An Illustrated Death Read Online Free PDF Page B

to lie. “I’m self-taught.”
    “No shame in that.” She turned away, dismissing me.
    “You’ve already met my brother Claudius—Claude, I mean, and this is his wife, Lynn.” Bianca tipped her head toward the man at the foot of the table. Still standing, I could see that his reddish curly hair had retreated to a fringe above his ears, leaving a considerable dome. In the breast pocket of his wrinkled cotton shirt was a collection of pens and compasses, signaling a draftsman too busy to change clothes for lunch.
    Lynn, with her cap of blond hair and pleasant expression, was the kind of woman I would chat with in the supermarket line.
    I nodded at them.
    “My other brother, Puck.” Puck, across from me, tilted his head in a small salute. With his fair curly hair and wry expression, the name suited him perfectly.
    Bianca and I sat down. She was unfolding her white napkin when I became aware of a rhythmic clatter of silverware. I looked over and saw that the young woman beside Puck was tapping the back of her spoon against her knife and looking at Bianca. With her head turned, I saw that her dark hair was pulled back in a long braid, and realized that she reminded me of the Indian women in Santa Fe paintings. From the top of her ear and bisecting her cheek to her chin was the kind of running scar made by stitches.
    Puck’s wife?
    “Oh, sorry. This is my sister, Rosa.” Bianca’s voice was as flat as the pale mauve tablecloth.
    “Hi, Rosa.” I smiled at her.
    But she only nodded shyly. Was she mute?
    Bianca and Claude bore a strong resemblance to the portrait of Nate, Puck had his mother’s Irish features, but Rosa was hard to place. The red turtleneck she had on gave an unfortunate emphasis to the roll of fat above her stomach.
    I was picking up my own napkin when I realized I had forgotten to wash up, because I didn’t usually when I was eating alone. I didn’t even wash fruit before eating. It was only book dust, but I kept my hands in my lap.
    A Caesar salad had been carefully arranged at each place setting. But before one fork stabbed one piece of romaine, everyone raised their glass of iced tea and tilted it toward a blue-and-white porcelain urn standing in the center of the table.
    “To the best dad ever!”
    “Always in our hearts.”
    They took a ceremonial sip at the exact same moment, then set down their glasses with a single thud and reached for forks.
    Could Nate Erikson’s ashes really be in that jar?
    So glad your father could join us.
    Then Mama gave a cry of alarm. “We can’t start without Nate!”
    Was there another brother? I looked around, but could see no vacant chair.
    The uniformed attendant stepped away from the sideboard and placed a consoling hand on Mama’s narrow shoulder. “Now Miss Eve, you know he went to the city today. We’ll save plenty of lunch for him.”
    I realized, chilled, that Mama must be talking about her dead husband. But was that really so unusual? It was easy to forget for a moment when someone hadn’t been gone that long.
    “Are you married to another artist?” Lynn asked me, smiling as she would have over her grocery cart. “I noticed your unusual wedding band.”
    It wasn’t exactly a wedding band, though it was on my left hand, third finger. It was wide and ornately woven, an Art Deco design that Colin and I had found in an antiques shop. Neither of us cared much for conventional rings. Now, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t slide it over my knuckle.
    Time for more truth. “We don’t live together right now. He’s an archeologist who travels a lot, he teaches at Stony Brook and writes poetry. We’re still mar—”
    I felt Bianca’s arm bang into mine. “What’s his name?”
    “Colin Fitzhugh?” I don’t know why it came out as a question.
    Her salad fork clattered onto the plate. “You’re married to Colin Fitzhugh ?”
    I turned and our eyes met, hers steel gray with accusation.
    Now what had I done?
    I glanced at her mother—surely