The sky was just getting to the stage where one minute it’s too dark for your sunglasses and ten seconds after you remove them you’re blinded by a low slung sun as you take the next curve.  I was just digging around in my pocket for my RayBans when we pulled to a stop outside a five-story building situated on a corner in a not-so- elegant neighborhood. This wasn’t exactly what I was expecting.  “What the hell do you think you’re doing here anyway?” I muttered to myself for the thousandth time.  I clambered out of the cab and paid the guy.  “You’re getting some answers, that’s what.” I paused.  This was only half true.  “Yeah, don’t kid yourself,” I continued as I watched the cab roar off, the cabbie shaking his head at the lunatic lady.   My stomach was roiling as I looked up at the brick building.

        “What are you doing here?” one thousand and one.  “And who’s this DeSalvo?” I wondered idly.  “Well, you’re here now, you may as well just go ahead and get it over with.”  I pushed the door to the dojo open and slunk in.

        It was nicer inside than outside.  Which was not to say a glass and chrome yuppie heath club, but it was clean and not too smelly.  My old friend Duncan MacLeod was there in the center of the room teaching some kind of class.  Watching a handful of men and a woman make intricate designs in the air with their hands, arms, heads, feet.  Quietly appraising each student in turn.

        I didn’t want to intrude, so I crept over to a corner, leaned into it, and slowly slid down until I was squat-sitting against the wall.  This was really disappointing.   I had meant to plunge in and be done with it.  Now I had more time to myself to think it out all over again.   Damn.  And since nobody had noticed me yet, maybe I could still slip out.  Run away.  Again.

        “What do you think you are doing here?”  Great, a mantra.  I sat the rest of the way down on the floor in disgust and watched the silent, solemn dance of the heavily muscled.

        A sandy haired young man in a leather jacket, carrying a motorcycle helmet breezed through from outside.  He went right past me and headed for the office on the far side of the large room.  He paused and veered over to Mac who with the rest of the group now appeared to be just sort of deliberately breathing, sitting on the floor, eyes closed.  Mac didn’t start or change his breathing when the newcomer leaned in and murmured something to him.  He just nodded without speaking and the young man continued into the office, closing the door behind him.

        Five more minutes of breathing ensued.  It should have been soporific, but they were so intense…I was mesmerized.

        A century later Duncan roused himself and came fluidly to his feet.  “That’s enough.  You never want to do too much fire breathing.  It’s a powerful tool, but it can burn you out.”   Nobody groaned at the pun.  Maybe they had heard it before.

        He looked around the room and saw a chubby, but still lovely middle aged woman wearing hightop sneakers and a red wool coat huddled on the floor in the corner.  “Sadie?” he called walking over to me, his dark oblique eyes crinkled in a welcoming smile.  I struggled to my feet.  “It is you!  What are you doing here?”

        “Hey!  Get your own mantra!”  I said against his sweaty t-shirt as he gave me a big happy bear hug.

        “What?”  He drew back, still smiling, holding me at arm’s length.  “You know, I’ve missed the way I never know what you’re talking about.”

        “That’s me,” I smiled back, a bit wanly.  “Indecipherable…or is it undeceiperable?”

        He laughed pulling me to him again.  “Oh, it’s good to see you.  It’s been too long.”  It was easy to see he meant it, that he really was happy to see such an old friend.

        “Nearly twenty years,” I told him, “and it’s good to see you too.”  I scanned his face.  “You haven’t changed at all,” I told him, slightly annoyed.  “Must be all that fire breathing.”

        His eyes flickered.  “Edgar’s not with you,” he said without looking around.

        “No,” I said as evenly as I could manage, “Edgar’s not with me.”

        Maybe he heard all that I did not say, I don’t know.  Duncan just held my eyes for a moment, and then took me gently by the arm and led me to the freight elevator.  He silently inserted the key and took me up.

        It was a cozy studio apartment.  Or a loft, I guess they call them.  There were unfinished walls and several different areas for life’s several different aspects.  He settled me onto a leather couch, in the sitting down area, taking my coat. Letting go of me at last.  Exhausted and single minded, I was unprepared for solicitude.  Duncan might not be so kind when he heard what I had to say.  I looked down at my swollen ankles and sighed.  The ravages of age, I hate ‘em.  Fighting weariness, I stood up again, pausing at the bookcase, fingering the bindings, the framed photos of people I did not know.  “What do you think you are doing here?”  quietly, quietly to myself.  Louder I said, “I’m sorry, Duncan.  Maybe this was…”

        “Sherry?” he asked, remembering.  “I have a beautiful and very old Amontillado.

