Drowning in the East River

                                                 

CHAPTER ONE

"I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do," David said, running a hand through his hair. "I'm completely lost, sis.” As David glanced up at Florence, she noticed just how worn and beaten he looked from the last few days. He took off his wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed his wide, green eyes. His voice cracked with emotion and his eyes shot across the room, jumpy with exhaustion.

She took a discreet look around the crowded diner. Satisfied that all of her regulars were suitably taken care of, she sat down at a stool next to David. Folding her hands in front of her, she looked over at her baby brother. "It's been a long time since you've called me that," Florence said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. A small smile crossed her plump cheeks.

Everything about David's appearance had been hastily thrown together in the stuffy haze of the morning. His charcoal grey suit looked slightly ruffled, and his black necktie was crooked. When he took off his cap, his normally neat, chocolate brown hair was wild from inattention. He glanced up at the ceiling and brushed a wild strand of hair out of his eyes.

"It may not seem like it," Florence started, topping off her little brother's coffee. Her voice was gentle, trying to be supportive as she continued. "You will get through this.”

David always looked like a school boy to her. Barely twenty-five, he still had a very round, soft face. His gentle, boyish features were still very visible, even under the three day beard covering his cheeks.

"When was the last time you shaved?" Florence asked, taking a sip of her coffee. She gently smacked him with the side of her hand, trying to lighten his mood. “You look like a hobo.”

"I don't remember," David replied, looking down at the coffee in front of him.

The Brass Kettle Diner was busy with the afternoon lunch rush from Wall Street. The tables were filled with the usual Stock Market crowd. Many of the men had their shirtsleeves rolled up, trying to combat the oppressive humidity which swallowed Manhattan during the dog days of summer. The diners kept mostly to themselves, many paging through folded copies of the Times or the Journal, stopping occasionally to fan themselves with their hats.

Despite the lingering and uncomfortable heat, the room felt like quiet sanctuary away from Manhattan. About fifty tables were packed into the dining room. Fresh flowers decorated every table, successfully creating a welcoming environment.

Florence exhaled sharply, resting a supportive hand on his bony shoulder. She took a moment to consider her words. "What you need to do is stay strong for that baby."

Their relationship had always been tenuous, and Florence could feel herself still walking on egg shells with him. She tucked a stray strand of graying hair behind her ear as she took another scan of the restaurant before refocusing her attention on him. "I understand what you're going through, David. Honestly, I do. I remember everything Dad went through after Mom died."

David was only half listening to her. His eyes were a million miles away, fixating on the thoughts looping in his head. He dropped another sugar cube into his coffee and mindlessly stirred it until it dissolved in the dark brown liquid.

In truth, Florence barely remembered anything from after their mother died. They were 16 years apart. After Bridget Freeman died in labor with her brother, Florence moved out with her then fiancee, leaving David to fend for himself against their father’s drunken tirades. She was probably sympathetic, but she remembered little.

"Yes!" David snapped. "I killed Mom. I know. Dad made that abundantly clear for years."

Florence took a sip of coffee. She smiled to herself, privy to a pleasant memory he was too young to remember. Ignoring his outburst, she rested her hand on top of his, looking David squarely in the eye. "Believe it or not," Florence began. She spoke slowly, thinking through what she wanted to say carefully. "You're a lot like Mom. I think that's why Dad had such a hard time after she died."

It had been two days since Jessica died, and three days since he had any real sleep. David took a long sip from the cup in front of him. Coffee, and the fear of what he might see upon closing his eyes, were the only things keeping him awake.

"Are you listening to me, David?" Florence asked, topping off his coffee. Her voice was direct as she looked up and took another survey of the room. "Thomas needs to be your first priority, now."

"I can't provide for that baby," David replied. He pulled off his glasses and dropped his head into his hands. His eyes were glued to a spot on the wall as he continued. "I don't know the first thing about being a father.”

"David, when was the last time you slept?"

"I haven't been able to close my eyes," he replied. His voice sounded flat and tired in his head, and his body had long passed the point of exhaustion. His muscles were only functioning through the sheer need to keep moving forward.

"I tried to lay on the sofa last night, but I kept hear her screaming… all that blood." His breathing was deep and shaky, as he struggled to keep a hold on his crumbling composure. He lit another cigarette.

"You need sleep," Florence said. She gave his fingers a slight squeeze. Leaning over, she dropped her head slightly, trying to meet his eyes. "I'm sure things will seem clearer with a nights sleep behind you."

