Chapter 16: What He Kept

They buried the old Don on Wednesday, in the rain, from the church on Arthur Avenue.

Nino stood at the head of the aisle in a new black suit.

The capos came to him one at a time and kissed his ring.

Some of them did it quickly.

The old capo with the gold watch bent over the hand.

Rosalia sat in the front pew in a black veil, with her hands folded.

She did not once look back at me.

Roisin was not there.

The hospital was keeping her another night, and I had made sure of that.

I sat in the last row with Dominic and watched him watch the coffin.

His jaw had been locked since the old man died.

He had not said a word about what the old man had asked of him.

I had not asked.

I gave him until the end of the funeral.

At nine that night, in the closet of our bedroom in Fort Lee, I sat down on the floor in front of his steel safe.

"Open it," I said.

Dominic stood in the doorway, still in his funeral suit.

"Fiona."

"The old Don told you to tell me. You haven't. Open it."

He stood there for a long time.

Then he knelt, turned the dial, and the door swung open.

There were three things inside.

A man's gold wedding ring, worn thin.

A folded sheet of yellow paper, soft at the creases.

A small tin teapot with a cracked lid, wrapped in a handkerchief.

"My father's," he said, touching the ring.

"What's the paper?"

"The last thing he wrote me."

"And the teapot?"

His mouth went flat.

"Six years ago I came home early," he said. "The study door was open."

He looked at the pot.

"My father sat in his chair and couldn't lift his head. His cup was on the desk."

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