman who forgot her hat. I grab it, head to the door. Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry? I think, but I don’t say it out loud this time.

      “Sorry,” the woman says. “I got all the way to Beverly before I realized I’d left it here.” I walk her across the porch. “Eva would have been so happy you came back,” she says. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so.” She doesn’t wait for an answer.

      It is finally cooling. Somewhere in the park, someone is playing a violin.

      They’re telling stories about Eva when I return. Prompted by the photos. Every picture is a story. They’re one-upping each other, Beezer and Jay-Jay, playing to Anya or to Rafferty or to anyone else who will listen.

      “It’s starting to sound like an Irish wake.” Rafferty hands me the empty soda glass, not wanting to put it down amid all the photos.

      “More?” I ask, surprised that he’s finished it so fast. He holds up a hand—he’s had enough. “Eva was part Irish,” I say.

      “You’re kidding,” he says, and I can tell he is surprised.

      “On her mother’s side.” I remember that Eva used to tell us that our Irish blood is what made all of us good “readers,” that all Irish people have the gift of blind sight, or at least all Irishwomen do. But I don’t have any Irish in me. My grandmother was G.G.’s first wife, Elizabeth, who died giving birth to my mother. May is quite psychic as well, though she goes out of her way to deny it. So the gift must come from both sides of the family.

      The stories from the other end of the room are getting too loud for us to carry on any other conversation.

      “Remember the time she told the Republican candidate for governor not to run?” Jay-Jay says, and Beezer does a spit take. “What was it she said to him?”

      “No good could come of it,” Beezer says.

      “Yeah, that’s it.” Jay-Jay turns to Anya. “The guy had a ton of money. People thought he actually had a shot at winning. A week before the election, he slipped on one of his glossy four-color campaign flyers and ended up spending six weeks on his back in some Podunk hospital out in East Cupcake that he didn’t dare leave because he was afraid he would, quote, ‘alienate his constituents.’”

      “Who voted straight Democrat anyway,” Beezer tells Anya.

      “So he lost?” Anya asks in disbelief.

      “A Republican? In Massachusetts? Of course he lost. Doesn’t take a psychic to predict that one.” Jay-Jay is laughing his ass off.

      “You think we should tell him about our recent run of Republican governors?” Rafferty asks, then decides against it. Anya and Beezer are laughing so hard they can’t tell him either.

      “What?” Jay-Jay says, but Beezer’s got his whoop laugh going now, and no one is immune to it.

      Rafferty looks at me. The whole party is laughing now. Beezer laughs silently, his face in a grimace that looks like something out of a horror film. The only noise he makes is on the intake, a big whooping wheeze that sounds like he’s kidding, but he’s not. People start to calm down, and then he whoops, and they are off again, weak with laughter and release.

      Jay-Jay’s girlfriend, Irene something-or-other, comes running up to us.

      “Where’s the bathroom,” she says urgently. “I think I’m gonna pee my pants.”

      “Great,” I say, pointing to the hall, and I follow to make sure she gets there.

      Rafferty follows me out into the hall.

      “The last door,” I point, and she goes in.

      Rafferty and I are in the hallway then, where it is slightly quieter, the voices muffled. He seems grateful for the quiet. He looks relieved, then awkward, searching for words.

      “This was a hard case,” he says.

      “What do you mean?”

      “This case. Eva’s. Usually when somebody disappears without a trace, it’s Eva I go to.”

      “Really?”

      “She’s СКАЧАТЬ