        “Poe.  Perfect.”  Mac was probably a closet Mason.  Misunderstanding my response, he virtually bustled to the kitchen-thing, keeping busy, hunting for glasses, the dusty bottle of wine.  Letting me be.

        “Duncan,” I protested, “I took the train here from Atlanta.  I’ve been traveling for days.  I’m so tired if you give me wine now, I’ll either pass out or end up with a headache.  Possibly both.  Which I’m sure I richly deserve, but I really need…”

        “Coffee then,” he interrupted without turning around.  In a moment he was back with a mug of very dark looking stuff, steering me back to the sofa.  “It’s just regular coffee. The espresso machine, uh, shorted out a few days ago.  Sorry.”

        “I’m not.”  I said, looking at the stuff.  “I’m mean, this is fine - great, really.  Got any cream?”  Drinking this down might be part of some cosmic atonement.

        “Help yourself.  I think there are some muffins there too.  I’ve got to go shower.  I’ll just be a few minutes.  When I come back, you can tell me how you knew where to find me.”  He looked at me closely, deliberately catching my eye, bestilling me with his intensity.  “I don’t know what it is, Sadie, but it’ll be all right.  Just hold on.  We’ll make it all right.  Try and trust me.”

        I was rummaging around for a spoon when the elevator clanked and disappeared down the shaft.  Stirring, staring and sniffing at my coffee, I was considering a first sip when the elevator reappeared, the sandy haired young man within.

        “Hi!” he grinned brightly.   Nice looking boy.

        I said nothing and continued to consider contents of my cup.

        “Oh, go ahead.  It won’t hurt at all after the first sip,” he laughed.  “You’re just lucky the espresso maker’s broken,” I sipped and nodded. “I’m Richie,” he said, as if this explained everything.  “You’re a friend of Mac’s?  I saw you downstairs watching the Qi Gong class.”  He wandered over and peered into the refrigerator.

        “Sadie Jacoby,” I said stiffly.  This stranger just making himself at home in the home of my friend made me a little resentful.  Why must those we care for move on without us?  They should just wait until we return.   “I’ve known Mac a very long time.  I’m probably one of his oldest friends,” I told him a little defensively.

        Richie had helped himself to some orange juice and it seemed he was now trying to inhale it.  I went to him, took the glass away before he could slosh any more juice onto the counter, and pounded him on the back.  When he had recovered, he thanked me hoarsely, tears streaming down his face.

        I gave him his juice and picked up my own by now tepid cup of muck.  Feeling more charitable toward Richie since saving his life, we settled companionably into Duncan’s conversation area of the room.  “That little dance was Chee what?” I asked.

        “Qi Gong,” He replied, still coughing a little.  “It’s a sort of moving meditation.”  I nodded and sipped, distracted, but trying to remain or least to appear interested.

        “The Chinese say Qi is the body’s life force.  Those routines help to clear the mind and move the Qi throughout the body…”

        “Why would you want to do that?”  I interrupted.

        “Stuck Qi can be an ugly thing,” said a voice from the next room.  “Hey Rich, what’s up?”  Duncan appeared in the doorway dressed, carrying a towel. He was still a bit damp around the edges.

        “I’ve been discussing Chinese life force with one of your oldest friends here,” he grinned, his blue eyes twinkling.  What’s so funny about that? I wondered.

        Now Duncan was smiling too.  I guess I was too tired to get the joke.  He finished toweling his dark hair, which had grown long since the last time I’d seen him and tossed the damp cloth into Richie’s face.  “Sadie and I have known each other for close to thirty years.  She’s married to Edgar Jacoby, an even older friend,” he finished rather pointedly.

        Richie looked at me again, speculatively.  “Duncan stood up with us at our wedding,” I supplied numbly.  “Listen, do you mind if I, uh, freshen up?  I came straight here from the station and I…” without waiting to hear his answer, I hurried away toward the room he had just vacated.

        As I leaned against the bathroom door, trying to calm myself, I thought I heard the boy say, “She doesn’t know...” I tried to hear more, but they either stopped talking or they lowered their voices.  Was “she” me?  How could Richie know anything about me?  Simple.  He couldn’t.  You really aren’t the center of everybody’s universe.

