“Oh, Victor, there you are,” said Mrs. Adair, standing to greet me and give me a bright hug. “We’re so glad you came. Thank you for everything. Monica just keeps talking and talking about you.”

“I bet she does,” I said.

“It’s going to be hard maintaining a long-distance relationship,” said Mr. Adair as he shook my hand, “but I’m sure you kids will work it out.”

“Long-distance?”

“Introduce me,” said Mrs. Kalakos, interrupting our conversation.

I stepped back at the order. “Mrs. Adair, Mr. Adair,” I said. “I’d like you to meet Zanita Kalakos. This is Charlie Kalakos’s mother.”

Mrs. Adair looked down at the withered crone, and her face went slack as it decided which emotion to display. After a long moment of indecision, she smiled warmly and bent to take the old woman’s hand.

“I wanted to say,” said Mrs. Kalakos, “that I am so sorry that my son, he was part of what happened to your lovely daughter.”

“How long was your son away, Mrs. Kalakos?”

“Fifteen years I not see my boy.”

“I know how hard that was.”

“I know you do, my darling.”

“I’m glad for you he’s back.”

“Yes, I can see that. But I want you should know, part of my son, maybe best part, is in grave with your daughter.”

“I think I understand, Mrs. Kalakos,” said Mrs. Adair. “And thank you for coming, it means more than you might know.”

“Be at peace, both of you,” said Mrs. Kalakos.

When they were finished, I slowly pushed Mrs. Kalakos down the line of family. Richard Adair was sitting next to his father, his face set in some strange fixed expression while his eyes bounced like Superballs in his skull. He was pale and out of place in a suit way too tight, but he was out of the house, which I suppose was a start.

“Richard,” I said with a nod.

“Yo, Victor.”

“How you doing?”

“How you think?”

“It gets easier.”

“What the hell do you know about it?”

“Only that it gets easier.”

“Well, doesn’t that just make it all worthwhile,” he said.

When we reached Monica, she threw her arms around my neck and whispered, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” in my ear. She was dressed that day in her scrubbed, college-girl look, and I must say it felt entirely too good to feel her so close.

“This is Mrs. Kalakos,” I said. “Charlie’s mom.”

“Thank you for coming,” said Monica.

“Of course, dear. You pretty one, aren’t you? You have house for Victor?”

“No, ma’am. Just a dog.”

“Too bad, though it means Thalassa still has chance.”

“What’s this about our fake relationship becoming a long-distance one?” I said.

“I’m moving. Going out west.”

“Hollywood?”

“Why not? You keep on saying I need a change. Maybe I do. And there was a vibe out there that felt right for me.”

“You have a place to stay?”

“Lena said I could stay with her and Bryce for a while.”

“Lena?”

“Yeah.”

“Lena?”

“I know, it’s weird, but we’ve been in touch. Even after I knew, we somehow felt like sisters. I really needed that. So did Lena, and I think so did Chantal. And Lena said she could help me get a job out there. Maybe with a law firm for real. And maybe, while I’m out there, I could do some auditions.”

“Dancing?”

“Acting. Commercials and stuff.”

“You’re going to be an actress?”

“Why not? You know me, I’m never one to shy from attention. And I feel, in a strange way, suddenly light, as if I can just float away and do anything. Victor, it’s like this whole thing, you, the tattoo, the trip to California to meet Lena, Charlie and that horrible woman with the gun, everything was Chantal’s way to show me the truth. When they dug up my sister, they buried a chain that had been wrapped around my neck. What do you do when the whole point of your life disappears?”

“You go to L.A. and make soap commercials,” I said. “You’ll be a smash, Monica, I know it. Like Teddy said, there’s no telling what a Philly kid can accomplish so long as you get her out of Philly.”

“You’ll keep in touch?”

“Of course I will,” I said.

“Victor, have you ever met my Uncle Rupert and my cousin Ronnie?”

She gestured over to Ulysses S. Grant in the front of the line. Put him in a blue uniform, give him a bottle of whiskey, and he could have led the charge at Cold Harbor. But it wasn’t Uncle Rupert who caught my interest, it was the woman who had been by his side but was now slinking away. I hadn’t noticed her before, but when she glanced back worriedly, I caught her face and my heart seized.

I had seen her before. We had shared drinks. I had made an awkward pass. Son of a bitch. It was the woman in Chaucer’s the night I ended up with my tattoo. The motorcycle blonde with the ponytail and the eau-de-Harley had been Chantal’s cousin Ronnie.

“Son of a bitch,” I said.

“What?” said Monica.

“I’ll be right back,” I said as I left Mrs. Kalakos at the graveside and headed sprightly after Ronnie.

When she saw me coming, Ronnie started rushing off faster, and then she stopped and wheeled and faced me down. She was cute and was wearing a skirt, but her eyes were suddenly hard and I had no doubt but that she could have pounded me into the dirt with one hand.

“What did you do?” I said to her. “Drug my drink and then waylay my ass to a tattoo parlor to scrawl your cousin’s name on my scrawny chest for all eternity?”

“Something like that, yeah,” she said.

“Why?”

“So someone would remember,” she said. “Detective Hathaway had told my father long ago that he believed there was a connection between those five guys and Chantal. And then there you were, on the television, looking so smug and clever as you tried to get Charlie the Greek a sweetheart deal. I thought someone needed to remember the little girl who disappeared. My friend Tim runs a parlor on Arch. He agreed to do it.”

“And you couldn’t have sent me a letter?”

A smile crossed her wide, pretty face. “I thought this would be more effective. And with that stupid smile of yours on the television, you looked like you deserved it.” She dropped her chin. “But Monica’s been saying nice things about you, and I sort of feel bad.”

“You should. I could have you arrested for assault.”

“I know.”

“And I could sue you for everything.”

“All I’ve got is a motorcycle.”

“Harley?”

“You think you’re man enough to ride it?”

“It was a really rotten thing to do.”

“I know. I’ll pay for the laser to get it removed if you want.”

“You bet you will,” I said. I glanced back at the grave site, the family together under the little tent, the small hole in the ground in which the tiny coffin had been lowered. “If I do remove it.”

She tilted her head at me.

“Well, he did a nice job,” I said. “And I’ve sort of gotten used to it.”

“I’ve always liked a man with a tattoo,” said Ronnie.

I looked at her, the wide, pretty face, the shoulders of a field-hockey player. “You want to maybe get a drink sometime and talk about it?”

Yeah, I know, I am so pathetic it hurts.