The Weight of Him(82)

“All right, then, see you later.” He turned to go.

“Wait!” Tricia’s outburst seemed to embarrass her, and when next she spoke, she sounded hesitant. “I’ll explain to Ivor about the swimming. He’ll understand. It’s not about when you do it, just that you do it.”

He broke out in goose bumps. “Yeah, great, thanks.”

She nodded, as if they’d settled something. “See ya.”

He moved downstairs, tapping Denis’s number on his phone. Despite what had just happened with Tricia, he felt a knot in his chest. He wanted Denis by his side today, to help him withstand what lay ahead.

*

The three traveled to Cork in Adam’s white HiAce, all wedged together on the bench seat—Adam driving, Denis in the middle, and Billy pressed against the passenger door. Behind them, piled in the stomach of the van, was a bunch of camera equipment, battery packs, various stands and reflectors, and Billy didn’t know what else. Despite the ropes and bungee cords, some of the contents shifted every time the vehicle stopped and turned corners. The sliding sounds only added to the climbing tension in the crowded space.

Ever since they’d picked up Denis, he’d remained silent and sour, brushing off Adam’s repeated attempts at conversation. The filmmaker talked about the weather, sports, film, and Billy’s “spectacular” TV appearance, but Denis wouldn’t engage. Billy’s face pulsated with embarrassment and temper. Like Denis, he also felt nervous about meeting with what remained of the Halloran family, especially so soon after the daughter’s passing, but if the Hallorans were able to go through with it, then so should they. It was all for the greater good. The Hallorans, and the woman he’d met at the Red Café, Nell Riordan, they would be the makings of the documentary.

It didn’t help Billy’s mood any, either, that he was squashed up against the passenger door and couldn’t shake the fear he would fall out. He double-checked the lock, picturing the door bursting open and the traffic plowing over him. Almost noon, his stomach punched at its lining. He wished he’d thought to bring a protein shake. He’d also forgotten to bring tiny Michael. His fretful hand repeatedly checked for the toy’s solid outline against his thigh, as though it would miraculously appear.

The stilted conversation dried up and the only voices in the van came from the radio. Billy experienced a pang for Ivor and their missed outing today to the pool. He pictured Ivor finally swimming—the boy was close, oh, so close—saw father and son glide together through the water, their arms, legs, heads, and breaths synchronized, the pool opening for them like a magic pathway. Tricia’s parting words came back. It had seemed something like forgiveness.

The news headlines crackled from the radio, three teenage boys killed last night when their car hit a wall. No indication, the newscaster intoned, of the involvement of drugs or alcohol. Billy thought of the boys’ families and the shock and horror they were going through. He felt pinpricks of guilt and shame whenever there was talk of the tragic deaths of the young, it hanging in the air that those victims would have given anything to live, while Michael, and others like him, had ended it all.

Adam again tried to draw Denis into conversation, this time asking about his beginnings in Dublin, their mother city. Denis uttered only one-word responses. Billy smoldered. Why was Denis acting so rude? He knew how much Billy needed Adam to make this documentary, a film that could save lives and memorialize Michael. Billy wanted to elbow Denis hard in the ribs and say, Answer him, can’t you?

Denis’s uncharacteristic behavior added to Billy’s growing unease about his miniature village and its inhabitants, how he seemed to be losing control of them and his fantasies there. You’re the best daddy. Billy shuddered. Denis, the best friend he’d ever known, besides Tricia, besides his children, seemed to be turning against him, too. That voice niggled, saying it knew he would ruin things with Denis. Saying he would end up alone. He shifted on the cramped seat, agitated and restless.

“Are you all right?” Adam asked.

Billy startled, not realizing he’d groaned aloud. “Just getting a little hungry.”

“Me, too,” Adam said.

They stopped at the next decent-looking restaurant. When they parked, Denis shot Billy a pointed look. “We should let Adam go ahead, we’ll follow in a few.”

“That’s all right,” Billy said with an edge. “We can all go eat now.” He didn’t feel like listening to one of Denis’s sermons, or going over the Twelve Steps. It was lunchtime. He was only human and had his needs and wants just like everyone else. And he was going to need to fortify himself. They had a big afternoon ahead, about to poke around the remains of hearts destroyed.

*

The small, busy restaurant required patrons to order and pay, and then sit down. Billy stood in wait, tormented by delicious-looking platefuls of meat and potatoes, and fish and chips, and fruit tarts with fresh cream. Christ, those juicy burgers, greasy fries, and creamy coleslaw. That oozing tart thick with apples, its crust thin and golden. They served fresh whipped cream, too, and not that fake stuff. Billy’s heart raced. He was one customer away from the cash register. It was his turn to order next. The stress of what lay ahead at the Hallorans threatened to make him crack all over again. He could scream with how much he wanted everything he couldn’t have.

It was going to be killing to face the Halloran family and see double his pain and horror mirrored back to him. The thought made him ravenous. He would eat big just this one more time, to dislodge the maw of dread in his gut. Even as he tried to rationalize, guilt blazed across his chest. If he caved now, he’d let himself, everyone, down. He cringed, imagining the other customers’ horror if they saw him stuffing himself. From the glances he was getting, it was clear most everyone recognized him. Some were openly staring. Others nodded and smiled. A few fell to whispers. He couldn’t stop trembling. Even his head was shaking. He’d gone so long being invisible, this starting to be seen, this starting to be held so very accountable, sometimes felt too hard.