Brass Ring by Diane Chamberlain

nothing.” Randy pushed open the outside doors and a cold and welcome gust of air swept across Claire’s face as they stepped onto the sidewalk. “He’s not a magician at all, you see, but everyone thinks he is, and that’s all that matters. He only has to stand back and watch the magic happen.”
    “Oh.” She raised the collar of her coat up to her chin as Randy turned to lock the door. “I see, I guess.” She looked toward her car, the only one still in the parking lot. “Do you need a ride?” she asked.
    Randy pulled a pouch from his coat pocket. He removed a pipe from the pouch and slipped it into his mouth. Claire was mesmerized by the way he cupped his hands around the bowl as he lit it, and fragrant puffs of smoke rose into the air above his head.
    “I prefer walking.” Randy took the pipe from his mouth. “I don’t live far.” He motioned north of where they stood. The streetlight caught the blue of his eyes, and Claire had that sense of familiarity again, as if she had known him for a long, long time.
    “Listen, Claire,” Randy said. “I really am grateful to you for what you tried to do. It renews my faith in humankind that there are people out there like you. But forget about Margot. It’s obvious that you’re beating yourself up over something that was in no way your responsibility. Or your fault. You couldn’t possibly have saved her.”
    “Thank you.” She wanted to put her arms around him and bury her head in the brushed wool of his coat while he said those words to her over and over again.
    Randy smiled and took her hand, holding it between both of his. When he let go, he turned and started walking away from her along the sidewalk. The street lamp cut an angle of light across the back of his coat, and she held her eyes fast to that silver light, watching as he crossed the street. He walked briskly, and soon all she could see was the white patch of his cheek moving through the darkness. Then, nothing. She stood numbly under the street lamp, her eyes still riveted on the distant point where he’d disappeared, and felt an inexplicable sense of loss and longing, as if he’d given her a chance to learn something she desperately needed to know, something she could never hope to learn without him.

9

    VIENNA
    JON WAS STILL AT the gym, even though it was after ten on a Wednesday night. He’d worked late at the foundation, eating take-out kung pao chicken at his desk as he made phone calls to some of his West Coast colleagues. Usually on Wednesday nights, he and Claire made dinner together and rented a movie. Claire had begged out of tonight’s date, though, to meet with Margot St. Pierre’s brother. She’d asked Jon if he wanted to go with her, but he’d declined. This was Claire’s business. Besides, he was tired of Margot St. Pierre. Ol’ Chopin was beginning to grate on him, as well.
    He was working out on a long row of exercise machines, all of which were open to accommodate a wheelchair. He had donated all eight of the machines to the gym several years earlier. The equipment faced a wall of mirrors, and he observed the comforting bulge and release of his muscles as he raised and lowered the weights. Great mirrors. Close enough to let him see the sweat glistening on his arms and shoulders, yet not quite close enough that he could make out the lines around his eyes.
    The out-of-character vanity that had suddenly broadsided him this last year disgusted him. So, he was going to be forty in a couple of months. Big deal. Claire had turned forty a few months earlier, and she’d celebrated for days. She’d been positively boisterous. “Oh, it’s
wonderful
to be forty,” she’d told the world. “What a fabulous age!” He wouldn’t be able to accept passage into his fifth decade with such ease.
    He left the gym at ten-thirty. When he pulled into his long driveway, it was nearly eleven, and the sight of the darkened house disappointed him. She must still be out.
    The garage door