CHAPTER THIRTEEN

November 1974

Overnight, the scare Virginia had at the defunct school of art faded slightly. The sound was probably rats scurrying around. Not a person. As a matter of fact, she’d seen several large rats scrounging for food around the terminal’s garbage cans. In her head, she replayed the scene. Had those been footsteps? No, just scurrying. What about the bang on the door? Just an old paint can that had gotten knocked over by a rodent.

Virginia stumbled out of bed and into Finn’s brightly lit kitchen, where Ruby sat eating a bowl of cornflakes. Finn poured her coffee without saying a word, knowing that it took her ten minutes before she was fully cognizant. Xavier tossed the newspaper on the table, and they each took a section. “Are we ready for Turkey Day?”

That’s right. It was Thanksgiving. When Finn had suggested last weekend that they all go to a restaurant for Thanksgiving dinner, Virginia insisted on cooking instead. She wanted to give Ruby a traditional holiday, as a way to prove that they were still a family, even if they were missing her father. At the same time, drumming up a feast was a perfect way to thank Finn and Xavier for letting them crash at the Carlyle.

Xavier continued. “I bought everything we need, but I’m not lifting a finger to cook. You do not want me in the kitchen.”

“True.” Finn patted him on the arm. “Last time he tried to cook a steak, it ended up so raw I swear it moved.”

“That’s truly disgusting.” Ruby turned to Virginia. “I want marshmallows on the sweet potatoes.”

“That is the plan.” Virginia almost chastised her for not saying “please” but held her tongue, not wanting to embarrass her.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” asked Finn.

“Not a thing. I’ve got this.”

After showering and fluffing her hair per Xavier’s detailed instructions, Virginia threw on an apron and got down to work: prepping the turkey and getting it in the oven, figuring out where the pots and pans were, and deciding which serving dishes were most festive. She could hear Finn, Xavier, and Ruby in the living room watching the Thanksgiving Day parade on the television, cheering when their favorite balloons drifted by.

After Xavier announced the Bloody Marys were ready, she joined them in the living room, setting a tray with some Ritz crackers and cheddar cheese on the coffee table.

Finn patted the cushion beside him. “Sit, Vee, and tell us about your new job.”

She tucked her bare feet underneath her and sipped the Bloody Mary. Strong but good. “It’s interesting, more so than I expected. But it’s pretty straightforward. I help out, make sure the supplies are filled, get coffee.”

“Where do you work in Grand Central?”

“I’m in the information booth.”

Xavier leaned forward. “The one with the clock on top of it? Right in the middle of that big space?”

“The concourse. Well, yes.”

“How on earth did you end up in there?” asked Finn.

She stifled the familiar drumbeat of defensiveness. “Long story. The people who work there are a quirky bunch, to say the least, but I don’t mind it. The building has so much history behind it, I like being part of it.”

Ruby wiped some crumbs off her skirt, not looking her mother’s way. “That time I took the train back from Sarah Lawrence, I was so scared. The place is creepy.”

“It’s not creepy once you get used to it. Although I am careful. In any case, it’s a paycheck.” She shrugged. “Who knows how long I’ll be there.”

“Why the uncertainty?” Xavier asked.

“The building might lose its landmark status, in which case the owner wants to put up a skyscraper. They’d move the train station down belowground and build up above it.”

“They shouldn’t tear Grand Central down,” said Finn. “They’ll just regret it, like with Penn Station.”

“But why keep something that’s old and crummy?” asked Ruby. She’d been edgy since waking, flinging her clothes around their shared room because she couldn’t find the right outfit. She was probably missing her father for the holiday, Virginia realized with a rush of guilt.

“It’s not all old and crummy.” Virginia couldn’t help but spring to the building’s defense as if it were an aging, disagreeable dowager, one who deserved a grudging respect. “Parts of it are gorgeous. If they tear it down, it would be like taking down the history of New York with it.”

“What if they said that back in the eighteen hundreds?” countered Ruby. “New York would still have cobblestone streets, farms, and tenement buildings. It’s called progress.”

“Your daughter has a good point,” said Finn.

“I guess so. Maybe we can find some kind of happy medium.” She thought of Dennis’s model, with the skyscraper perching on top of the terminal. Would that qualify as a happy medium?