        I availed myself of most of the facilities in the room.   After splashing my face with cold water for the fifth time, I found a clean towel, but instead of drying off, I just stared at myself in the mirror.  Who is this woman?  She looks like my gramma.  No.  She looks like my gramma after a very, very bad day.

        Wait.  Be fair.  Your skin is still good even if it is beginning to droop a little around the mouth and throat.  Eyes, clear, not too wrinkled, but paler, deeper and with dark circles.  Mouth, a little thinner than it used to be.  Hair, honey brown as always, but now out of a goddamn box…  Okay, you’re tired.  You’re not wearing any makeup and you haven’t slept in more than forty-eight hours.  You still look damn good for a woman of fifty.  You’d look even better if you could drop twenty pounds.  “Oh, what the hell difference does it make now?  Your life is ruined.  No one will care that you don’t look your age…”

        I sat down hard on the edge of the tub, slipped on a wet spot and nearly fell over backwards.  “Middle aged woman cracks head open in bathroom of gorgeous martial arts instructor,” I sighed.  “Inevitable film at eleven.”

        Maneuvering myself up again, I began to pull the room and myself back into some kind of order.  “He is still gorgeous,” I realized, getting back to the thought that had sat me down in the first place.  “The guy must be at least sixty.  Maybe there really is something to that fire-breathing chee-stuff. This whole thing is outrageously unfair.”  Yes, and what about Edgar?  He hadn’t been a fire-breather.  “Yeah, what about that?”  As always, I was able to push that doorbell, but hadn’t the nerve to stick around long enough to see what answered.

        A knock on the bathroom door startled me from my deliberation.  “Sadie, you’re talking to yourself. Are you all right?”

        With one last dejected look at myself, I smoothed my hair and opened the door.  “Fine, fine.  Your bathtub attacked me, but I absolutely refused to go quietly.”

        Back in the main room, I saw that the elevator was gone again and so was Richie.  Now or never.

        “Duncan,” I gripped his strong hands as he sat me down on the couch, “I have very bad news.”

        He sat down next to me and brushed his hand through my hair.  There was deep sadness and concern in his face.  “He’s dead isn’t he?”  When I merely nodded he said, “I thought it might be that.  Try and tell me.”

        “You asked me how I knew where to find you.  Four days ago, I didn’t.  Or has it been five?  What day is it?”  I was babbling, distracted, worn out.  Duncan brought me back to myself with a little squeeze.  “Oh.  Anyway, I thought we had lost touch with you completely back in the 70’s.” I reached into the pocket of my slacks and withdrew an envelope, folded over and dog-eared.  “This was among the things I was supposed to go through, you know, wills, mortgage papers and so on, if anything ever… I trailed off, handing him the letter.
 

Darling Sadie,

    Since you are reading this note, I am most certainly dead and have probably died under strange and violent circumstances.  I am so sorry to have had to leave you.  God, I hope you never have to read this.  I do love you so.

    When you are ready, go see Duncan MacLeod at the enclosed address.  He has promised to take care of you and will explain everything.

    I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.  Please remember you are the love of my life.  I always meant to tell you, but could never think how.

Yours always,
Edgar

        “I’m so sorry, Sadie,” Duncan echoed, looking up from the crumpled page.  I felt a slow hot trickle down the side of my nose. The tear balanced on the tip, just hanging there, not dropping off but growing larger instead as it was joined by its fellows.  Damn.  How much fluid could one woman contain?  I had so wanted to be done with tears before facing MacLeod with my questions and confessions.

        He gathered me close and let me sob all over his clean shirt.  Nice man.  I did more than sob, I’m afraid.  I screamed, I sweated, and I think I slobbered a bit.  Well, my heart was broken, after all.

        That kind of heavy emotional release can be arduous under the best of circumstances (what could those possibly be, I wonder?).  My circumstances were little sleep and less food for several days.  I conked out.

        Mac was still holding me when I woke up about thirty minutes later.  Have I mentioned what a great guy he is?  Well, it bears repeating.   I think his arm had gone to sleep and he was shifting a little, otherwise I might have been out a lot longer.

        “Now we’re both crumpled,” I said, extricating myself.  He stood up and stretched.

