“That’s a bet. See you Saturday. Is there anything you want me to bring?”
“Yeah.”
“What, Kenny?”
“A couple of bottles of your communion wine. I heard that it’s really good.”
“It is. Are you sure all you need are two bottles?”
“Two is enough. I can’t have you breaking the Eighth Commandment. Thou shalt not steal.”
Throwing his head back, Ray laughed loudly. “What do you know about the Commandments?”
“Enough, Father Torres, even though Frankie still believes I’m a heathen.”
“Do you want me to baptize you?”
“I’ll let you know when the time comes.”
Ray stared at the crucifix on the wall. “Don’t wait too long, my brother. We don’t know the day or the hour when God decides he wants to take back the breath you were given, because we’re all here on borrowed time.”
“Goodbye, Ray.”
“Think about what I’ve just said, Kenneth.”
A cold shiver swept over Ray as soon as he hung up. It felt as if he were falling through a frozen pond, and something was holding him down as he fought to get to the surface, where he could fill his lungs with precious air.
Ray moved off the bed, picked up his rosary beads, and knelt to pray. He didn’t know what it was, but whenever he felt the bone-chilling cold invade his body it foretold tragedy and eventually death. He’d experienced it last year, weeks before Frankie called to tell him that his uncle had passed away earlier that morning.
“No, not Kenny,” he whispered. He could not imagine his friend dying. At least not now. He prayed the entire rosary and when he finished, he felt better.
CHAPTER33
Ray reclined on a chaise in the living room of Kenny’s twelfth-floor co-op, staring out wall-to-wall windows with views of the East River. His friend had come a long way from the small, cramped Greenwich Village studio apartment he’d decorated with secondhand furniture.
“This is really nice, Kenny. You did good, brother.”
Kenny handed Ray a wineglass. “Thanks. I have to admit, I had a lot of help from Frankie’s uncle, who left me a little something in his will.”
Frank, holding a wineglass, walked over and sat on the leather sectional. “My uncle left Kenny and his mother more than a little something. He left them almost all of his estate.”
Ray turned to stare at Frankie. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy or resentment in your tone?”
Frankie shook his head. “Hell, no. My uncle left me the D’Allesandro business, and I’ve increased profits by more than fifty percent in less than five years than my uncle made in nearly twenty years.”
“That’s because you’re an accountant, and your uncle wasn’t.”
“It’s more than that,” Frankie said softly. “I’ve decided to diversify, because I discovered Uncle Frank was much too conservative when it came to investing.”
Ray took a sip of wine, staring at his friends over the rim. He knew he had to tell them that he’d fathered a child and he wanted to marry the boy’s mother. “Kenny, I’m glad you arranged this get-together, because I need to tell you and Frankie something I hadn’t known anything about a week ago.”
Rising slightly, Frankie removed a handkerchief from the pocket of his slacks and wiped his nose. “Come on, Father Torres. Spit it out!”
“I have a son.” The words, though softly spoken, had the impact of a stinging right hook to the jaw. The expression on the faces of the two men registered shock.
“When?” Kenny asked, when he recovered from Ray’s rev elation.
Ray set his glass on a side table, then told them everything about recognizing the boy with the last woman with whom he’d had a sexual relationship as his son, to the details of his conversation with Migdalia Hernandez.