No. The more she considered it, the more she wanted the terminal to stay as it was. Not only for Terrence, Totto, Winston, and Doris. But so that in fifty years, the city’s residents could appreciate the grandeur of the olden days the same way she did now.

Finn laughed. “Remember when Mom and Dad took us to the Oyster Bar?”

The memory flooded back. “But then wouldn’t let us order oysters, because the month didn’t contain an r? We had minestrone soup instead.”

Finn turned to Xavier. “She was certain that if an oyster passed our lips in July, we would fall deathly ill. Never mind all the advances in refrigeration. Our mother was always one for a potential crisis. Whether it was that our dad might be robbed at gunpoint, or the city was about to fall into the sea, she was always thinking three steps ahead. She didn’t see the glass half-empty; she saw it as laced with angel dust, which she’d heard on the news made you want to jump off buildings.”

Virginia waggled a finger at him. “There wasn’t angel dust back then. Now you’re being ridiculous.”

Finn shrugged. “You know what I mean. To give her a little credit, it really didn’t bother her much when I came out. She took that in stride. Blowing off Juilliard, however, that caused an earthquake.”

The earthquake had occurred on a sweltering Indian summer of a day, when Finn was seventeen. He’d been banging away on the upright piano all afternoon, struggling through a Bach piece, slamming his hands down hard on the keyboard when he made a mistake, the neighbors below pounding on the ceiling with a broom handle. Everyone’s nerves were frayed. When their mother told Finn to get his act together and stop behaving like a child, he’d erupted, telling her that he wanted to go into theater, not to Juilliard. Their parents had cut him off right there and then, and he’d run away, heading to Europe with only a backpack.

“Here’s to Meryl O’Connor, flawed as she was.” Virginia raised her glass in a toast.

“Here’s to Meryl.” Finn echoed her, and the others joined in.

“Her funeral was nice. So was Dad’s. All the neighbors came, at least the gang that was still living from the pub days.”

A shadow crossed Finn’s face. They were moving into dangerous territory, but Virginia couldn’t help herself. She was two-thirds of the way through the Bloody Mary, and the vodka made her brave.

“Right,” he said. “I just couldn’t swing it.”

“We missed you.”

As children, they’d played together constantly, either with Finn’s tin soldiers in the middle of the living room or lounging out on the fire escape in the heat of summer while Virginia read out loud from her Nancy Drew books. But once his musical talent was discovered, she’d lost him to the piano and the daily practice that ate up all his free time. She’d hoped, after their parents’ deaths, that she and her brother would become closer, but that hadn’t happened. No doubt Chester’s conservative outlook hadn’t helped matters; the man was far from welcoming. In any event, they had spun in completely different orbits until now.

She checked her watch. Time to get back in the kitchen. She ruffled her brother’s hair on her way out, a gesture of love and forgiveness. He took her hand and held it a moment, and they smiled at each other.

At dinner, the conversation flowed from politics to music to Finn’s success as an entertainer. Xavier held court, raving about the international audiences and the steady gigs, Finn regaling them with impersonations of drunken patrons who insisted on singing along.

The dinner was going as well as Virginia could have hoped. Until Finn asked Ruby when she got into photography.

Ruby crinkled her nose. “Right when I started high school, Dad bought me a camera. At the time, Mom was going through chemo and one of my first photos was of her wearing a crazy scarf to cover her bald head. I probably still have it.”

At first Finn didn’t react. He chewed and swallowed, blinking fiercely, before turning to look at Virginia. “You had chemotherapy?”

A shiver of guilt passed through her. This was not how she wanted to break the news to him. To be honest, she’d never wanted to break the news to him. It meant dredging up all those old fears.

The shock of waking up after surgery still haunted her. She’d known, going in, that if they found cancer during the biopsy, they’d perform a radical mastectomy. “Perform a radical mastectomy.” The surgeon’s words at first had sounded like it was some kind of symphony. Something involving lots of timpani. She’d woken up in a postsurgical haze to see Chester hovering over her. Her right side felt as though a cement truck had parked there. They’d taken not only the breast but a portion of the chest wall muscle. She’d been carved out and had felt lopsided ever since, physically and emotionally, lurching through the world unbalanced.

