The Anniversary Man Read Online Free Page B

direction from which Nadia would come. Pools of sodium yellow beneath the streetlights. The sound of a dog howling for something only a dog would understand. The distant hum of cars on Newark Avenue. Skywards there were the faraway lights of planes heading out of Irvington and Springfield. It was a cold night, but it was a good night.
    John Costello zipped up his jacket, dug his hands into his pockets, and waited . . .
     
    ′For how long?′
    John could feel the tension of the bandages. ′Ten minutes, fifteen maybe.′ He looked directly at Gorman. It was hard to catch him straight, one eye dead-center, the other five degrees starboard and watching for storms.
    ′And what happened then, John? Once you saw her coming?′
    ′When I saw her coming, I stood up . . .′
     
    And started walking toward her, and she raised her hand as if to slow him down. She was smiling, and there was something anticipatory about that moment, as if he knew something was coming, and there was every possibility that it was something good.
    ′Hey,′ he said as she reached the corner of Carlisle.
    ′Hey back,′ she replied, and she walked toward him, reaching out her hands.
    ′What′s up?′ he asked.
    ′Let′s sit down,′ she said. Looked at him, and then glanced away, a sudden flash in her eyes that told him that maybe the something wasn′t so good.
    And had he known that she would never tell him, that he would learn of it from a stranger in a hospital room, and had he understood why such a truth would be denied in that moment, he would have pressed his finger to her lips, stayed her words, taken her hand and hurried her away to safety.
    But hindsight arrives after the fact, never before, and the irony was that after her death, after the terrible thing that happened, the foresight - the intuitive shift that he felt for such things - would have been so useful.
    The shift would have told him to run back home, to take her with him, to let it be someone else′s night to die.
    But it wasn′t.
    Always the way of such things.
    It was Nadia McGowan′s time to die, and there was nothing that John Costello could have done about it.
     
    ′She was going to New York City to study,′ Gorman said.
    John was silent, absorbing this thing. Had she planned to leave him there? Would she have asked him to go with her?
    He looked up at Gorman. ′She didn′t have a chance to say anything.′
    ′And you heard nothing? I mean, until he was right there behind you?′
    John Costello shook his head, once more felt the tension of bandages.
    ′And what did you see?′
    John closed his eyes.
    ′John?′
    ′I′m looking.′
    Gorman fell silent, and suddenly a sense of unease and disquiet came over him.
    ′I saw the pigeons . . . a sudden rush of pigeons . . .′
     
    And Nadia was startled, a little afraid of the sound, and she sort of fell against John and he grabbed her arm and pulled her close, and she laughed at herself for being scared of something so silly.
    ′You all right?′ John said.
    She nodded, she smiled, she let go of his arm and walked toward the bench.
    John followed her, sat beside her, and she leaned against him and he felt the weight and warmth of her body.
    ′What is it you wanted to tell me?′ he said.
    She turned and looked up at him. ′You love me?′
    ′Of course I love you.′
    ′How much do you love me?′
    ′I don′t know. How much is it possible to love someone?′
    She held her arms wide like a fisherman telling tales. ′This much,′ she said.
    ′Five times that,′ John replied. ′Ten even.′
    She looked away, and John followed her line of sight, all the way down to the end of Carlisle and across toward Pearl Street and Harbor-side.
    ′Nadia?′
    She turned back toward him . . .
     
    ′And it was then that he appeared?′
    ′I don′t know that appeared is exactly the right word. I don′t even know what word you would use.′
    ′How d′you mean?′
    ′Appeared. Yes, maybe it was like that. It was as if