teeth each time he said her name. He used to call her “Jennifer” until they were married. Then he had begun calling her Jenny, for short. And then, when her drinking started to get out of hand again, he had revised it by calling her Ginny. It started out as a joke, but the name had stuck. He used it exclusively now and insisted to everyone that was the name she preferred, whether Jennifer liked it or not.
“I hadn’t planned—” she began. “I had pasta salad prepared.”
“That’s fine,” Michael said.
“But I don’t think there’s enough for all of you.Would sandwiches be okay with the salad on the side?”
“Sandwiches are fine,” said Michael.
“And some coffee,” said Anthony Voracci with a wink.
Michael’s father could never seem to look at her without taking a moment to look her up and down. Regardless of what she was wearing, she always felt underdressed in front of him. It made her feel dirty.
Lately, every time she saw him, she saw more and more similarities between Michael and his father. They had the same long nose, the same cheeks and the same receding chin. They had even had the same haircut for the last year, cut long, combed high, and she could not remember which of them had started the new style, the father or the son. Anthony’s hair was all silver now, whereas Michael’s was only starting to become grey. And he was certainly in better shape than Michael, with broader shoulders and not a sign of a pot belly, but other than that, Michael was looking more and more like his father every day.
Poor Vic was at least fifty pounds overweight, and except for his weak chin, had not inherited any of his father’s physical characteristics, or his father’s mental acuity. She would catch Vic staring at her breasts, or at her butt when he could, but she only felt sorry for him. He did not have the predatory nature that his father and brother had in abundance. Vic was a weak man.
As she prepared their dinner, none of them spoke about the events of the morning, and Jennifer didn’t ask about the police cruiser or the other vehicles that had passed by the house. No one offered to bring her into the conversation. As Jennifer pulled the bread from the cupboard and began making sandwiches, the three men discussed Michael’s odds at the upcoming wine contests and his plans for a wine show in Michigan. Anthony and Michael chuckled with each other; Vic did not say much at all. Compared to his father and brother, he looked grim, shaken. His light-blue golf shirt was stained dark below his armpits; his eyes were red. Despite his tan, he looked pale. He would not look Jennifer in the eye, and when she walked by, he did not make a point of staring at her breasts, as he usually did.
Across from Vic, there was the empty chair, where none of the men ever sat. Antonio’s chair. He had passed away almost three years ago. Jennifer missed Antonio. Of all Michael’s family, it was only his grandfather that Jennifer had ever bonded with. He had been the heart and soul of the family. Widowed for five years, he had given Michael and Jennifer his home as a wedding present. He had planned to move himself into a retirement home, but Jennifer had insisted he stay with them. He had lived with them for two years before he too had fallen ill. She missed him a lot.
“Busy day?” Jennifer asked.
“A bit,” said Michael.
“Are you in town long?” she asked Vic.
“Just for the rest of the day,” Michael answered for his brother.
Vic didn’t look up. “He’s got to be heading back to Toronto.”
“Does she know?” she heard Vic whisper. Then, “You should tell her.”
Jennifer turned to her husband and saw a momentary uncertainty pass across his face. When his eyes met hers, it was gone.
“She already knows,” he said.
“It’s Anna,” she said.
“Yes,” said her husband. His father and brother stared at their plates.
“They found her,” she said.
“She’s dead.”
“But how…”
“Don’t worry yourself with that,” he said. “Dead is dead.”
“But she eloped…”
“She’s gone, Ginny. You’ve been trying to convince me for days that she died. And I’m sorry to say you were right all along.”
“But someone killed her!”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But it’s true. Do they know who did it?”
“Ginny.”
His practiced stern tone silenced her. Jennifer pulled the tea towel between her fists, fighting back the tears. She watched the men slowly returned their forks to their plates, tapping steady rhythms on the floral stoneware. The silence of the kitchen resonated with the sounds of their chewing, dry swallows of food, and slow measured breaths.
Jennifer retreated to the living room. She sat at the piano bench for a half hour, listening to the murmur of their words until she heard the men rise from the table, followed by the sound of the screen door gently closing by the effect of Michael’s firm hand.
Jennifer went to the window, looking towards the loading dock, hoping in vain to catch a sight of Ben. As tears filled her eyes, running down her face, she knew only one thing now. She needed Ben to finally take her away from here.
Scotty Doherty wore two silver hoops on his left ear, eight on his right, and long pork chop side burns. On his left shoulder he had a tattoo of a hawk, but only the talons were visible beneath the sleeve of his beige t-shirt. On his right arm he had a tattooed ring of barbed wire.
Scotty kicked down on the brake of his faded blue Camry and cranked his steering wheel around as the tires dug into the loose gravel, stopping six feet in front of Ben Taylor. He turned to face Taylor and folded both arms on the ledge of his open window.
“Hey!” he called to Taylor. “Where you been all day?”
Taylor stopped, thumbs in his front pockets, and raised his eyebrows quizzically.
“Ohhh, I’m just yankin’ ya,” said Scotty. “Where you off to, all on your lonesome?”
“Off to get some dinner,” Taylor said with unconcealed irritation.
He was annoyed that the day had ended so early. It was only seven o’clock. Eleven hours without a cigarette had slit open and exposed every nerve.
“Straight up. Wanna ride?”
Taylor walked behind the Camry and, once Scotty remembered to unlock it, opened the passenger door. Metal ground against metal near the hinges as he forced the door closed.
“Where were you today?” Taylor asked.
“Hiding from that pig,” Scotty laughed. He pursed his lips and added needlessly, “Caines
