No Sign, No Sound, No David, photo by Tim Meijer, Australia
David Carlini didn’t call the next day, or even the day after that. Della and I argued and debated about calling him. What had happened? Had he suddenly changed his mind? I was moving from confusion to anger. We’d spent weeks putting the computer together and had walked a fine line trying to please conflicting parties. I had other clients who were not-so-subtly calling to find out why I was behind on their projects. What was going on?
Antonette Trocadero wasn’t showing up either, although there was a logical explanation for that: she had the flu and was home, sleeping. I was grateful for the peace and quiet, although I felt bad that she was sick. I liked Antonette, for all her meddling ways. She cared about people and went out of her way for them. Unfortunately, with Antonette out of the picture, there was no way to find out what was going on in the Carlini household unless we called them directly. That gave me stomach butterflies.
Della took a calmer approach. “If we don’t hear from him by the end of today, then we’ll call him first thing tomorrow,” she said. “They may have had to take Maria to the hospital again.”
“Well, it would have been nice if they’d called to let us know,” I grumbled.
“Maggie, you’re not going to accomplish anything by complaining,” Della said, in tones that strongly suggested I shut up. “Go for a walk. It’s decent outside. Get yourself a cup of coffee. Go listen to some music. You’re strung out.”
Maggie Goes For A Walk, photo Aggelos Fasoulis, Greece
She was right. I pulled on a jacket and hooked up an mp3 player before walking out of the door. It was cloudy but mild. I walked to Massachusetts Avenue, then turned towards Harvard Square. Then my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. Annoyed, I pulled off my headphones and flipped the phone to my ear. “Maggie!” Della’s said, in some kind of excitement. “You need to get back here, now!”
“What’s up?” I said, starting to turn around.
“We got a message.”
I turned around and rushed back. I threw the headphones onto my desk as Della entered my office. “Come to my office,” she said. “We have a message.”
I followed her to the adjoining room. Della pressed a button on her answering machine and an unfamiliar, male voice announced, “this is for Maggie…uh…’Sep,’ and Della Peterson. Could you please call the Carlinis? We got a problem. Thank you.”
I went to Della’s phone and dialed the number, engaging the speaker so we could both hear and talk. “Hello?” It was the same, unfamiliar, voice.
“Hello, this is Maggie Szczep,” I announced. “I’m here with Della Peterson. I’m returning your phone call?”
“Thanks,” the voice said. “I’m sorry to leave a short message. I got a lot of people to call. I’m Anne Carlini’s cousin. Anne said you was working on some kind of computer?”
“Yes,” I said, a strange feeling starting to build in the pit of my stomach. Judging from the look on her face, Della might have had a similar sensation. “Is there a problem?”
The Shattered Heart, photo by "Lucretious"
“Yes. I’m sorry, uh, I don’t know when we’ll be able to get back to you. There’s been a death in the family. I’m just calling people to let them know.”
I sat down, hard, and looked up at Della. The color had drained from her face. She shut her eyes and exhaled. We were too late. Maria was gone. Suddenly, nothing else made a difference. I slowly returned to the phone and forced myself to speak. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “Please give my condolences to David on the loss of his wife.”
“Wha…” The voice at the other end sounded confused, then cleared. “Oh no, miss. It’s not that. Maria’s fine. It’s David. He died last night.”
