Page 38 of Don't Tell Me How to Die

“So she was hungry; she ate fast. Is that your issue, or just one of your typical pungent observations?”

“What do you want me to say? I just met her. It would be one thing if she was Connie Gilchrist, artist, husband died, new in town. But no—she’s Connie Gilchrist, total stranger, who might or might not become a permanent fixture in my life. Give me time. Let’s just see where their relationship is going.”

Wherever it was going, it moved along at a pretty rapid clip. That night at dinner Dad made it obvious that they were a lot more than bereavement buddies.

“What are you two doing on Friday?” he asked.

“Sleeping in,” Lizzie said. “It’s Veterans Day. No school.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I picked it. As long as you have the day off, I need you to come in to the restaurant and help set up.”

“Set up what?” I said.

“An art show. Connie’s got a lot of really great paintings, but she’s new in town. Nobody knows her. This is the perfect way to get her name around, give her some exposure.”

“Cool,” Lizzie said.

“Cool if we were a museum,” I said. “But people kind of come to our place for food. How are we supposed to sell paintings? And what would you like with your meat loaf, Mrs. DiBenedetto? Baked, mashed, still life, or landscape?”

“For God’s sake, Maggie, we’re not selling the damn things,” my father said. “If people want to buy one, they can talk to Connie. She’ll be there. We’re just hanging them on the wall. Lots of restaurants do it. It’ll class up the joint a little.”

“I would have thought that an Irish pub with half a dozen Harleys parked outside, and a white-haired Gaelic grandpa behind the bar with a full repertoire of dirty limericks would be classy enough, but maybe I was wrong,” I said.

Dad laughed. “That’s the spirit,” he said, as if my teenage snark were a form of enthusiastic approval.

On Friday at 10:00 a.m., Lizzie, Dad, and I helped Connie set up. Apparently, there’s an art to nailing a bunch of hooks in the wall and hanging pictures of Americana alongside Guinness signs and black-and-white photos of old-world rugby teams. We spent hours hanging, unhanging, and rehanging all twenty-two masterpieces until the artist finally gave us her blessing.

“Finn,” she gushed, “you have the best daughters.”

“Oh, they’re keepers,” he said. “It’s going to be a great night.”

It wasn’t. Connie had been wearing jeans and a work shirt when she left at 1:30 p.m. She had plenty of time to get dressed for the event, but when the dinner crowd started strolling in at five, she still wasn’t back. By 5:15 p.m., my father was nervous, and by 5:45 he was frantic.

“It’s not like her to be late,” he said, as if the two of them had a long history together, rooted in her unflagging punctuality.

It was a little after six when the cop car, its turret lights flashing, pulled up, and Officer Kip Montgomery escorted Connie into the restaurant.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I had car trouble.”

Officer Montgomery smiled at my father. “That’s one way to put it, but my official report is going to say that your lady friend here lost control of her vehicle, fishtailed across Foley Road, hopped the sidewalk, and took out three garbage cans.”

Dad put his arms on Connie’s shoulders. “Oh my God, are you all right?”

“A little shell-shocked, but I think my Volvo wagon may be down for the count.”

“Rear suspension ripped right out of the frame,” Montgomery said.

“Jesus, she’s lucky to be alive,” Dad said. “Kip, a million thanks. Next time you’re here with Nancy and the kids, dinner is on me.”

Montgomery held up a hand. “Just doing my job, Finn. But I’ll let you treat the kids to dessert.” He tapped two fingers to the brim of his hat. “Ms. Gilchrist. Good luck with your show.”

“I bet you could use a drink,” Dad said to his lady friend as soon as the cop was gone.

“I could use a hug first.”

He obliged, stepped back, and looked her over. She was wearing an A-line blush pink cocktail dress, silver strappy heels, and her honey-blond hair was short with curled layers. A pair of pink-sapphire-and-diamond teardrop earrings set off her hazel eyes.

“Your car may be a wreck,” he said, “but you look fantastic.”

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