Still, life had moved forward. “I had cancer. Breast cancer. But it was five years ago; it’s over and done with.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Finn, his eyes wide.

“I tried. I sent you a letter. When I didn’t hear back, I figured I’d just drop it. There was nothing you could have done.”

“I never got the letter.” He laid down his fork and knife on the plate. “I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me.”

Ruby piped up. “I just assumed you knew, Finn. Mom, why didn’t you tell your own brother?”

The accusatory tone in Ruby’s voice was unwarranted. Virginia was the one who’d had cancer, yet she was the one being browbeaten? “Because he was never around. What could he have done? Nothing.” She immediately regretted her harshness. Once Virginia was home from the hospital, stiff and sore, unable to raise her arm or lift anything, Ruby helped bolster her spirits. She’d read from fashion magazines and fussed over the bed linens. Chester was there, too, of course, but as her recovery failed to meet his expectations, he stayed out at business dinners more and more, a pattern that became ingrained even after she was fully healed. “You were a big help, Ruby, and I thank you for that. Now I’m fine. Period.”

The doorbell sounded, like an angry cicada. Virginia leaped up and opened the front door, thankful for the interruption.

Ryan, the bartender from downstairs, stood in the hallway.

“Come on in, take a seat.” Finn waved him in and pointed to an empty chair. “We told Ryan to stop by on his break.”

Virginia shot her brother a look. It would have been nice if he’d told her.

Ryan ducked his head, hands together, like a supplicant. “I hope you don’t mind. I can’t stay long, but I couldn’t pass up your invitation.”

“Stay as long as you like.” Virginia took her seat. “We’re not going anywhere.” She passed him the bowl of string beans.

“How’s the family reunion going?” he asked.

“Woo-hoo.” Xavier waved one hand weakly in the air. “Great.”

“Finn, do you regret not going to Juilliard?” Ruby poured herself some wine.

Her second glass, Virginia noted. At least the cancer talk was over, for the time being.

Finn held out his glass for a refill as well. “No. It would’ve stifled me. My life’s not easy, and sometimes I’m scrambling, but I do love it.”

“Scrambling?” Virginia motioned around the room.

Finn laughed. “Don’t let the trappings fool you. We’re staying in the fabulous apartment of a friend because the timing worked out. That’s sheer luck. Xavier’s business is struggling, as is everything these days. Thank God my tips are in cash.”

Virginia had assumed they were flush, living large and traveling the world. If they were struggling, they didn’t let it get them down. An admirable trait, one she could use more of.

Ruby placed her hands in her lap. “I have an announcement. I hope you’ll understand, but you probably won’t.”

Dear God. What now?

“I’m not going back to college.”

“To Sarah Lawrence?”

“No. To any college.”

So that was why Ruby had been truculent all day. She was waiting until they were all around the dinner table to bring up what should have been discussed in private. Hoping to find safety in numbers.

Virginia refused to be manipulated. If Ruby wanted to have this conversation now, so be it. “You didn’t even give college a try. How can you drop out when you were only there for a few weeks? When we agreed to you taking the semester off, it was on the condition you either found another school or went back to Sarah Lawrence in January.”

“Finn didn’t even put in a day at Juilliard. He knew it wasn’t for him, just like I do.”

Finn opened his mouth but didn’t say anything. Ryan looked like he wanted to crawl under the table.

“Ruby, you’ve been doing absolutely nothing these past two months. What exactly would you replace college with?”

“I want to be a photographer.”

“If you really wanted that, you would be out taking photos.”

“I can’t develop them, remember?”

“Then enroll in some class that offers access to a darkroom. I think you’re using this to avoid whatever difficulties you faced at Sarah Lawrence.”

“I’m not. And I can’t afford to take a class.”

Her list of excuses was endless. “Then you could have gotten a job to be able to pay for a class.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“I don’t think so. You want to drop out?” Virginia had had it. She was tired of tiptoeing around the family’s long list of conversational minefields. She’d watched Finn walk out of her life, and now her daughter was using him as her role model. The thought made her sick with panic. “Fine. You can drop out. Go right ahead. Run off to Europe, like Finn. You can team up and travel the world, take photos of him playing the piano in Monaco and Madrid. Leave me to sweep up the mess.”

