Lost and Found Page 12

  Jeremy had walked around for years with a huge grin on his face, telling anyone who would listen that she was too good to be true. Turns out, he was right. That expression — Only the good die young — never meant more to us than on that day in March, the rainy day she went out almost nine months pregnant on a quick run for more drywall tape and never came back.

  There are no lights on inside, but I don’t let that dissuade me. Jeremy’s living a very dark life right now; he avoids anything that will make things easier to see.

  The door is unlocked. I push it in and inhale the scent of new construction materials. There’s a hint of staleness to it, making me wonder if this place will ever be finished. I don’t even care at this point. It seems like everything our family has touched has bad memories associated with it. Makes me want to burn it all to the ground and exorcise the demons I imagine are attached to it.

  “Jeremy?” My feet crunch on construction debris as I go farther into the front entrance area.

  “Jeremy? It’s me. I’ve come to take you home with me.”

  I might hear something moving around upstairs, but then again, it could just be a mouse or a cat getting comfortable. With no activity here for the summer, things were bound to move in. Good real estate is hard to come by in New York City, even for the vermin.

  I mount the stairs with caution, not sure whether all of the boards are secured. “Jeremy, come on, man. Let’s get outta here. This place sucks.”

  I find him passed out on the floor in one of the bedrooms. It used to be the one that he and Laura would stay in when they visited our father. She used to tell us that it had the best view, which always made us laugh because it looks out at the side of the neighbor’s house and down onto an alley that houses the garbage and random bicycles. Laura could find a way to make anywhere sound like a great place to be.

  “Come on, time to get up.”

  Jeremy is complete dead weight. The muscles in my back twang in protest as I lift him up, reminding me that they don’t appreciate being used this way and would soon be making their displeasure known in the form of spasms.

  I have to let his legs bang down the stairs, only able to lift his upper body. Jeremy isn’t the tallest guy in the world, but he’s fucking stout. He takes after our Irish father, thick in the neck and chest, stubborn everywhere else.

  The cabbie is waiting with his meter on. He doesn’t get out to help me, though, the bastard. Maneuvering my brother down the stairs and into the car is no mean feat on my own like this. All this drinking has really fattened him up. I’ve had a lot of practice, though, so I make do and get him situated.

  Once I’ve got us settled with my brother’s head in my lap, I breathe out a long sigh. “Trump Tower.”

  “He okay?” the cabbie asks.

  I stare at the buildings going by out the window. “No, not really.”

  Five blocks later, Jeremy wakes up.

  “Take me to the fountain,” he says, slurring all the words together.

  I sigh. “Not tonight, man. We can go tomorrow.”

  “Nah, take me now.” He sits up and grabs his door handle, throwing the back door open before I can think to stop him.

  The interior lights go on, wind blows through the cab, and the cabbie starts yelling as he slams on the brakes.

  Jeremy and I are thrown forward, into the back side of the front seat.

  “Shut the fucking door!” the driver yells. “You wanna get killed or what?!”

  Jeremy tips over and falls out onto the street.

  “Don’t go! Wait for us!” I grunt out, diving out after Jeremy and grabbing him by the back of the shirt.

  “Fuck that. You pay me and get out. I ain’t got time for this shit. Fucking nut cases.”

  I throw some cash at him and exit the cab, making sure my brother’s legs are clear of the street before the car takes off.

  Jeremy crawls out of the gutter and starts down the sidewalk, still on hands and knees.

  “Come on, man, you can’t do that.” I’m practically begging when I grab him under the armpits. “Stand up, asshole. Come on, please?”

  “I gotta get to the fountain,” he says, standing and then stumbling down the sidewalk.

  “You want to go to the fountain, fine, we’ll go to the fountain. But you have to promise to stop jumping out of cabs.”

  Jeremy turns to face me. “You’ll take me there? To Laura’s fountain?”

  I put my hands on the sides of his head and squeeze hard. “Yes. I’m taking you. Just don’t fucking vomit on me. I’m not kidding, Jeremy.”

  He scowls. “I can hold my liquor.”

  “Can you hold the crack too? Because I hear that’s what you’re into these days.”

  “Crack is whack,” he says, before snickering. “But a little crystal never hurt anyone.”

  I want to wring his neck. “Actually, yes, it has. It can kill you, asshole.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t like it anyway. I’m gonna stick to drinking myself to death.”

  He starts wandering away from me and I have to grab his sleeve to keep him close. It stretches his shirt sideways.

  “Great plan. A great investment in your life.” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Fuck you too.”

  We walk to the corner where I hail another cab. We ride in silence down to the southeast corner of Central Park, to the place where Jeremy and Laura met when they were only twenty-two.

  Jeremy is out and running before I can pay the cab driver. I finally catch up when he’s taking his clothes off at the side of the fountain.

  I try to grab him. “No, man, you can’t go in there. It’s fucking disgusting with bacteria.”

  He twists out of my grip. “Nah, it’s good. It’s goddamn hot out here. Let’s swim.”

