The Given Day (57 page)

Danny found his shoes in the silence and placed them on the floor.

474DENNIS LEHANE

"You're going to break your brother's heart? Your mother's?" his father said. "Mine?"

Danny looked at him as he pushed his feet into his shoes. "It's not about you, Dad. I can't live my life for you."

"Oh." His father placed his hand over his heart. "Well, I wouldn't want to begrudge you your earthly pleasures, boy, Lord knows." Danny smiled.

His father didn't. "So you've taken your stand against the family. You're an individual, Aiden. Your own man. Does it feel good?" Danny said nothing.

His father stood and placed his captain's hat on his head. He straightened it at the sides. "This great romantic notion your generation has about it going its own way? Do you think you're the fi rst?"

"No. Don't think I'll be the last, either."

"Probably not," his father said. "What you will be is alone." "Then I'll be alone."

His father pursed his lips and nodded. "Good-bye, Aiden." "Good-bye, sir."

Danny held out his hand, but his father ignored it.

Danny shrugged and dropped the hand. He reached behind him and found the papers Luther had given him last night. He tossed them at his father and hit him in the chest. His father caught them and looked down at them.

"The list McKenna wanted from the NAACP."

His father's eyes widened for a moment. "Why would I want it?" "Then give it back."

Thomas allowed himself a small smile and placed the papers under his arm.

"It was always about the mailing lists, wasn't it?" Danny said. His father said nothing.

"You'll sell them," Danny said. "To companies, I'm assuming?"

His father met his eyes. "A man has a right to know the character of the men working for him."

THE GIVEN DAY"So he can fire them before they unionize?" Danny nodded at the idea. "You sold out your own."

"I'll bet my life that not a name on any of the lists is Irish." "I wasn't talking about the Irish," Danny said.

His father looked up at the ceiling, as if he saw cobwebs there that needed tending. He pursed his lips, then looked at his son, a slight quiver in his chin. He said nothing.

"Who got you the list of the Letts once I was out?"

"As luck would have it," his father's voice was barely a whisper, "we took care of that yesterday in the raid."

Danny nodded. "Ah."

"Anything else, son?"

Danny said, "Matter of fact, yeah. Luther saved my life." "So I should give him a raise?"

"No," Danny said. "Call off your dog."

"My dog?"

"Uncle Eddie."

"I don't know anything about that."

"Call him off just the same. He saved my life, Dad."

His father turned to the old man in the bed. He touched his cast and winked at the man when he opened his eyes. "Ah, you'll be fit as a fiddle, as God is my judge."

"Yes, suh."

"Indeed." Thomas gave the guy a hearty smile. His eyes swept past Danny and the windows behind him. He nodded once and then walked out the same door as Connor.

Danny found his coat on a hook against the wall and put it on. "That your pops?" the old man said.

Danny nodded.

"I'd stay clear of him for a while."

Danny said, "Looks like I don't have much choice."

"Oh, he'll be back. His kind always comes back. Sure as time," the old man said. "Always wins, too."

476DENNIS LEHANE

Danny finished buttoning his coat. "Ain't nothing to win anymore," he said.

"That ain't the way he sees it." The old man gave him a sad smile. He closed his eyes. "Which is why he'll keep winning. Yes, sir."

After he left the hospital, he visited four more before he found the one where they'd taken Nathan Bishop. Bishop, like Danny, had declined to stay, though Nathan had slipped two armed policemen to do it.

The doctor who'd worked on him before his escape looked at Danny's tattered uniform, its black splotches of blood, and said, "If you've come for your second licks, they should have told you--"

"He's gone. I know."

"Lost an ear," the doctor said.

"Heard that, too. How about his eye?"

"I don't know. He left before I could hazard an informed diagnosis."

"Where to?"

The doctor glanced at his watch and slipped it back into his pocket. "I've got patients."

"Where'd he go?"

A sigh. "Far from this city, I suspect. I already told this to the two officers who were supposed to be guarding him. After he climbed out the bathroom window, he could have gone anywhere, but from the time I spent with him, I gathered he saw no point sacrifi cing five or six years of his life to a Boston prison."