Finn held out both hands. “Hold on a second. One thing at a time.” He turned to Virginia. “I’m sorry if I did that, but I had to get away. I really don’t think Ruby’s planning on running away from you.”

She took a swig of wine. “I assume you two have teamed up to figure out the best way to maneuver around me on this.”

“No, Mom.” Ruby sat straight in her chair. “I haven’t talked to Finn about this at all. I want to be a photographer. I don’t want to go to college.”

Before the fire, before the new job, Virginia might have excused Ruby’s outburst—smoothed things over and made peace—to save face in front of a stranger, to prevent her daughter from pulling away. But Ruby’s lack of direction infuriated her, even more so now that Virginia was scrambling to get by, including taking a job as a trainee, for God’s sake. “So you’ll just camp out at home until someone magically calls to offer you a job as a professional photographer? You’re a grown woman now; you can’t be wasting your time.” She paused. “Get a job or enroll in college. You have until January.”

“I swear I’ll try.” Ruby’s voice was a squeak. “But there aren’t many jobs out there.”

Everyone was staring at Virginia as if she was crazy. Maybe she was. But she didn’t care. Saying her mind, drawing a line in the sand, gave her a head rush, like when she’d acted so brazenly with Dennis. “Hey, I found a job. I show up every day and put in my hours. You’re a smart girl; you’ll figure it out.” She stood. “Ryan and Xavier, sorry you had to be part of the family drama. Happy Thanksgiving to all.”

She walked to her room and sat on the bed. Virginia often had a delayed reaction to any outburst, her own or someone else’s, similar to when you made a transatlantic call and had to wait for the other person’s voice to kick in. Like realizing she was burning with fury the day after Chester came home from a business dinner smelling of perfume.

This time, though, there was nothing but relief. Virginia had acted in the moment, an unusual occurrence. She’d said her piece and was done with it. Ruby was probably angry, her brother upset. Ryan must think she was the worst mother in Manhattan. But who cared anymore? Let the family fall apart. She’d spent too much energy pretending to hold it all together, to be civil with Chester in front of Ruby when she wanted to rip out his tongue, to be peppy and cheerful with her daughter when she wanted to cry.

Eager to do something with her hands, she began tearing through the pile of mail she’d collected from their apartment yesterday and left on her nightstand. On the very bottom was a white envelope, no return address. She opened it and unfolded a plain piece of paper. No date, no address, no signature. The words were scrawled along the diagonal.

Hand the painting over to the Lost and Found in Grand Central by noon on Friday, 11/29. If you don’t, you’ll be sorry.

---

Virginia stood next to a phone booth on Lexington Avenue, staring at the peeling paint of a tenement building and considering her next move. A dry wind had swept the sidewalks clear of pedestrians like an unseen broom, and most everyone was inside watching football or gorging on pumpkin pie. Ruby had left to see her dad, having previously arranged to split the holiday between their two households. As Xavier and Finn cleaned up in the kitchen, Virginia had collected herself, slung on her rain jacket, and headed out into the night.

She stepped into the phone booth and slid the door shut, blinking in the harsh fluorescent light.

Someone wanted her painting. Whoever sent the note knew she’d been in the school, knew she’d taken the painting, and knew where she lived. Those weren’t rats she’d heard; another person had been in the art school with her.

Whoever it was had thought ahead, as the Lost and Found of Grand Central was the perfect place to pick up an item while remaining undetected. Located at the foot of the Vanderbilt ramp, the place was legendary for its efficiency and vast stores of umbrellas, suitcases, and various other detritus. If she turned it in, the painting would be carefully cataloged and safely stored away until whenever the letter writer chose to claim it. Just the other day, Terrence had regaled the information booth clerks with a gruesome story of a surgeon who’d accidentally left a body part on a train, in a container with dry ice, and gotten it back a few hours later.

Virginia checked the postmark on the envelope: It’d been sent earlier this week. The deadline was the same time tomorrow as her appointment with the Lorettes.