  “No, no swimming.” I get a firmer grip on him and wrestle his shirt back on.

  Thankfully, he gives up fighting me. His body goes slack and he drops to the edge of the fountain.

  I stand there next to him feeling like some kind of body guard, keeping my errant charge from getting arrested for public intoxication. If he were a superstar, this might make some kind of sense, but he’s not. He’s just a guy who should be living out in the ‘burbs, happily married with a brand new baby and a newly renovated house, but who’s mourning the loss of his wife and his life instead.

  “She used to make wishes here every week,” he says.

  “I know. You’ve told me.”

  “My stories are getting old, I see,” he says, following up with bitter laughter. “I guess that’s too bad since I can’t make any new ones for ya!”

  I don’t remind him that he has a daughter who will eventually ask questions about what happened to her father and why he’s never around. I could but I won’t. He’s already half dead with pain.

  He starts digging around in his pocket. “Gotta make a wish.” All of his change spills out onto the ground.

  “Here,” I say, handing him the box from my pocket. “Make a wish with this.”

  Jeremy stands there swaying on his feet, holding the box in his hand. “Whass this?”

  “It’s the symbol of my wasted life.”

  Jeremy starts laughing and doubles over, holding his stomach.

  “I’m glad you find that so amusing.” My jaw muscles twitch with the effort of holding in my next sentence. I will not let my bitterness go after my brother and hurt him. He’s been hurt enough for one lifetime.

  He stands and puts his hand on my shoulder. His greasy hair falls into his face, but he makes no move to fix it. “Brother, we are two seriously fucked up individuals.”

  “You can say that again.” I sigh with defeat, dropping my gaze to the ground.

  He opens the box and falls back a little. “Whoa.”

  “Yeah.” I can’t look at it.

  “That ain’t no fucking ring, that’s a fucking meteor. How much this set you back?”

  “Too much. D
on’t ask. It was a mistake. Throw it.” I gesture with my chin out to the fountain.

  “Seriously?” Jeremy looks at me, questioning my sanity, probably.

  “She fucked me over. She used me, she used you, she tried to hurt us both. I need to kill this thing.”

  Jeremy nods slowly and I catch a devilish glint in his eye in the streetlamp’s light. His voice lowers to conspiratorial volume. “This is like an exorcism.”

  “Yeah. You said it. Come on, get it over with.”

  Jeremy turns around and faces the naked statue out in the fountain. “Lady of the lake!” he yells, simultaneously wiggling the ring free of its box.

  “For chrissake, do you have to be so loud?” I look around, noticing a couple people slowing down who were content to walk by and ignore us before.

  “The universe has to hear me,” Jeremy says over his shoulder. Then even louder he yells at the statue again. “Lady of the lake! I hereby make this sacrifice in the name of … in the name of …” He stops and turns around. “What are we doing this for again?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Whatever. To lose our bad luck.”

  He turns back to the mermaid. “I hereby make this sacrifice in the name of LIFE!” He winds his arm back and prepares to finish with a flourish. His voice comes out like some kind of doomsday announcer. “Make this fair, make this right, let us find peace starting tonight!”

  And then he lets the ring fly. I don’t see it zinging through the air, but I hear a Ping! sound when it hits the statue and a splash when it lands in the water.

  The next thing that comes to my ears is the sound of Jeremy’s zipper.

  “What the hell are you doing, man?”

  “Taking a piss. Come on, do it with me. It seals the deal. I saw it in a movie once.”

  A voice comes out of the shadows along with running footsteps. “Hey! You! You can’t urinate in there!”

  “Cops!” Jeremy hisses, zipping up his pants in a hurry. “Come on, let’s fly!”

  We take off running towards the street, the humid wind blowing through our hair. I know it’s crazy, but for the first time in a long time I feel free, like I don’t have to be suffocating under the burden of my responsibilities.

  Jeremy stumbles once and I catch him so we can keep going. Neither of us stops until we’re three blocks away. Then he vomits in the gutter and I start laughing. I don’t completely stop until we arrive at my building an hour later. I haven’t felt this good in a long time.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  DID I MAKE THE RIGHT decision, letting Jeremy throw that so-called meteor out into the fountain? I don’t have time to worry about it right now. I have an appointment with my attorney, the guy who’s going to help me extricate myself from my relationship with Hilary with minimal fuss, and I’m about to be late.

  The subway stop nearest his office is right near that fountain and not far from my condo, but I need twenty minutes to get there and I only have ten, thanks to the fact that my taxi had to drop me off at Sixtieth and Madison. I hate when film crews block the streets in the middle of the afternoon. Now if I try and take a cab I’ll be twice as late, which will cause a domino effect for all the afternoon appointments scheduled at my office. Talk about a suck fest. I hate the goddamn subway. I avoid it whenever possible, but today that’s not going to be an option for me.

  As I rush to the subway entrance, there’s a crowd of people cheering someone on nearby. I can hear them from half a block away. My heart skips a beat, wondering if someone has found the ring. That’ll make someone’s day for sure. Yeah, it’s worth a ridiculous amount of money, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s blood money I used to pay off the demon who was holding my soul captive. It was well worth the price. I’d pay it again if I had to. Finding money has never been a problem for me. It’s finding happiness that’s always proved elusive.