David shifted his eyes toward the ceiling beams above their heads. He stretched the knots out of his aching back, hearing his joints pop. Pulling his hands back in front of him, he took another long sip of coffee. His voice cracked as he continued, "I had to make the arraignments for this damned funeral."

He had spent the last two days going through the motions, pretending he knew what needed to be done. In truth, he had no idea. Despite everything, they had never spoken of this as an eventuality. Jessica was twenty-three, she wasn't supposed to die for another forty or fifty years.

David dropped a nickel on the counter, and pushed himself up from the bar stool. He could feel his breath catching in his throat. He needed fresh air and to be alone. "I'd better get back," he said, pulling his cap down onto his head.

“Please, take a few minutes and eat something," Florence pleaded with him, emotion swelling in her voice. "You can allow yourself that much."

David looked towards the door, deliberately avoiding eye contact with his older sister. "Jess' god awful sister is watching Thomas... I really should go…". He spoke quickly. The sound of his heart pounding in his head was almost deafening.

"Please let me know how I can help," Florence said.

David didn't answer as moved towards the door in the corner of the dining room.

Florence stood up and took a few steps to catch him. She reached out for his arm, stopping him in his path. Her voice was sincere as she continued. "I'm here for you, David. What can I do?" She looked him up and down as he turned to meet her eyes.

Ignoring her, David sucked in a centering breath as he moved through the door and stepped onto the cobblestones of Thames Street.

Just a half city block, Thames Street was far too dark and narrow to truly be called a street. The diner was one three or four storefronts jammed into what was little more than an alley separating the back facings of two towering skyscrapers.

Leaning against the tan brick, David looked up at the sky, which was just a blue sliver, barely visible between the two roofs far above his head.

Standing in the claustrophobic alley, David could feel the heat quickly becoming trapped in the layer of pollution hanging over the city. He squeezed his eyes closed as he started down the street. The chugging of traffic and the trumpeting of horns on nearby Broadway grew louder with each step.

David exhaled sharply. Between the aches and pains burrowing into his muscles, and the onset of sheer exhaustion, it took almost more effort than he had in order to simply put one foot in front of the other.

David tugged at his bowtie, which felt like a noose around his neck. Sweat pooled just underneath his shirt, and he needed to get air flowing underneath the heavy fabric.

He pulled his hat down further over his head as he stepped out into the bright summer sunshine on Broadway. The sun was quickly roasting the pavement as he moved toward the street car stop he knew was up ahead about a block.

He buried his hands in his pockets as he waited for the streetcar.

His head was throbbing, thanks to a deep tension headache. Shielding his eyes from the harsh sunlight, he spotted the streetcar two streets up.

He pulled out his pack of cigarettes, lighting himself another.

Taking a drag, he could feel his breath slowing. The adrenaline in his system slowly fell away, his body gradually coming back under his control.

The streets bustled with activity as men in polished, well-tailored suits hurried between office buildings, talking quietly amongst themselves as they moved about their day.

He dropped his spent cigarette into the gutter as the streetcar rumbled to a stop in front of him. David stepped aside, letting riders exit through the tight doors.

David shuffled his way to his usual seat near the back. Sitting on the hard wooden bench, his mind flashed back to the countless times he had sat in the same spot with Jessica. They would squeeze close together, their hands intertwined.

He wrapped his arms around his body, and leaned against the window. Closing his eyes, David let himself get lost in the gentle rocking as the carriage continued down the street.

"I have to go in there," David stammered. His words came fast, fueled by the adrenaline pulsing through his system. He stepped off the path he had been pacing for twenty minutes, and turned to face William Conlon who slowly paged through a copy of the New York Times. David stopped, forcing himself to speak carefully and keep his tongue from tripping over the words. "What if Jessica needs me?"

His brother-in-law stood up and walked over to where David was leaning against the chipping kitchen counter. He placed a friendly hand on the younger man's shoulder as he poured himself a small drink. "Doctor Stern and the girls have everything under control. You can't help any more than they are already."

A bookish man of 45, Jessica’s eldest brother was starting to show hints of his advancing age. A bookkeeper for the family dry goods store, his lined eyes were hidden behind a pair of thick, wire-rimmed glasses. His dark brown hair had started thinning on top. William took a deep puff on his cigar as he turned to take another look at the bedroom door.