�He immediately got into it with her, shouting, accusing her of having a romantic dinner and sex with the rich patron who he believed had been paying for school for the boys. He beat her pretty good, and we screamed and screamed. She was still alive when he sent us out, saying she�d be fine, ordering us not to come back till the next day.

�I guess a neighbor heard all the screaming and called the cops. By the time they arrived, we were long gone. And cops weren�t as pushy about domestic abuse cases back then. If the husband answered the door and said the screaming was the TV turned up too loud, and if he flashed his security guard shield, that was that, and the cops left.�

Diane shook her head in disbelief. She had no idea that Harry and she shared so much background in common. He was so tightlipped about it. Up till now, Diane had not shared her own stories with him in such detail. She inhaled deeply, forgiving herself for not sharing. After all, this wasn't the kind of thing you brought up over a romantic dinner in the Village or as a prelude to a night of passion. Or afterward, for that matter. Definitely not your average pillow talk material.

�The next day, I took the boys back over, reluctantly, mind you. As we arrived, the cops had a vagrant in handcuffs, saying he had broken in and beat your mom to get drug money. Ironically, the boys were able to go back to school because the rich guy decided to sponsor their educations after all.�

Mary and Diane looked at one another, and Diane felt a tear running down her face.

�No one in our family looks on Valentine�s Day with any kind of romantic feelings. Romance is really illusory when people end up dead for it,� Claire finished, asking for more water.

After a few moments Diane collected herself, and when it seemed Claire had enough energy for one more story, she requested it.

�So, what�s with the visit to The Speakeasy?�

�That,� Claire chuckled, �was a broken wagon wheel.� Diane and Mary exchanged another confused glance.

�Harry was going to drink there? Why there?� Diane felt her shoulders tighten with worry.

�Why don�t you tell them, Harry?� Claire whispered.

Diane and Mary spun around quickly, surprised that Harry had appeared inside the door. He was soaking wet. The rain had been pounding relentlessly all day, and Harry had to walk several blocks from the subway station without a raincoat to reach Claire�s apartment. Diane couldn�t help herself; she appraised him from head to toe. His long, wet hair fell on his forehead in gentle dripping waves, and his unshaven face looked rough and wild. He had taken off his courier jacket and retrieved a towel from the linen closet, and he rubbed his hair quickly before he spoke. Noting Diane�s admiration, the worry left his face for a moment, then returned when it was obvious she had moved past that to recall the unsavory events of the last few weeks.