  A man spins around in circles next to me on roller skates, singing about walking on sunshine. I smile because that’s exactly what I’m doing right now, despite the fact that I had to ride the subway. Getting on with life. That’s what I’m doing. It feels good. It feels right.

  Breaking up with Hilary was definitely the right thing to do. I think there’s a part of me that had to go through the motion of buying that ring. I had to do what she’d been insisting was the one thing that could make everything work out for the best, so when it didn’t work out, I could say that I’d tried everything, or that I’d been willing to try.

  It doesn’t matter that she never knew about the ring; it only matters that I took that step. She always said that I couldn’t commit, that I couldn’t even make the decision to commit, but she was wrong. She was always wrong about me.

  Before, it never bothered me much that she knew who she thought I was or who she wanted me to be but never really bothered to get to the bottom of who I really am. Now it bothers me a lot that I was okay with that, with living like that. The tragedy of Laura and Jeremy taught me that life’s too short to settle for someone else’s version of me. I just can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out. They were happily in love for years.

  The fountain comes into view and I’m angry enough at what Hilary did that I’d rather some employee of the city get that ring while sweeping out the coins than let her have it. She’s already taken enough from my family and me.

  I take a sip from my coffee, making sure not to get any of it on my shirt. I have this meeting with the lawyer at his office and then appointments with three patients at my office, all A-listers who don’t forgive coffee stains like other people might.

  I’m thinking about the surgeries I have scheduled for the next two days, when out of nowhere, I’m blind-sided by … it takes me a few seconds to figure out what just hit me.

  She’s got greasy-looking, unkept, matted hair, a crazy look in her eye, and she’s soaking wet.

  I look down at my shirt, a baby blue that used to be opaque. Now I can see my undershirt beneath as the material goes see-through.

  “What the hell…?”

  “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” she asks, as if I’m the one who slammed into her.

  This is perfect. I’m going to show up at the attorney’s office and try to convince him that I’m not a complete mess over this break-up, that I can handle the pressure her lawyer will bring to the mix. Soaking wet. With … oh shit, what is this all over me?

  “That better be water,” I say, wondering if this woman is homeless and swimming in her own urine.

  She scowls at me, her eyebrows drawing together above her nose. “What else would it be?” I think she’s trying to look tough, but she’s about as intimidating as an angry mouse.

  “God only knows.” For some ridiculous reason, I’m thinking about teasing her but then a strange smell wafts up from somewhere below my neckline. It smells like … dog shit?

  “Oh, God... Jesus, what’s that smell?” I look down at my shoes and lift one of them up. If I stepped in dog shit on my way here, I’m going to throw these goddamn shoes in the fountain and go to the meeting barefoot. I might as well. I look like I’ve been swimming in the damn thing already, thanks to this crazy person.

  The girl glances over her shoulder.

  A security guard is making his way through the crowd, headed in our direction.

  “Screw you,” she says, shoving past me, managing to knock my coffee cup out of my hand.

  “Is this water?!” I yell after her

  “No, it’s sweat!” She yells back.

  I roll my eyes to the sky and let my arms drop to my sides. “Fucking perfect.” So much for the sacrifice made to the fountain gods. Maybe I should have pissed in it like Jeremy said.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I’M TEN MINUTES LATE TO the lawyer’s office. If I weren’t such a good client and friend of his, I’d probably get a scowl from the receptionist, but she’s professional enough to keep her opinions about me to herself.

  “Sorry for being late. Film crews.” I give her w
hat Jana calls my panty-melting smile before continuing. “Could you let Robinson know I’m here, please? I have a full day ahead of me.”

  Yeah, I’m that kind of dick. Being the top plastic surgeon in Manhattan gives me a lot of leeway in other people’s offices and I’m not too proud to use it. I can’t be late to work. My life is fucked up enough as it is; I don’t need to add pissed-off celebrities and socialites to the mix.

  “Sure, no problem. Please have a seat. He should be right with you.”

  I pick up a magazine and look at one page before I’m rescued by my former college roommate, Robinson T. Arnold, Esquire, attorney at law.

  “James, how’re things?” he asks, extending his hand.

  We shake with a grip that belies our casual exteriors. I’m going to leave with a sore hand today. This is my punishment for being late, but I’m not going down without a fight.

  “Great. Dandy. That’s why I’m here.” I squeeze a little harder.

  He laughs, knowing all too well that my visits here are never for pleasant things. He’s not only my ex-girlfriend-extricator, he’s also my malpractice attorney. Not that I ever make mistakes — knock wood — but there are some patients who will threaten to sue when they don’t wake up after a facelift surgery looking like Julia Roberts in her twenties. I’m damn good at what I do, but I’m no miracle worker, even if some might like to call me that.

  “Come on back. I have forty-five minutes for you.”

  “That’s probably perfect.”