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Brendan's cheeks as he hurried to work, his fingers numb where they curled around the handle of his
briefcase. He'd forgotten to wear gloves refused to, actually, indulging in some absurd belief that if he
didn't dress as though it were winter, it wouldn't be.
But the day promised more miserable weather, more sleet and freezing rain, maybe even snow. Dave the
Grave and his cronies had gotten an early start on the holiday, gathering on a corner opposite the Library
of Congress and bopping up and down against the cold. Dave's wiry dog nosed at a pile of refuse spilling
from a trash can, and Dave himself looked pale and rheumy-eyed, the filthy tweed jacket hanging loosely
from his stooped shoulders. One of his friends held him up as he waved at passersby. Brendan saw him
and started across the street, Dave's cracked voice trailing forlornly after him.
"Where's Whoa Whoa? Whoa & c'mere, goddamit & "
"Shut up, goddamit." Brendan hopped onto the curb, glanced up and saw a well-dressed man passing
him with a suspicious look: he must have spoken aloud. He glared back and the man hurried on.
There was no one in his office when he arrived. He let himself in, trying to summon up some sense of
well-being at having the place to himself. But everything looked desolate and abandoned, the computer
monitors staring blankly from his partners' desks, Ashley's tiny Norfolk pine dropping yellowing needles
onto the floor, its branches drooping beneath the weight of three miniature glass balls. Brendan spent a
good minute staring at it glumly, before picking the tree up and depositing it in the wastebasket. Then he
set to work.
He'd made a point of scheduling back-to-back client appointments all morning, starting at nine. At just
past eight-thirty the phone began to ring with the first of the day's cancellations.
"Brendan Keegan."
"Yes hi, Mr. Keegan, this is Paulette Yates? I was supposed to see you this morning? About a
personal injury suit?"
"Yes, Miss Yates." Brendan swiveled so that he could gaze out the window, took in the Capitol's
scaffolding glazed black with snow and ice, and immediately swiveled back to glance at his appointment
book. "Let's see yes, that's at nine."
"Well, you see, I I have to cancel? I forgot it was Christmas Eve, and I have to get the train to see my
parents, and "
"You're canceling the appointment."
Nervous silence. Then, "Yes. I'm really sorry, I just "
"Would you like to reschedule now? Or, no, it'd be better if you called next week, my secretary's out."
Her voice brightened with relief. "Oh! Sure, sure "
"Fine. And, um, Miss Yates: you know I have to charge you for the missed appointment."
Another silence. "You do? Even though I called?"
"Well, you called at twenty-five to nine. I can't put someone else in that slot now."
"But how much?"
"The hourly rate, one twenty-five."
"One hundred " He heard a brisk intake of breath, and then a softer, muffled sound. "Oh, jesus. That's,
like can't you "
"I'm afraid I can't. Now, we can reschedule after "
Click.
He read the morning Post, rescued before Tony could find it and spirit it away for whatever knucklehead
purpose he had. He made phone calls, setting up meetings and hearings for after the holiday, responding
politely to the Greetings of the Season and Best Wishes For, all carefully worded these days and
especially in this place, make sure no one feels excluded: Merry Christmas, Chanukah, Kwaanza,
Solstice. In the background, laughter and music, recordings announcing We Will Be Closed Until;
receptionists answering phones with breathless voices, already anticipating the afternoon's office party,
early release, Midnight Mass.
And alone of everyone he spoke to, Brendan felt grounded, sober, adult; already looking to next year, a
new year. Like someone on a long international flight, everyone around him fidgeting restlessly while he
slept, his watch already set ahead seven hours, his mind at peace, untrammeled by excitement, and cold
to the allure of gratis wine, chocolates, movies, smiling fellow passengers.
Three of his other appointments canceled as well; two, actually, with the other a no-show. Brendan
carefully noted all this in his book, copying the information out for Ashley for billing purposes. He
researched a case that would be going to trial in February the thought comforted him, February a nice
no-nonsense month, nothing there to worry about except for Valentine's Day, and God knows that had
never been much of a threat.
At lunchtime he ventured out for a sandwich. Big wet flakes were falling now, whitening black overcoats
and Timberland parkas but turning to slush as soon as the flakes made contact with the pavement. The
takeout shop was crowded; everyplace was crowded, nothing, seemingly, being out of the running for
consideration as a last-minute Christmas gift. Brendan waited impatiently while the man behind the
counter prepared cold-cut platters and wrapped a roast beef sandwich in green butcher paper with a
gold bow.
"I'll have one of those." Brendan pointed at the sandwich. "Only without the wrapping paper."
"That'll be about five minutes I've got to get this party platter over to Senator Easton's office "
"Forget it." Brendan jabbed his finger at the glass front of the counter. "Just give me a Kaiser roll."
The roll was tasteless. He ate it on his way back to the office, dodging Senate staffers rushing for cabs
and giddy interns hugging each other goodbye on their way to the airport. When he got back inside, there
was a message on the machine from Teri, giving him her flight arrival time and reminding him to come by
with Peter the next morning at ten o'clock for Christmas cheer.
"Cheer," Brendan repeated, erasing the message. "Cheer cheer cheer."
The phone rang. He answered it, still shrugging out of his wet overcoat and shaking crumbs onto the floor
alongside dead Norfolk pine needles. "Brendan Keegan."
"Brendan. Kevin."
"Kevin." Brendan hung up his coat, slid into his chair. "How are you."
"Well, I'm good. Been thinking about you. See the game the other night?"
"Wasn't that something," Brendan said, his voice sounding like a hollow echo of his cousin's bluff tone.
He hadn't spoken to Kevin since Thanksgiving. "What's up?"
"Well, Eileen and I wanted to invite you and Peter over this evening. If you're not doing anything. The [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]