LUCA

Martin tried to work, but he was too disconcerted. Since Luca and Charlotte moved in, he was happy for the first time in years. Charlotte was starting a new series. The Aronson woman’s book of her photographs was finished. Her husband had prepared the contract Martin signed with Javier. He was having a one-man show the following week. He could barely believe it. And Luca.

According to Charlotte and Javier, Luca was a wonder in the gallery. He’d memorized all the clients and artists the gallery sold to or represented so he could greet them by name. Martin was impressed by how much the boy knew about art, and literature, and music. He could recite the librettos of whole operatic arias—in Italian.

“I used to hang out in this opera bar,” Luca told him. “All night long I listened to it, kind of, well you know, swept away. It’s a fatter sound than other music, much bigger somehow.”

“You mean fuller?”

“Yes, that’s a better word. Fuller, more emotional. Smarter.”

Martin liked that: smarter music.

“And some of the women. What voices. The Australian with the weird name. Teri Kay-something.”

“Kiri Te Kanewa.”

“That’s the one. I could listen to that woman sing forever.”

They had fallen into such a pleasant routine. Martin never expected them to be so compatible. He didn’t want them to fly to Los Angeles. Leave the damned demons dead and buried. That’s what he’d do. The trip could ruin everything.

He was worried about Luca. The boy was carrying too much. It was true. Luca had been used, first by that pedophile, then by Haze, and finally by him. He was willing to accept some responsibility, was prepared to take some blame. In the weeks that Haze lay dying, Luca asked for nothing, did what he was asked to do right to the end. Martin was careful to keep his hands clean. It was Luca who prepared and cooked and fed, under Martin’s direction. They never spoke of it, but it was clear. They agreed. Didn’t they? Maybe Luca was reluctant at first, but when it got really bad, when Martin wasn’t able to stand another minute, he did what Martin asked. It was the right thing to do, and Martin didn’t regret it, but he didn’t have the nerve yet to ask Luca if he did.

Martin left the apartment and took a taxi across town to the gallery to approve the show. Javier met him at the door.

“Are you all right? You are so pale.”

“I’m always pale. Me pale-face. You Puerto Rican.”

“Not to be joking. Are you ill?”

“No, not ill.”

Heartsick, Martin thought, but fortunately, not ill.

He perked up when Javier took him into the room where the drawings were hung. He’d had his doubts, but as he walked around he could see what Javier had seen in his study. He had transcended his music. The way the drawings were hung was genius. The suspended sheets of paper were art. He walked from one, to the other, to the other.

“You like?” Javier asked.

“Yes, very much.”

They walked back to Javier’s office and sat down. Javier showed him the list of invited guests, and explained that items in the Times and word of mouth would draw an even bigger crowd.

“Luca asked for Friday through Monday off,” Javier said, “He assured me he would be back in time for the opening. Is there something wrong?”

“He’s flying to Los Angeles tomorrow morning.”

Martin didn’t tell him that Charlotte was going with him.

“Luca is in trouble?”

“No, no, nothing like that. There’s been a death.”

“In his family? Why would he have not told me that?”

“Someone else. It’s complicated. I probably shouldn’t be speaking about it.”

“It hurts you?”

“Not hurt. Worry. It worries me. Some things are best left alone.”

Javier looked concerned. “I don’t want to lose him.”

He reached for a cylindrical container on the desk and pried the lid open. He took out two pieces of candy wrapped in gold foil. He held one out to Martin.

“Dulce?” he asked.

Martin took one, unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. It was caramel and pulverized nuts. Buttery. Delicious.

“From Puerto Rica,” Javier said.

Martin sucked on it.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about Luca,” Javier said. “He can care for himself. Sometimes you have to take risks. Like with your mushrooms, charging into the woods. Who knows what else you will find there: wild animals, bears?”

Martin laughed. Javier walked him to the door. When Martin put his hand on Javier’s shoulder to say good-bye, he was surprised how perfectly it fit into his palm.