        “It doesn’t matter,” he said gently.  “What matters right now is you.  We’ll get you settled and rested and then we’ll see about all your questions and…”

        “Stop it!  Please stop being so nice, Duncan.  I can’t stand anymore kindness.  And never mind the questions for now.  I have some things I have to tell you and I can’t wait any longer.”

        He sat again and brushed my straggling hair back off my face.  “OK, Sadie.  I’m ready to listen to anything you have to say with no interruptions.”

        I gazed into those dark, accepting eyes and nearly lost my nerve.  I ran my tongue over my furry teeth; almost sorry I hadn’t opted for a shower and a toothbrush first.   Now or never, remember?  Quit stalling.

        I stood up and walked over to the window.  “Edgar’s been dead for four days.  I’ve arrived on your doorstep with no suitcase, just these clothes I’m wearing and a pocket full of cash from Edgar’s sock drawer.  No one knows where I am.  I’m running from the police, Duncan, because I did it.  I killed Edgar myself.”

        I don’t know what reaction I was expecting to get with this revelation.  Disbelief, maybe.  Or shock would have been acceptable.  Duncan, I swear, he looked relieved.  He was very nearly smiling as he approached.

        “You must have had a very good reason,” he said, holding my face, dropping a kiss on my forehead.

        A current of fear ran through me.  “Are you nuts?” I blustered, pushing him away from me.  “It was an accident!  Of course it was!  How could you think anything else?”

        “Maybe it was the ‘running from the police’ part that confused me.”  Now he really was smiling.

       It suddenly became very urgent for me to be very far away from this man.   “Where’s my coat?  I gotta go.  I was an idiot I to come here.”  I stopped searching the room for anything red and spun around for a surprise attack.  “This is killing me, Duncan.  How can you think it’s funny?”

        “Of course it’s not funny,” he said, concerned once more.  This was more like it.  “And you aren’t going anywhere.  At least not for the moment.”  He took my arm and guided me back to the sofa.  “You’re running on raw nerves and you know it.  You need a brandy, a bath and a bed.  Now and in that order.”

        “But…” I didn’t even try to protest very hard.  It sounded good to me.  And I don’t even like brandy.  I wanted so much for somebody to take charge, to relieve me of decision making for awhile.

        “Then I’ll answer your questions.  And you’ll answer mine.”
 

 II

        The sign said Joe’s.  “This is where we’re going? This is a bar, Duncan.”  It was a little after 10 am.  After a hot and weepy soak, I had borrowed a very large t-shirt and slept the clock around.  “Is it even open?”

        “It’s not open for business, but we’re expected.  Go on in.”  Duncan held the door open and waited for me to move past him.

        “Listen,” I said holding my ground.  “I’m hungry, I look awful, and I’m not ready for strangers.  What about a Waffle House?”

        I was beginning to exasperate the man.  He lifted my chin.  “You look fine.  Don’t you know how lovely you are?”  I inspired, preparatory to speech.  “No, never mind,” he sighed,  ”that’s a whole other discussion.  Go in.  Joe’s a friend.  You’ll like him, I promise.  And,” his chestnut eyes crinkled, “he makes great coffee.”

        “Fine.  Throw in a muffin and I’ll marry the guy.”  Stupid remark.  My head was full of tears again.  I tried to hold still, to keep them from escaping my eyes.  “Duncan…”  He wiped away the overflow with his fingertips, then put his arm around my shoulders and sort of gently propelled me through the door.

        There was an attractive man, fiftyish with graying hair and beard standing behind the bar, pouring a cup of hot fragrant solace.  “Gimme,” I said approaching with my hand out and what I hoped was a friendly smile.

        His own smile was warm with a chip in it.  “Sadie?  I’m Joe Dawson.  Welcome to my place.”  He shook my extended hand, then began to pour a second cup.  “Mac, you haven’t been giving this woman your coffee, have you?”

        “What’s the matter with my coffee?”  Duncan responded innocently as he located a plate of assorted rolls and muffins and held it under my nose.

        I took the steaming cup out of Joe’s hand, snatched the entire plate from Duncan and turned my back on the small talk.

        There were several tables in the dim room and a small band stand with an electronic keyboard, a drum set, a couple of stools, and an electric guitar scattered around.  I selected the table closest to the stage, sat down, and sipped.  “You’re welcome to join me whenever you’re ready to get serious.”  Considering the gravity of my situation, I just couldn’t understand all the lightheartedness.   “Oh, and thanks, Joe.  The coffee’s wonderful.”

