Free Vigil for a Stranger by Kitty Burns Florey Page B

his license—hell, Charlie, he could have given them away if he was in the right mood.”
    â€œThey did a positive identification, Chris. I’m not sure how, actually. The bodies were—well, you know what they said. And the car was down in that canyon or whatever for days. I mean, no one ever questioned it, not that I know of. But there were animals out there. I don’t know how much was actually—” He paused. “Actually left.”
    â€œGod.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWell—can’t you see that there’s a chance that Pierce wasn’t there?”
    â€œI suppose I’d have to grant you that—I mean, not knowing the details, I assume the police, the labs—I assume the positive identification had to have been based on something concrete, Chris.”
    â€œBut suppose that it wasn’t, that the identity was just taken for granted—”
    â€œWell then, what bothers me is where is he?”
    â€œHe’s in New York,” I said. “He’s become some kind of big executive.” I tried to laugh. “He wears a hat, Charlie. He has lunch with people who carry briefcases.”
    â€œBut why didn’t he get in touch with us? Why is he in hiding? Why wouldn’t he come forward, Chris?” He laughed too. “I mean, no one wants to be considered dead unless they’ve committed a crime or something.”
    My mind closed down over that. I said, “I admit this is strange, Charlie. I don’t have any answers. So far I just have these questions.”
    â€œSo far. That sounds like you’re going to do something.”
    â€œI want to do something. I feel I have to. I just don’t know what.”
    â€œCall his mother out in Michigan.”
    â€œOh—right: Hi, Mrs. Pierce, remember me, did it ever occur to you that Orin is alive and living in Manhattan? Not dead, only resting.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t have to put it like that, you could be a little more roundabout.”
    â€œActually, I thought I’d start a little closer in. I thought I’d get in touch with that woman.”
    â€œThe woman on the train?”
    â€œSure. Why not? I know where to find her. And what have I got to lose?”
    â€œChristine—” I heard Charlie strike a match and inhale. It surprised me that he still smoked, and I had the sense that he was trying to quit, had wanted a cigarette since our phone call began and was only now giving in. “What if he doesn’t want to be found? What if he doesn’t want to see you?”
    â€œCharlie, this is Pierce we’re talking about.”
    â€œHoney, it’s not the same guy. I mean—even if it is the same guy, it’s not. You know what I mean?”
    â€œYes. So what?”
    â€œI think you should forget it, that’s what.”
    â€œI can’t forget it.”
    We stayed with my parents until New Year’s Day. After the phone call to Charlie, I felt better—purged, maybe. It helps to articulate something. And Charlie, despite his reservations, hadn’t thought I was entirely crazy. And hearing Charlie’s voice—well, it was good to hear his voice. His voice hadn’t changed over the years. Hearing it reminded me of things, and if I were going to track down Pierce I needed to be reminded. I had lost him, he had died for me at least twice, three times, how many times, but I would go in search of lost time, à la recherche de temps perdu , and I would find him again.
    On New Year’s Eye, James and I skated on the pond just before dark. He was feeling romantic: we waltzed, and he kissed me when we got around the willow tree to the part of the pond my mother couldn’t see from the window. I leaned against him, balancing against his big chest. I had given him a bright red cashmere muffler for Christmas, and I felt it soft against my cheek.
    â€œYou’ve been in a funny mood,” he