Junior was to be best man, and Troy, one of the groomsmen at the wedding that death called off. Lisa and Pete never missed one of Troy’s fights, even before he was a contender. Now Peteis probably going as much for Lisa, for the memory of the two of them, as he is for Junior Pacheco.
“I know. You and I can talk tomorrow.”
“Meet me there, Rikki.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Come on. You’ve gone with us before, and you liked it. We’ll be sitting with Junior.”
Pete is about as subtle as Troy Pacheco’s fists. He and Lisa had been trying to set me up with Junior for the last year.
Junior, although no more interested than I in that cozy combination, had been gracious when they announced he would be best man and I maid of honor at the wedding. Pete and Lisa had never gotten it. I don’t want to spoil the illusion now that it is the only illusion remaining.
Somehow, I segue from graveyard to ringside, the only constant being Pete, clutching a paper cup of beer in one hand. Junior’s doing his version of table hopping, up and down the aisles in the casino’s indoor stadium, and the Pacheco fan club swells to fill the seats and cheer for their man.One of us, one of us,their rhythmic applause seems to say.
Every time I watch Troy box, I remember the less-than-sober night he told me once that fighting for three minutes was like fighting for eternity. That’s what hell would be, he’d told me. One long round and no bell. That’s how I feel now, how I’ve felt since Lisa’s death.
We’re on round number four, halfway through, only worse than that, if you consider he’s fighting three minutes a round with only one minute between. He sags against the ring, white shorts collapsed against him in shiny, sweaty folds. His head lolls, as he lifts his parched lips to his manager.
Pete nudges me. “He’ll be okay. He always comes back, just wait.”
Pete is the definitive kid. That’s what Lisa always said. He has to sneak into his Christmas presents early. He tries to make those he loves do the same, even if he has to help them with the unwrapping. An ethical attorney, he can’t, when it comes to family, keep a secret.
I’m hoping that is still the case.
“We have to talk,” I say. “You know what I’m asking.”
He gulps his beer, jerks his head, just in case I’m missing the angry storm in his eyes. “No, I don’t. I thought we were here to cheer on ourcompadre.”
“You know exactly why I came here tonight, Pete.”
“You think I’d invite you if I knew you were on one of your missions?”
“Maybe that’s the reason you asked me. You knew there’d be too much noise, too much action, too many people we’ve both known since high school.”
He shrugs. “You’re overreacting. You’re still grieving too hard to make sense of what’s happened.”
“Can you make sense of it, Pete?”
I hear the bell, watch Troy dance in a flash of white, out into a rain of fists. Troy doesn’t let up. Neither do I.
“You knew her better than anyone, even better than I knew her.”
“Maybe,” he whispers through dry lips.
“In all of that perfection, something wasn’t right. I felt it, but you know it, Pete. Why did Lisa have to die?”
Blows fly; Troy tumbles, finds his feet and the music of his movements again. Cheers and applause envelop us. I don’t move, waiting for my answer.
Pete looks as if he’s been bitten by a vampire. In a way, he has. I’ll pay big-time guilt dues for it later. Right now, I just have to know.
“Pete?”
“Fuck it. I’m leaving.”
He jerks up, stalks, in his slacks, his crew-neck gray sweater, up the aisles, to the exit.
I dash behind him, no longer caring about anything but the truth.
