Page 87 of Nothing Less than Magic
“But you have this nice new life.” I draw the tissue across my nose.
“Barbara’s the best thing that ever happened to me. How about you? You have a nice guy in your life?”
I don’t have the heart to tell him that I’m divorced, so I just say, “Yes. He’s a divorce attorney, if you can believe that.” But I almost say a biophysicist, who moonlights as a handyman.
“That’s good. I know you said Lolly’s divorced, but is she seeing someone? Someone solid? Reliable?”
I’m embarrassed to tell him that I’m clueless about my sister’s life, that she doesn’t let me in. Or worse, the truth. That for a long time, I didn’t want in. That I’ve dedicated my life to fixing other peoples’ problems but can’t make room for my sister’s.
“Not that I’m aware of.” At least it isn’t a lie. As far as I know, Lolly isn’t dating. “It’s tough with two kids. But she has a decent relationship with her ex.”
“That’s important,” Al says.
“Did you and Barbara ever have children?” The world needs fathers like Big Al.
“Two steps from Barbara’s previous marriage and three grands. Caleb and his family live in Maine, and Alexandra, her husband, and the twins in Reno. All good kids.”
“I’m glad,” I say, the words lodging in my throat. “You deserve the best, Al.”
“Come here.” He pulls me into another hug, and I linger there against his wide, warm chest and for a few seconds pretend he’s my father. Pretend that my parents are still alive, and that Lolly and I are the best of friends, our babies the best of cousins.
Eventually, we come apart, and Al returns to the big book of photos. “Look at this one.” It’s a picture of Lolly and me eating ice cream on the Santa Monica Pier. We couldn’t have been more than five and eight.
But it’s not that photograph that catches my eye.
“Al, who’s this?” I point to a picture on the next page of my dad, Al, and another man in Al and Gloria’s backyard. The man is standing in front of a barbecue, holding a spatula. And Dad and Al are drinking cans of Budweiser Light, laughing, like someone just cracked a joke.
Al takes a closer look and breaks into a crazy grin. “That’s Jimbo. You don’t remember him?”
I shake my head.
“Jim Toomey. He used to be on the force with your Dad and me. Great guy. Did a tour in Desert Storm and joined the department around 1995. We used to razz him about his buzz cut. He married a friend of your mom’s. Sandy, I think her name was.”
I do remember Sandy. She was a petite lady with a voice like Minnie Mouse, who sometimes helped organize homes and garages with my mom and our neighbor. But I’m more interested in Jim Toomey.
“Is he retired?”
Al gives a lighthearted chuckle. “You can say that. He died eight years ago. Had a stroke on the job.”
And yet, he was alive and well in my dream.
It’s this, not my reunion with Big Al, that consumes me as I drive from the Rosarios’ home to my hotel. And it’s still Jim Toomey I’m consumed with as I fly home the next day.
Chapter 23
Austin is again talking about moving in. It’s kind of become an obsession of his. I don’t know why it matters, as he spends most nights here anyway. He has even graduated from the guest room to my room, which used to be our room. And despite everything we’ve been through these past fifteen months, it feels natural to be sleeping with him again.
Not just the sex part.
All if it. The snoring, the morning breath, even the late-night calls from his neurotic clients.
“You really think it’s a good idea for me to come with you to Los Angeles?” He’s lying on the bed, four pillows propped under his head, putting off taking a shower. It’s Sunday. He’s entitled to procrastinate.
“Of course I do. If we’re going to do this”—thisbeing us getting back together again—“let’s do it right. I want to spend the holidays with you.” Which isn’t exactly true. It’s more that I don’t want him to spend Christmas alone.
Later, I’ll parse the difference.
“Back to my dream,” I say. “So, do you think Jim Toomey was my near-death experience? That I was on the cusp of death, and he was there to lead me into the great beyond? But at the last minute, I fought to live?”