        Duncan waited for Joe to pick up a cane and walk out from behind the bar.  He had an unusual gait and it finally dawned on me that the man must have at least one artificial leg.  I wondered what had happened – and knew I probably wouldn’t be around long enough to find out.

        “How much did you tell her?” Joe asked as he settled himself into his chair.

        “I didn’t really…” Duncan began.

        Joe shook his head.  “I’d like to apologize for this Scottish oaf, Sadie.  May I call you ‘Sadie’?”  I nodded.  “I made a few phone calls this morning.  The first thing you should know is that the police are not looking for you.”

        “Are you sure?  I mean, how do you know?”  I clutched my coffee cup too tightly.

        “Yes,” he said firmly.  “I’m sure. I have some very reliable connections, Sadie.  You aren’t in any trouble with anybody.”

        This should have made me feel better, and maybe it did, a little, but not enough.  Nothing could ever be enough. I loosened my grip on my cup and drank my coffee, waiting for my neck muscles to relax.  My shoulders dropped closer to where they belonged.

        Both men were looking at me expectantly.  Now what? “Thank you,” I ventured.

        “No problem, pretty lady,” Joe looked pleased with himself.

        Wait a minute. “But, Joe, why aren’t the police looking for me?”  My shoulders raised back up around my ears.  “They haven’t arrested somebody else, have they?”  I stood up.  “This is awful!  Oh God, I have to go back home!”  I’m sure I went on in that vein for a bit before Duncan came back around behind me and planted his hands on my shoulders, forcing them down and me back into my chair.

        “Mac, I think it’s time for more coffee,” Joe said, his eyes fixed on mine.  “Make it Irish.”

        I’d like to say that I waited calmly for MacLeod to cross the room and return, but that would be fibbing.  Why would I need a liquid sedative before breakfast?  Something bad was coming.  God, what could be worse than losing my Edgar?  Nothing.  Nothing could be worse.  Immediately I regained focus.   It wasn’t the instinct for survival that had made me run to our old friend Mac.  It was simply the desperate need to know, to solve the mystery that my husband had made of our life.  It was clear that Duncan – and this Joe – knew a lot that I did not.  He had already said he would answer my questions.  After that, I didn’t really care what happened.

        When Duncan returned to the table with the coffeepot and a bottle, Joe gave him a slip of paper.  “Here’s the phone number you asked me for.  Why don’t you use the phone behind the bar?”

        “Thanks, Joe.”  Mac kissed my cheek and said, “drink your coffee.  I won’t be long.  This’ll be all over soon.”  And he returned whence he had come.

        “Eat something,” Joe ordered.

        And I thought I was orally oriented.  I looked at the plate and then at Joe.  “You’re scaring me, Joe.  How can you ask me to sit here and eat when you’ve hung an anvil over my head?  I came here for answers and you guys are tormenting me.”

        He plunked a muffin in front of me.  “You eat.  I’ll talk.”

        I bit in.  “So talk.”

        “The reason the police aren’t looking for you is that nobody found a body.”

        I choked on a blueberry.  I’d been wrong.  This could be worse.  “You mean it disappeared?  I don’t understand!  How could that happen?  I called 911 just before I left the house!  They should have been there in less than 20 minutes.  What could have happened?  Who could have taken him?”

        “There’s no easy way to tell you this, Sadie,” he said, dropping a dollop of whiskey into my cup.  “There is no body because Edgar isn’t dead.”  My mouth fell open and my ears started to ring. “Damn!” he blurted out, “I’m sorry, I should have waited for MacLeod.”

        This man who looked so benign, so concerned for me, the man who Duncan had promised would be my friend was turning out to be some kind of monster.  I mean, how cruel can one guy be?

        “What are you saying?  Of course he was dead!  Don’t you think I checked? There was no pulse.  He wasn’t breathing.  There was blood everywhere!  He was stone cold in minutes for God’s sake!  I tried…” I began to wind down, “to make him breathe.  I tried to compress the wound, but… he just stopped - being in  there.”

        Duncan returned to the table with three glasses and another bottle.  “He’s on his way.”

        “What?” I nearly shrieked.  “Who’s on his way?”

        He sat down and began to pour from the new bottle.  Brandy again.  For shock, I suppose.