The painting had to be valuable. Somebody wanted it badly enough to send her a threatening note. She needed to talk to someone, get a second opinion.

Virginia heaved open the phone book and looked up her own name. There were three Virginia Clays, one in Manhattan and two in Staten Island. Which made it easy enough for whoever sent the letter to figure out her address.

She turned to the H’s. Dennis Huckle. Yonkers. Her need to confess to someone overrode her shyness in calling him. He was a lawyer, he worked for Penn Central, and maybe it was time for her to come clean and let someone else take over, let them figure out the provenance and worth of the watercolor. In any event, he would have some solid advice.

The phone rang twice before a woman’s voice answered, throwing Virginia at first. But he’d talked about taking care of his mother; she must be over for Thanksgiving dinner.

“Is this Mrs. Huckle?”

“Yes, it is. Who’s this?” The words didn’t crackle with age.

“I’m sorry. Is this Dennis’s mother?”

“His mother? No. This is his wife. Who is this?”

His wife. He wasn’t divorced. He’d lied.

Virginia couldn’t think of what to say next.

“Jesus Christ. Not again. Dennis!”

The phone went dead.

Stunned, Virginia hung up the phone and rubbed her hand on her jacket, as if the sordid exchange could be wiped off. She pulled the folding door open, not without a struggle, and squeezed out.

Where now? She wandered back to the hotel, unwilling to go up just yet. A stiff drink might help.

Inside Bemelmans Bar, Ryan nodded. “What can I get you?”

“How about a Jameson?”

He grinned. “Sure.”

“Sorry you had to witness the O’Connor family meltdown.”

“Seen plenty of my own.” He set a glass on the bar and reached for the bottle. “Sunday dinners back in Ireland were a full-out war.”

“Right.”

Dennis was a liar. He’d deliberately misled her, knowing full well that she was fresh from a divorce. Virginia missed the strict rules of the old days, when you got married and that was that. But even before Chester had left, their marriage had been fraying at the edges.

The confusion of the modern-day world was too much. Everyone did whatever they wanted. In spite of who got hurt.

And somehow, Virginia was always the one who got hurt.

“You okay?” Ryan placed the drink in front of her.

“Not really.” She didn’t want to go into it. He probably got a version of the same sob story every day. “Why did you come to New York?”

“Opportunity.”

She laughed in his face. Couldn’t help it. “There’s no opportunity here. We’re hitting rock-bottom.”

He seemed unfazed. “Maybe for now. But it won’t always be like this. In ten years, who knows what’ll be going on? It’s not like Dublin, which has been around since the age of the Druids.”

“At least there you have tradition.”

“A tradition that makes people want to kill each other. If that’s tradition, I want no part of it.”

“The Troubles.”

“Right.”

“Strange how unimpactful your name for the conflict is. ‘The Troubles.’ Like heartburn or something.”

“Unlike you Yanks, who prefer to scream to the mountaintop.”

“Not a lot of good either method does.”

“True.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. The sting of the whiskey soothed her.

“I’m sorry about the argument with my daughter. She used to be levelheaded, before the divorce. Sometimes now I don’t recognize her.”

“Happens to everyone at some point.”

She eyed him. “Do you have children?”

“None.”

“Wife?”

“Ex-wife.”

Sure. She’d heard that before.

He winced. “What’s that look for, then?”

“Sorry. Nothing. Troubles of my own.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“I wish Ruby could settle down, find a practical way to pursue what she enjoys doing.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t have given her a deadline.”

“Your logic made perfect sense to me. If it helps, she’s already found a job.”

“Where?”

“Here. We got to talking, and I told her that the manager was looking for an extra barmaid.”

“Here?” She tried to imagine Ruby toiling behind a bar, just like her grandfather. None of her classmates would be caught dead doing something so working-class.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye out for her.”

“Thanks for doing that. She’s not an easy girl these days.”

“That’s all right. The tougher the better.”

Virginia finished up the last drop of whiskey. Her daughter had a job. Virginia had laid down the law, and the world hadn’t fallen apart. Sure, she still had her trials ahead of her, including a wretched love life, a mysterious stalker, and the looming decision of whether to turn in the painting, but, for the moment, everything seemed a little less painful.