Chapter 61 Chicago, 1927—Tavis #2
“And Jean and the twins would start it again,” Tavis said.
“Piece by piece.” He paused. “Life moves forward whether we’re ready or not.
The pain doesn’t disappear—it becomes part of the terrain.
You keep your mom alive every time you teach Jean her songs and dances.
Maggie O’Grady stays real as long as her stories are told. ”
Tavis thought of Astrid—of how often he shared her with Joseph, and how, lately, the memories felt less urgent as Aislinn took up more space in his heart. Astrid would always matter. But he didn’t want their son trapped in yesterday any more than he wanted to be himself.
Rick pulled a rosary from his pocket, the beads worn smooth. “This was Mom’s. One day it’ll be Jean’s. It’s a quiet way she stays with us.”
“I didn’t grow up with that kind of faith,” Tavis said. “Or that kind of love. But I have it now. You’re lucky—even the grief’s a kind of blessing.”
“Elliott once told me grief and joy are inseparable,” Rick said softly. “Silence one, and you dull the other.”
Tavis nodded. His jaw tightened as he dragged a hand through his hair. “So that’s the deal,” he said. “You survive—but you never get all of yourself back.”
They let the silence sit—the way you do after a prayer. Coffee cooling. Thoughts heavy.
Then Tavis cleared his throat. “All right,” he said. “How in God’s name do you know when pari-mutuel betting started? That’s not normal.”
Rick laughed. “When I came to work for Elliott and then Meredith, they gave me these notebooks—volumes of information I had to absorb about racing and wine. Buried in there somewhere was that factoid.” Rick smoothly pocketed his rosary and drained the last drop of coffee from his mug.
“When we go to the racetrack today, we need to dress the part—like we could walk in and write a check for the place. I wish Patrick were here. We could really use his expertise right now.”
“Since he’s not, we’ll have to depend on yours,” Tavis said. “We went to Keeneland last fall, and by the end of the day, I came out ahead. Your tips weren’t so bad.”
The door groaned open and then thumped shut. The sound filtered through the quiet room. “Anybody here?” Clay called out.
“Just us,” Rick replied, turning toward the sound, the easy intimacy of their conversation shifting back to the reality of the day.
Clay strode in, his arms laden with several hatboxes, the faint, comforting scent of apple pipe tobacco preceding him. He worried the polished pipe stem nervously between his teeth. “Got us new hats,” he declared, the words slightly muffled.
“Are you smoking a pipe?” Tavis asked, biting back a smile. “It’s très chic.”
Clay nearly fumbled the hatboxes, dropping them with a soft thud.
“Is it—is it too much? I swear, I spent an hour in that shop, sniffing various tobaccos and holding every single pipe to see how each one felt in my hand. I like this scent a lot. And I thought the pipe was quite… professorial. It reminds me of my childhood somehow.”
Tavis decided not to touch the childhood remark.
If Clay found something positive to associate with his past trauma, Tavis was genuinely happy for him and wouldn’t dream of teasing him further about the smoking pipe.
But he made a mental note: If Clay showed up the next day in a smoking jacket and velvet slippers, that might be too much theatrical flair even for this escapade.
“How’d you pay for your shopping adventure?” Rick asked.
“I put it on the hotel tab,” Clay said breezily, glancing from Rick to Tavis, his expression shifting.
“What’s going on with you two? The air is thick with tension.
Are you making plans without me? I just started smoking a pipe to perfect my disguise, and if you intend to leave me behind, all this effort will be for nothing. ”
“We won’t leave you out,” Tavis promised, the tone a careful balance.
“Is that a promise?” Clay pressed.
“It is right now,” Tavis said.
“I don’t like that qualifier,” Clay said, his brow furrowing. “It implies that tomorrow you might not.”
“Okay,” Tavis amended. “I’ll make this promise. If Rick and I decide your inexperience is a detriment to our mission, we’ll leave you here. We won’t let you spend energy in pursuit of a goal that moves ever farther away.”
“You’re quoting The Great Gatsby now? Seriously?” Clay asked, breaking the tension with an incredulous look.
“Am I?” Tavis was genuinely unsure.
“A variation of that line appears in The Great Gatsby,” Clay confirmed, suddenly all academic and serious.
“It’s a metaphor that characterizes both Gatsby’s struggle and the elusive nature of the American Dream.
The struggle is in moving forward and achieving your goals.
For America, it symbolizes the inability to escape its history, no matter how much it strives for a new future.
And then the elusiveness of the dream itself, how you reach for it, and it keeps moving further away. ”
A slow grin spread across Rick’s face. “Damn, Clay. You paid attention in English class,” he said, his voice laced with mock surprise.
“Yeah, I did,” Clay replied. “And I’ve read that Sinclair Lewis book you have. It’s an odd choice for you, though—a man who usually prefers the lighter fare of the Wall Street Journal.”
Rick chuckled. “I thought so too, but this woman, all fire and an old-fashioned umbrella, threatened to use me as a test dummy if I didn’t buy it.”
“She didn’t bother to tell you it was banned in Boston and half the South, denounced from pulpits across the United States—” Clay stopped mid-sentence, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow as he clicked the pipe stem against his teeth.
“Maybe that hasn’t happened yet.” He picked up the volume, his fingers brushing the spine, and flipped through the pages.
“You might recognize a few local religious leaders in the character of Elmer Gantry, and that’s all I’m going to say about it.
Honestly, though, I’d like to meet the lady who encouraged you to buy it. ”
“Why?” Rick challenged, a playful glint in his eyes. “So, you can smack her with her own umbrella?”
“No,” Clay said. “I want to thank her for recommending a book to you that wasn’t about wine, whisky, golf, or cigars.”
“I didn’t know you paid so much attention to my reading material.”
“Are you kidding? I know what everyone’s reading. I practically curate the books in Charlotte’s sitting room myself, discreetly slipping new titles into unsuspecting hands.”
Rick said to Tavis. “I’m seeing the kid in a whole new light. From now on, I’ll pay closer attention to what people are reading. I might even have to hide my Kindle. Now,” he said, shifting focus, “let’s escape this library before we’re subjected to another book review.”
“Where’re we going?” Clay asked.
“First, the bank, then some serious shopping,” Tavis declared with a flourish.
“After that, we’re renting a house directly across the street from Skye’s place.
Then, we’re hitting the racetrack, ready to lose money on the worst bets imaginable, hoping to draw the eye of a few wealthy, intriguing men who might want to wine and dine us while we’re in town.
Perhaps one of them will even have on an Illuminati ring,” he added with a wicked grin.
“Rent a house?” Clay asked, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe. “But we should keep the hotel room as our base. It makes it far easier for people to gather information on us.”
“That’s a good plan. We might keep you around.” Rick playfully wrestled Clay into a brief, affectionate chokehold before releasing him. “I’m going to actually read this book, and then I’m going to track down that fascinating lady and engage her in a spirited discussion.”
Clay reclaimed his pipe between his teeth. “I’ll be your second in case that happens.”
Rick cocked his head, and his eyebrow raised in question.
“You know,” Clay clarified, “in case you find yourself without an adequate argument against her point of view.”
“Fuck!” Rick chuckled, shaking his head. “If that happens, I’ll concede gracefully and move on to a different topic.”
“But what if she’s a bad-faith opponent?” Clay persisted. “What if she’s only trying to win the argument with no intention of engaging in a healthy discussion?”
Rick sighed. “You’re assuming I care enough to engage in a pointless debate. Penny will tell you I refuse to do that, and it drives her up the wall. Now let’s get out of here before I change my mind.”