        “How much did you tell her?” he asked Joe who was looking ‘way past concerned now.

        “Just that Edgar’s alive.  That’s all,” he said tossing back the drink Duncan had handed him.

        “Just that,” I sneered.  “That’s all!”

        “She’s not taking it too well,” Joe continued.

        “Oh, I don’t know.”  Mac replied.  “It could’ve been worse.”

        “You’re not in on this, are you?  I don’t know this Joe guy, but you…you can’t be this mean.  Duncan!”

        “Sadie,” he came around beside my chair again, crouching low to take my hands in his.  He kissed one of them.  “You know I would never hurt you like that.  I don’t know how to convince you…  Oh.  Yes.  I do.”  He stood up and pulled me to my feet.  “Call home.  You’ll have to hurry or you’ll miss him.  He’ll be leaving to catch a flight soon.” He paused.  “Sadie, Edgar’s coming for you.”

        A tiny tickle of hope began in my chest and spread outward.  It collided with the angry feelings of betrayal and left me completely bewildered.  I could hardly breathe, much less think of anything appropriate to say as I stumbled off to the telephone.

        The familiar rumbling baritone washed over me, easing me for a moment.  ”Hi, this is Edgar.  Sadie and I will be away for a few days.  If you’re a burglar, you should be ashamed of yourself.  Didn’t anyone ever tell you crime doesn’t pay?  Besides, our next door neighbor is a cop.  Anybody else, please leave a message.  We’ll call you when we get back.”

        My heart was pounding so fast, it made my throat ache.  It was the answering machine, of course.  Playing a greeting I had never heard before.  A new message.   I tried to touch that steam iron of a concept.  Quickly, without getting burned.

        There are some people who think alcohol, brandywine in particular, can cure nearly everything.  Evidently, I was spending the morning with two of them.  Duncan was already at my side, easing me down onto the barstool, pressing the glass to my lips.  I believe I have already mentioned my dislike for brandy.   I drank it down without a thought.

        For the first time in days, I wasn’t fighting for control.  Once, a long time ago, I went to a sadistic dentist.  He drilled my tooth without administering Novocain first.  It hurt like blazes and then, suddenly, the pain just stopped.  Of course, hours later when the shock wore off, the agony returned ten-fold.  And now it was happening all over again.  My emotional synapses were refusing to fire.  Now, I was benumbed, but soon there might be hell to pay.

        When we had settled back at the table, I swiftly devoured my muffin.  I’d never been so hungry before in my life.  Blue eyes and brown were scrutinizing my every move.  Let them.  I didn’t care.  I was busy, resorting things in my head.

        “He wasn’t there.  I got the machine, but – it was his voice.  I don’t understand.  He was dead.  The gun went off.  There was a big hole in his chest.”

        “Sadie, how did Edgar get shot?”  Duncan’s voice was curious but soothing, trying to keep me on this side of the edge. “You said it was an accident, but you never told me what happened.”

        I had spent much of my train ride rehearsing this little speech and I produced it with very little effort or feeling.  “We had started getting these phone calls every night around 10 o’clock.  Whoever it was would just hang up if I answered.  If Edgar picked up before I did, he would take the phone into another room and close the door.  Sometimes he’d go out after that. He wouldn’t explain who had called or why – or where he was going.  I pestered him, but he just wouldn’t talk about it.  Eventually I started to wonder if it wasn’t another woman.  I know.  That’s so prosaic, but there it is.”

        I reached for a croissant and began to pull it apart.    “Then the other night, we were out together, trying to have a nice dinner when he just stopped talking to me and – well, it looked like he was listening to a voice that only he could hear.  I know it sounds odd, but I’ve seen it happen before.  Something else he wouldn’t explain.  Then he excused himself and just left me there.   I thought he was just going to the men’s room.  He never came back.  It was my demi-centennial celebration – we were avoiding the five-oh word - and he just left me there.”

        The door to the outside swung open and that nice looking Richie appeared in the entrance.

        “Hi, guys,” he said approaching our table.  “What’s going on?”

        “We’re not open yet, Rich, “ Joe said, turning in his chair.

        Richie hesitated.  He must have been used to a more genial greeting than that.  “Oh.  I just…  Well, I’ll see you later.”

