The Weight of Him(40)

Ivor trailed his sister into the kitchen, dragging his backpack after him. “Pick up that bag,” Tricia said. “You’ll rip the bottom out of it.” Ivor looked as if something had been ripped out of him. He continued toward the hall.

“Not so fast,” Billy said. He sat Ivor down. “What’s going on?”

“Did something happen?” Tricia asked, standing over the boy.

“Come on, what is it?” Billy said, knowing he and Tricia were both wishing they could have this conversation with Michael.

“I hate school,” Ivor said. “I’m never going back.”

“Sorry, that’s not an option,” Tricia said, smiling.

“What’s so bad about school?” Billy asked. He saw a flash of himself as a boy in the schoolyard, the other lads pointing and laughing because his supersized trousers were a lighter shade of navy than the official uniform. The same boys had also elbowed him and tripped him up during football training, saying he was fat and useless, and should quit.

Billy coaxed the story out of Ivor. During religion, Miss Cunningham had asked the students to imagine what they would do with God’s powers. “When I said I’d talk to the people in heaven, Cormac Cullen laughed.”

“What did Miss Cunningham do?” Tricia asked.

“She told him to be quiet, said what I said was lovely and that he shouldn’t laugh. Then she patted me on the head like I was a baby or something and Cormac Cullen started sniggering behind his hands.”

“Don’t mind him,” Tricia said. “There’s obviously something wrong with him.”

Billy remembered Cormac Cullen’s father, Fintan, cornering him in the school bathroom, back when they were thirteen or fourteen. “You’re so fat you can’t see your own mickey.” Billy felt sick, remembering. The taunt wasn’t true back then, but he’d gone on to fulfill the prophecy.

Ivor moved around the table and dropped onto Billy’s lap. “Everyone had way better ideas than me, too. They said they would use God’s powers to stop hunger and for world peace and to bring the dead back to life.” He slapped his forehead. “Why didn’t I think of any of that?”

Tricia rubbed his back. “I’m with you, son. To be able to talk to people in heaven, that’s exactly what I’d use God’s powers for.”

“Me, too,” Billy said.

Ivor sniffled. “At lunchtime, Cormac said I was a big fat dope and that a turkey had more brains.”

Tricia eased Ivor to standing and wrapped her arms around him. “He’s the dope, and a bloody bully.”

Billy stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

In the yard, he phoned Ronin and made arrangements. When he returned, Ivor was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a slice of apple tart with a dollop of fresh cream. Tricia gave Billy a guilty look. I couldn’t say no.

“Right,” Billy said. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Ivor asked.

“It’s a surprise.”

“Don’t go teaching him to fight,” Tricia warned.

“I’m not going to teach him to fight,” Billy said. He wished she hadn’t brought that up. Years ago, when Michael was around eight or nine, he’d also had trouble with a bully. Billy and Tricia spoke with the principal. He chuckled and said, “I’m sure there’s no harm meant.” The day Michael arrived home with a burst lip, Billy brought him out to the garage. There, he instructed Michael on how to best beat up a bag of fertilizer. Michael’s right uppercut proved impressive. The next time the bully picked on him, he broke the boy’s nose. But, afterward, he’d only felt more miserable. “I can still hear the crunch of bone.”

Billy had held Michael’s head to the cushion of his stomach. “I’m sorry, son.”

When Michael returned to school, he was given a hero’s welcome. No one else had ever been suspended for two whole weeks.

Ivor trailed Billy to the back door. “Come on, tell me,” he pleaded.

Anna entered the kitchen. “Where are you two going?”

“I’m taking Ivor on a little adventure,” Billy said, gathering himself.

She lit up. “Can I come, too?”

“No,” Ivor said, fierce. “It’s just Dad and me.”

“Why can’t I go?” Anna asked, disappointed.

“We need to go into town, Anna, remember?” Tricia said, rescuing Billy. “To get your new dance shoes.” She smiled. “We’ll have our own adventure.”

Billy nodded at Tricia, grateful.

“Go on,” Tricia said softly. “Enjoy yourselves.”

Billy crossed the room and kissed her cheek, and the top of Anna’s head.

*

The way Ronin had talked about his uncle’s speedboat, Billy had expected it to be bigger, and sturdier, and with a bit more class. Not this small, gray-white two-seater with the algae stains on its body and the watery dirt on its floor. Even its off-white interior was stained with streaks of green. The white, peeling wheel looked like it belonged to a toy, and orange stuffing bulged from a gash on the driver’s seat.

Billy cast another worried glance over the casket-like boat. The first night they’d brought Michael home in his white, silk-lined coffin, hundreds of mourners had tracked through the house. Over hours, they reached in to touch and kiss Michael, crying and praying. Their constant contact caused the gold edging on the coffin’s net trim to flake and the glitter dotted Michael’s dark hair, navy pin-striped suit, and bony, alabaster face. Specks of gold also got into his thick eyebrows, making them ever more striking. Billy and Tricia’s first impulse was to remove the glitter and its whispers of mistake and wrongness, but then they decided to leave it.