“Sweet Jesus,” Graham said softly. He cradled the phone on his shoulder and reached for his car keys. “I’m on my way over there now.”
20
HORDES of Celtics fans beset the entrance ramps of the Boston Garden for the long-awaited opening game. They scrambled through the stairwells, the concession stands, the long aisles. Wealthy season-ticket holders with their courtside seats greeted the longtime ushers like old friends at a reunion. The masses in the upper deck stared in familiar awe at the championship banners and retired numbers that hung from the rafters. At halftime of tonight’s game, two new banners would be added to this historic collection: the 1989 championship and David Baskin’s uniform.
Six months had passed since David had led the Celtics to that NBA championship flag. Six months had passed since White Lightning had been awarded the league’s Most Valuable Player Award. And six months had passed since David Baskin had drowned off the coast of Australia.
The mood was ambivalent. The fans were in a quiet and yet frenzied state. A slight hush glided across the parquet floor, for things were not the same on this cool November evening: White Lightning would strike no more.
Laura and Serita stood by the court-level entrance. From this spot the players would soon sprint out to the deafening ovation (Celtics) and boos (visitors) of the fans. Tears prickled Laura’s eyes as she peeked out at the familiar arena. She had not been here since the championship series last season, but nothing had changed. The paint was still chipped, the climate still unbearably stifling.
Two security guards stood next to her. Serita took her hand. “Ready?” she asked.
Laura nodded. The two guards whisked them out of their protective hideaway and into the bright glare of the Garden’s spotlights. Laura and Serita tried not to move too quickly, tried not to look too conspicuous. No one seemed to have noticed them, or if they had, they did not say anything. Laura proceeded forward without turning her head to the left or right. She could sense rather than hear the crowd quieting, but she dismissed that as a by-product of her overactive imagination. Still, something was strange. No one was staring at them. No one was catcalling. No one was pointing.
When they reached their seats, Laura saw that Stan and Gloria were already there. Stan stood and smiled brightly. “Ah, Laura, how nice to see you again.” He took her hand and kissed it lightly.
Laura closed her eyes to avoid Stan’s customary smirk. Not now, she told herself. Not tonight. For one night, pretend he is David’s brother and not some maggot. “Thank you, Stan. This is my friend Serita.”
Stan turned his attention toward Serita. “Another lovely creature,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it. “Sitting with three such ravishing beauties—I will surely be the envy of every man in the arena.”
Serita choked back a laugh. She and Laura exchanged kisses with Gloria and then took their seats. Serita leaned over and whispered, “Is he for real?”
Laura shrugged.
Stan hopped out of his seat and into the aisle. “I’m going to grab some popcorn. Would you ladies care for anything?”
“No, thank you,” Laura said flatly.
“Nothing for me,” Gloria added.
Serita said, “Can you get me a soda?”
“Sure,” Stan replied. “What kind?”
“Diet Coke.”
“Diet?” Stan repeated, his smile on automatic. “Why would someone with your figure need diet?”
Serita rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and held back a chuckle. She waited until Stan had headed out of earshot before leaning toward Laura. “Another good line,” she said in a whisper dripping with sarcasm.
Laura shushed her and turned toward her sister. “How are you, Gloria?”
“I’m doing great,” Gloria said. “How was your trip?”
“Productive, I guess. Where are Mom and Dad?”
“They were going to pick up Aunt Judy at the Sheraton,” Gloria answered. “They should be here any minute.”
“Good.”
“Laura,” Gloria continued, “I want to ask you a favor.”
Laura’s eyes met her sister’s, knowing what Gloria was going to say and wondering what she should say in return. “Name it.”
“It’s about Stan.”
“What about him?”
“I know you two have your trouble,” she began. “I don’t know what it’s all about, but I love him, Laura, really love him. Can’t you give him another chance? For me? Please?”
Laura took a deep breath—a maneuver she used frequently to stall for a little extra time. It worked. When she finally opened her mouth, her reply was interrupted by the arrival of her parents and her aunt. Laura, Gloria, and Serita greeted James, Mary, and Judy. Everyone busily exchanged embraces and kisses. Laura hugged each one of them tightly, holding on for a few extra moments as though she were gaining strength from each embrace. It felt nice.
James returned her hug with surprising vigor. “How’s my little girl?”
“I’m fine, Daddy,” Laura said.
“Bullshit,” he whispered.
Laura managed a small laugh. “I miss him so much,” she whispered back.
“I know, honey,” he said. “I know.”
They managed to release each other. Laura looked at her father. David’s death had aged him, too. James Ayars’s face was a bit more worn—a few new worry lines had been etched into his face. As always, he was dressed immaculately. His suit was covered with a Burberry trenchcoat, matching scarf, matching hat, matching gloves.
Mary was taking off her heavy overcoat. Laura noticed that her mother still trembled fiercely. The combination of sleepless nights and a few too many wines with dinner had continued to change Mary’s rosy complexion into a pasty one.
“Where’s your new young man?” James asked Gloria.
Gloria beamed. “He’ll be here in a minute. He just went to get some popcorn.”
Dr. Ayars smiled encouragingly at his older daughter. “We’re all looking forward to meeting him.”
“I just know you’re going to like him,” Gloria added.
“I’m sure we will,” he replied gently.
Laura eyed her mother with concern. Despite the Garden heat, Mary’s body trembled like she had been left out in the frigid cold. “Are you okay?” she asked her mother.
Mary tried to force on a smile but it never made it to her eyes. “Just a little cold. Nothing to worry about.”