“Heart attack.”
“Dropped right at work. In that barbecue place. Ambulance didn’t make it in time.”
Michael said nothing. He wasn’t sure what he felt. Satisfaction? Pity? No. Mostly emptiness.
“He was forty-two,” George went on. “Still young. But I guess he couldn’t handle the fall—from running a neighborhood to being nobody.”
“That breaks some men. Why are you telling me?” George shrugged.
“Thought you’d want to know. You two were tied together by one story, for better or worse.” “Were.
Now it’s over.” “Yeah. Now it’s really over.” They finished the brandy, talked a little about the shop, and said goodnight.
Michael drove home thinking about Arthur. Strange. A man who had once seemed powerful and untouchable had ended up dying over a grill in a cheap barbecue joint, without money, without power, without respect.
And he could have lived differently, if not for greed and cruelty. Marina met him at the door with a questioning look. “Something happen?”
“Arthur died.” “That Arthur?” “Yeah.”
Marina was quiet for a moment. “How do you feel?” Michael thought about it.
“Nothing much. Just feels like one chapter of my life is finally closed. Now I can keep going.”
“That’s good. That’s normal.” A month later Marina gave birth to a boy.
They named him Ian, after Michael’s father. Big baby—almost nine pounds, twenty-one inches, healthy and loud. Michael held his son in his arms and could hardly believe that this tiny person was his flesh and blood.
“He looks like you,” Marina said, exhausted but happy. “You think?” “Absolutely.”
“Same eyes. Same stubborn chin.” Michael smiled. For the first time in years, he felt fully alive.
A week after they came home from the hospital, he took the baby to the market to show him to the people who had become almost like family. Steve, Walter, Pete, Nick, Sam, Miss Zina. They all gathered around the stroller and admired the child.
“Beautiful boy,” Miss Zina said. “Takes after his daddy.” “Built strong,” Walter added.
“What’d you name him?” Steve asked. “Ian. After my father.”
Steve nodded approvingly. “Good name. Strong name.”
They sat in the little café by the market, drinking tea and talking about life. Ordinary people. Ordinary talk…