        “Stay if you want to,” I said expansively and maybe a trifle too loudly, overcome by a weird euphoria.   “Richie’s a friend of mine.  Saved him from choking to death yesterday.  Come on and have a seat, kiddo.   No need to rush off.  I don’t mind if you hear this.” I looked at Duncan, “If you don’t.”

        “He can stay,” Duncan said, shrugging.

        “Great,” Richie said.  He looked like he was beginning to have second thoughts.  “I’ll stay.”

        “Pass the brandy, please.  I was just telling Duncan and Joe here, that my husband abandoned me at a restaurant on my fiftieth birthday.”

        “Huh,” Richie said non-committally.

        I had finished the wine while I waited, I told them, but let the dinner get cold.  After about an hour, I paid the bill and went home.  Wherever he had gone, he hadn’t taken the car.

        As the hours limped along, I had become more and more frantic.  Edgar was either dead in a ditch or with someone else – the other woman.   I was afraid to be too angry just in case he really was hurt.  Should I call the hospitals?  Or the police?  If he was all right, he would have called me, wouldn’t he?  On the other hand, why should Edgar call to tell me he’s okay, when he had walked out in the middle of dinner to be with another woman?  My thoughts were pin-balling all over the place and it finally began to wear me out.

        He never called and hadn’t returned before I cried myself to sleep.

        “Sometime late, maybe two or three in the morning, I heard noises downstairs.  I called out for Edgar.  When nobody answered, I got scared.  Remember those phone calls?   What if this was the somebody who had been calling every night?  What if he was watching our house and knew Edgar wasn’t home?”   Three heads nodded, not wanting to interrupt my lengthy narrative.  Maybe they all knew they couldn’t have stopped me if they had tried.  My talking jag was in full swing and it felt so good to get the story out of my head and into the air.

        “I went back upstairs and got the gun.”

        “Gun?”  Duncan prodded.

        “Yeah, that is strange.  Edgar was a musician, not a violent man.  But last year he bought this gun.  He kept it in the bedside table.  I had never learned to shoot it and I never saw him shoot it.  He just kept it.  So anyway, I got the gun and crept back downstairs.  It was dark, but I could see a strange man staggering around the living room.

        “I told him to leave.  I had a gun and would use it if I had to.  And he – he just came at me.  I backed up and tripped on the stair behind me.  The gun went off.  That was a big surprise because I didn’t really think it was loaded.  And the noise nearly deafened me.  When I turned the lights on… well, it was Edgar lying on the floor with a big hole in him.”

        “So it was an accident,” Richie offered.  Bless his heart.

        “Yes.  That’s right,” as kindly as I could.  “I guess the bullet punctured his lung. His mouth kept filling up with blood while I was trying to resuscitate him.  God, we were both soaked in blood,” I shuddered at the memory.  “He was gone so fast.”  Edgar could not really still be alive.

        “But, it was an accident,” Richie insisted.

        “Don’t you see?  We’d been arguing in the restaurant.  He wouldn’t let me tell the police about the phone calls and he wouldn’t explain.  We weren’t loud, but I’m sure our waiter heard us.  And two of my friends knew I suspected Edgar was fooling around.  It was going to look like murder.”

        I stopped and looked at my audience.  They were still with me.  Riveted.  “Of course, that didn’t occur to me right away. And it wouldn’t have mattered if it had.  The first thing I did was search everywhere I could think of for a clue about this other woman.  This was all her fault.  My plan was to kill her and then kill myself.  What I found instead of information was a lot of cash and his note to me.  After I read it, I covered Edgar up with a quilt, kissed him goodbye, and called 911 – so he wouldn’t, you know, have to just lie there.  And I ran away.  I ran to you.”  I fixed Mac with my patented violet stare. “For some answers.”

        “What note?”  Poor Richie, he had walked in in the middle of the second act.

        “Later, Rich, “ Joe told him.

        We all stared at Duncan who poured yet another brandy and pushed it at me.   I pushed it back.  “You look like you need this more than I do. “

        “What we have to tell you will be – impossible to believe,” Duncan began.

        “Please,” I said dryly.  “My life has gone from Capra to Felini in less than a week.  I’m ‘way past impossible to believe.”

        He looked over at Joe who ran with the ball.  “Sadie, you’ve known Edgar a long time.”

        This felt like a tangent to me, but I went along.  “Since I was five or six.  I met him after I went to live with my grandparents – after the accident.”

        Richie looked lost again.  “What accident?”

