east of town,
doesn’t do anyone a lick of good.
Instead of cathartic tears, there’s clenched rage, a lot of it directed at the conspicuously absent owner of
the house where the murders took place. To the thousand or so stuffed into that church Sunday morning,
Walco and Feif and Rochie died for some movie star’s vanity.
I know it’s not quite that simple. From what I hear, Feif, Walco, and Rochie hung out at the court all
summer and enjoyed the scene as much as anyone. Still, it would have been nice of Smitty Wilson to show
up and pay his respects, don’t ya think?
There is one cathartic moment this morning, but it’s an ugly one. Before the service begins, Walco’s
younger brother spots a photographer across the street. Turns out that the
Daily News
is less cynical about Mr. Wilson than we are. They think there’s enough of a chance of him showing up
to send a guy with a telephoto lens.
Walco’s brother and his pals trash his camera pretty bad, and it would have been a lot worse if the police
weren’t there.
That scene, I come to think later on, that violent altercation, was what some people might call an omen.
Beach Road
Chapter 17
Kate
IT JUST KEPT getting worse and worse the day of the funerals.
I don’t belong here anymore,
I think to myself, and I want to run out of the Walcos’ house, but I’m not brave enough.
The line of neighbors waiting to offer their condolences to Mary and Richard Walco starts in the dining
room in front of the breakfront, snakes along three living room walls, then runs past the front door and
most of the way down the bedroom hallway. Clutching Mary Catherine’s tiny hand for dear life, I thread
my way through the heavy-hearted gathering as if the carpet were strewn with mines and make my way to
the end of the line.
All morning I’ve clung to my niece like a life preserver.
But MC, who thank goodness knows nothing of human misery, has no intention of staying put and breaks
out of my grip and zigzags blithely around the room. She finally gloms on to her mom.
When MC scampers off, all the gloom of this dreadful day floods into the space she’s left behind.
I steady myself against one yellow-wallpapered wall and wait my turn, trying to will myself into invisibility.
It’s not a skill I’ve mastered over the years. Then there’s an alarming tap on my shoulder.
I turn. It’s Tom.
And as soon as I see him, I realize he is the land mine I was hoping Mary Catherine would protect me
from.
Before I can say a word, he moves in for a tentative hug that I don’t reciprocate. “It’s awful, Kate,” he
mumbles. He looks awful too, as if he hasn’t slept in about ten days.
“Terrible” is what I manage to say. No more than that. Tom doesn’t deserve more. Ten years ago he broke
my heart, blew it apart, and didn’t even seem to care that much. I’d heard the rumor that he was running
around on me and partying hard. I hadn’t believed the rumor. But in the end I sure did.
“It’s still good to see you, Kate.”
“Spare me, Tom.”
I see the hurt in his face and now I feel bad. Mary, mother of God! What is it with me? After five years
together, he breaks up with me ON THE PHONE, and now I feel bad.
The whole thing has me so contorted, I want to run out into the street and scream like a crazy person.
But of course I don’t. Not good girl Kate Costello. I stand there with a dim-witted little smile plastered on
my face, as if we have been enjoying innocuous pleasantries, and finally, he turns away.
Then I take a deep breath, give myself a stern talking-to about the need to get over myself, and wait my
turn to offer some consoling words to the thousand-times-more-wretched Mary Walco.
One strange and disturbing thing: I hear virtually the same line half a dozen times while I’m standing
there waiting to see Mary-
Somebody’s got to get those bastards for this.
Beach Road
Chapter 18
Kate
I OFFER WALCO’S
doesn’t do anyone a lick of good.
Instead of cathartic tears, there’s clenched rage, a lot of it directed at the conspicuously absent owner of
the house where the murders took place. To the thousand or so stuffed into that church Sunday morning,
Walco and Feif and Rochie died for some movie star’s vanity.
I know it’s not quite that simple. From what I hear, Feif, Walco, and Rochie hung out at the court all
summer and enjoyed the scene as much as anyone. Still, it would have been nice of Smitty Wilson to show
up and pay his respects, don’t ya think?
There is one cathartic moment this morning, but it’s an ugly one. Before the service begins, Walco’s
younger brother spots a photographer across the street. Turns out that the
Daily News
is less cynical about Mr. Wilson than we are. They think there’s enough of a chance of him showing up
to send a guy with a telephoto lens.
Walco’s brother and his pals trash his camera pretty bad, and it would have been a lot worse if the police
weren’t there.
That scene, I come to think later on, that violent altercation, was what some people might call an omen.
Beach Road
Chapter 17
Kate
IT JUST KEPT getting worse and worse the day of the funerals.
I don’t belong here anymore,
I think to myself, and I want to run out of the Walcos’ house, but I’m not brave enough.
The line of neighbors waiting to offer their condolences to Mary and Richard Walco starts in the dining
room in front of the breakfront, snakes along three living room walls, then runs past the front door and
most of the way down the bedroom hallway. Clutching Mary Catherine’s tiny hand for dear life, I thread
my way through the heavy-hearted gathering as if the carpet were strewn with mines and make my way to
the end of the line.
All morning I’ve clung to my niece like a life preserver.
But MC, who thank goodness knows nothing of human misery, has no intention of staying put and breaks
out of my grip and zigzags blithely around the room. She finally gloms on to her mom.
When MC scampers off, all the gloom of this dreadful day floods into the space she’s left behind.
I steady myself against one yellow-wallpapered wall and wait my turn, trying to will myself into invisibility.
It’s not a skill I’ve mastered over the years. Then there’s an alarming tap on my shoulder.
I turn. It’s Tom.
And as soon as I see him, I realize he is the land mine I was hoping Mary Catherine would protect me
from.
Before I can say a word, he moves in for a tentative hug that I don’t reciprocate. “It’s awful, Kate,” he
mumbles. He looks awful too, as if he hasn’t slept in about ten days.
“Terrible” is what I manage to say. No more than that. Tom doesn’t deserve more. Ten years ago he broke
my heart, blew it apart, and didn’t even seem to care that much. I’d heard the rumor that he was running
around on me and partying hard. I hadn’t believed the rumor. But in the end I sure did.
“It’s still good to see you, Kate.”
“Spare me, Tom.”
I see the hurt in his face and now I feel bad. Mary, mother of God! What is it with me? After five years
together, he breaks up with me ON THE PHONE, and now I feel bad.
The whole thing has me so contorted, I want to run out into the street and scream like a crazy person.
But of course I don’t. Not good girl Kate Costello. I stand there with a dim-witted little smile plastered on
my face, as if we have been enjoying innocuous pleasantries, and finally, he turns away.
Then I take a deep breath, give myself a stern talking-to about the need to get over myself, and wait my
turn to offer some consoling words to the thousand-times-more-wretched Mary Walco.
One strange and disturbing thing: I hear virtually the same line half a dozen times while I’m standing
there waiting to see Mary-
Somebody’s got to get those bastards for this.
Beach Road
Chapter 18
Kate
I OFFER WALCO’S
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