Danny would have been twenty-six. He could have married by now, Kathleen thought. She folded her arms and put her forehead down. Of her three boys, he had been the most social. He was fascinated with little babies; he tried to swaddle his teddy bear like an infant. She would have been a grandmother. She lowered her cheek to the cool-hard Formica, but there were no tears.
“No!” she thought, sitting upright. She had no idea what Danny would have been like. He was a three-year-old who sucked his fingers and wanted Goodnight Moon five times a night. He thought his big brother walked on water. He never met Jack, never got to be a big brother himself. He was barely out of diapers on the day that car knocked him into the tree, headfirst.
The day before the accident, Kathleen had taken Danny to Muchnik’s Shoes downtown and bought him new sneakers. Red Keds. He wanted the red ones. Twenty-five years ago. The red sneakers against the white sheet on the stretcher. They could have looked like bloodstains, but they didn’t. They looked like roses.
Kathleen shuddered and started looking for her car keys. There was no rule against visiting the cemetery on days other than the anniversary, she thought. She would go by herself. Right now. Why not?
The phone rang.
“Mrs. Levine? This is Brigid Gallagher-Steinberg again? I couldn’t remember if I left my phone number or not? So I thought I’d call and leave it on your machine? But there you are.”
“Here I am,” Kathleen said abruptly.
“I’m sorry if this isn’t a good time,” Brigid said, her cadence flattened by Kathleen’s tone.
“No, it’s okay. I was going out. But there’s no rush.”
Brigid had been deputized to chair the library subcommittee for children’s books. “Rabbi Hertz picked me because I asked why there were no books for my little boy at the temple? You’ve got to be really, really careful what you say around her. My husband is running a committee to see about adding a handicapped-accessible bathroom because he told her about a case he’s doing on the Americans with Disabilities Act? He works for the attorney general’s office?”
“Yes,” said Kathleen, putting the keys into her purse.
“Rabbi Hertz says you’re a professional children’s librarian? So I wonder if I could bring over the books we already have and also a bunch of catalogs? Oh, and there’s a really good children’s collection at this temple down in Lexington? They have a full-time librarian. I talked to her, and she was really nice and said we could go down there for a visit?”
“I’m not sure I’m up to that.”
“I could drive.”
Annoyed that Brigid hadn’t taken the hint, Kathleen said, “I’m afraid that the radiation treatments are making me tired.”
“Radiation?” Brigid gasped. “I’m so sorry. Rabbi Hertz didn’t say anything about any, anything, any treatment. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t understand why she didn’t. Really, I am so sorry.”
Kathleen flushed, ashamed at the way she’d blindsided this poor woman. “Oh, it was probably meant as a gift, her not treating me like an invalid. I don’t really want to be treated like I’m sick.” Except I do, thought Kathleen. “I’m having radiation for breast cancer. My doctors tell me I’ll be fine.”
“No chemo?”
“No.”
“Oh, that’s good. My friend, Nancy? She had radiation and chemo after her surgery? The chemo was awful.” There was a long pause.
“I’m not that bad off.” Kathleen made herself add, “I’m lucky.”
Brigid said she’d understand if Kathleen would prefer not to get involved. “You’ve got plenty on your plate.”
“Actually, I don’t. Besides, you’re right about the rabbi. I’m not sure I didn’t agree to do it. Why don’t you drop off the catalogs. But I think I’d rather wait and see about the field trip. I am pretty tired these days.” Kathleen wasn’t sure she wanted to spend hours in the car with Brigid of the Perpetual Question.
When she got off the phone, Kathleen went out to the deck and tended to the flower boxes. Slipping off her shoes, she walked barefoot over the warm paving stones to rescue her two drooping tomato plants, which is where Brigid found her.
“I knocked on the door and rang the bell?” she said as she rearranged the little boy straddling her hip. “This is Nathan.” She brushed thick red hair off his freckled forehead. “Can you say hello to Mrs. Levine?”
“Nathan?” asked Kathleen. “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.” Nathan buried his head in his mother’s shoulder. “Hello, Nathan. Do you like teeny tiny toads?”
“No!” said Nathan, his voice muffled.
“Oh, too bad. Because there’s one right under this leaf. Are you sure you don’t want to see him?”
Brigid crouched down and Nathan peeked. “Oooh,” he said, catching sight of the thumbnail-sized creature as it hopped away.
Kathleen invited Brigid and Nathan in for cookies and milk, but they were on their way to a play date. Brigid — a slender redhead in denim shorts and a Rockport T-shirt — carried a shopping bag filled with catalogs to the deck. She put Nathan down while she fetched a box from her car.