        “Mom and Dad both drowned when I was five.  It’s a long story, Richie.  Maybe I’ll tell it to you another time.”

        “My grandfather was an English professor, but he had this passion for jazz.  A closet beatnik,” I grinned at the thought of him.  “He was a great guy.  Anyway, Edgar played sax in my Grampa’s jazz ensemble.  They rehearsed in the basement and I would sit and listen to them till past my bedtime.  Edgar was very kind to me.  He taught me the lyrics to some of the songs so I could pretend I was part of the group.  I fell in love with him back then.”

        Richie turned to Duncan.  “Mac, she’s known the guy all her life.  How could she not…”

        “Sadie,” Duncan said, cutting him off.  “You must have noticed that,” he took a deep breath before diving in.  “That Edgar hasn’t gotten any older.”

        “You mean like you are not getting any older?”   He nodded, slightly abashed.  “Well, of course I noticed.”

        “And?” Joe prompted.  “Did you come up with an explanation?”

        “You mean a rationalization, don’t you?” I sighed.  There were a lot of different answers to this question.  “Look.  This is something that I try not to think about in the front of my head.  It’s always there, but lately, I try to just leave it alone.”

        The trio said nothing.  They wanted more.  “Okay, “ I relented.  “I’ve considered all kinds of possibilities - everything from great genes to covert plastic surgery.  But in the end, the most basic part of me knew that Edgar stayed young because I wished it.”

        “What do you mean, you wished it?” This time it was Joe who asked what everybody else was thinking.

        “Think about it, Joe.  I was a very little girl.  I had just lost my mommy and daddy.  I had a huge crush on a very kind and handsome man.  One day I told him I was going to marry him.  Of course, I was aware that this couldn’t happen for at least a couple years, so I… I made him promise to wait till I grew up.”   I blinked.

        Duncan was still looking solemn.  He hadn’t yet dropped his bomb.  Richie and Joe, on the other hand, were grinning like romantic idiots.  I was getting tired of doing all the talking so I cut to the chase.  “Eventually, Edgar went off to New Orleans with his saxophone.  We met again years later at my Grandfather’s funeral.  I chased him relentlessly until he finally realized he couldn’t live without me.”

        “What a great story,” Richie was going all misty on me.

        “The ending hasn’t been so happy,” I reminded him.  “Duncan, I don’t know how much longer I can sit here.  I need to stretch my legs.  I need to, uh, powder my nose.  But I’m not moving until you tell me whatever it is I’m not going to believe.”

        “Edgar’s immortal.”

        “Pardon?”

        “You said he was dead and he probably was.  But he didn’t stay dead.  He can’t grow older and he can’t die unless someone cuts off his head.”

        Wow, I thought admiring his creativity. This is an explanation that never would have occurred to me.  I opened my mouth to express complete disbelief and stopped.  By my reckoning, Duncan was about sixty-five and Edgar had to be ten years older.  And they both looked the same as when I had first met them.  So, it was a simple geometric equation.  Duncan was either delusional or he was also immortal.  This might be crazy, but it was also less painful than all the heavy angst of the past few days.

        “Why would anyone cut off his head?”  I wondered, temporarily suspending my disbelief.

        “I think I’ll leave some of this for Edgar to explain to you himself,” Duncan said ruefully.  “He’s going to be here this afternoon.”

        “No.  He’s really not,” I said resolutely.  “Is he?”  The three faces blurred as tears returned once again to my eyes.

        “He really is.”  Duncan was now grinning along with everybody else.

        “I believe I’ve taken in all I can for now.  Joe, where’s the…?”  Joe obliged by pointing out the Ladies' and I marched off wishing there were some way to hear what they were saying about me while I was gone.

        I was gone about fifteen minutes.  There was a lot to assimilate and it was good to be alone.  When I returned, Joe was back behind the bar and a skinny guy with dark hair and a big nose had joined the group at the table.  He was sipping a beer.

        Duncan stood as I approached.  “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine.  Mmm, uh, Adam, this is…”

        “Hey, MacLeod, I’ve told you before, don’t call me Madam.’”  It was a deep, pleasant sounding voice with an English accent.  And it was familiar.  The man turned around in his seat, smiling.  “Hi, I’m…” He froze.  We stared at each other.

        “DADDY?”  Then everything faded to black as my mind went the way of the espresso maker.