The doctor's hands were in his pocket when he turned without another word and walked away.

Danny left the hospital. He was still in a fair amount of pain and made slow progress up Huntington Avenue toward the trolley stop.

He found Nora that night, when she returned to her rooming house from work. He stood with his back against her stoop, not because sitting down was too painful but because getting back up THE GIVEN DAYagain was. She walked up the street in dusk yellowed by weak street-lamps and every time her face passed from dark into gauzy light, he took a breath.

Then she saw him. "Holy Mary Mother of God, what happened to you?"

"Which part?" A thick bandage jutted off his forehead, and both eyes were black.

"All of you." She appraised him with something that might have been humor, might have been horror.

"You didn't hear?" He cocked his head, noticing she didn't look too good herself, her face drawn and sagging at the same time, her eyes too wide and empty.

"I heard there was a fight between policemen and the Bolsheviks, but I . . ." She stopped in front of him and raised her hand, as if to touch his swollen eye, but she paused and her hand hung in the air. She took a step back.

"I lost the button," he said.

"What button?"

"The bear's eye."

She cocked her head in confusion.

"From Nantasket. That time?"

"The stuffed bear? The one from the room?"

He nodded.

"You kept its eye?"

"Well, it was a button, but yeah. I still had it. Never left my pocket."

He could see she had no idea what to do with that information. He said, "That night you came to see me . . ."

She crossed her arms.

"I let you go because . . ."

She waited.

"Because I was weak," he said.

"And that kept you now, did it, from caring for a friend?" "We're not friends, Nora."

478DENNIS LEHANE

"Then what are we, Danny?" She stood on the sidewalk, her eyes on the pavement, so tense he could see goose bumps in her flesh and the cords in her neck.

Danny said, "Look at me. Please."

She kept her head down.

"Look at me," he said again.

Her eyes found his.

"When we look at each other like this, right now, I don't know what that is, but 'friendship' seems kind of watery, don't you think?"

"Oh, you," she said and shook her head, "you were always the talker now. They'd have called the Blarney Stone the Danny Stone if they could have--"

"Don't," he said. "Don't make it small. It's not small, Nora."

"What are you doing here?" she whispered. "Jesus, Danny. What?

I already have one husband, or haven't you heard? And you've always been a boy in a man's body. You run from thing to thing. You--" "You have a husband?" He chuckled.

"He laughs," she said to the street with a loud sigh.

"I do." He stood. He placed a hand to her chest just below her throat. He kept his fingers there, lightly, and tried to get the smile off his face as he saw her anger rise. "I just . . . Nora, I'm just . . . I mean, the two of us? Trying to be so respectable? Wasn't that our word?"

"After you broke with me"--her face remained a stone, but he could see the light finding her eyes--"I needed stability. I needed . . ."

That brought a roar from him, an explosion he couldn't stop that erupted out of the center of his body and, even as it punched its way along his ribs, felt better than anything he'd felt in a long time. "Stability?"

"Yes." She hit his chest with her fist. "I wanted to be a good American girl, an upstanding citizen."

"Well, that worked out tremendously well."

"Stop laughing."

"I can't."

THE GIVEN DAY"Why?" And the laugh finally reached her voice.

"Because, because . . ." He held her shoulders and the waves fi nally passed. He moved his palms down her arms and took her hands in his and this time she let him. "Because all this time you were with Connor, you wanted to be with me."

"Ah, you're a cocky man, you are, Danny Coughlin."

He tugged on her hands and stooped until their faces were at the same level. "And I wanted to be with you. And the two of us lost so much time, Nora, trying to be"--he looked up at the sky in frustration-- "whatever the fuck we were trying to be."

"I'm married."

"I don't give a shit. I don't give a shit about anything anymore, Nora, except this. Right here. Right now."

She shook her head. "Your family will disown you just like they disowned me."

"So?"

"So you love them."

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." Danny shrugged. "But I need you, Nora." He touched her forehead with his own. "I need you." He repeated it in a whisper, his head against hers.

"You'll throw away your whole world," she whispered and her voice was wet.

"I was done with it anyway."

Her laugh came out strangled and damp.

"We can never marry in the Church."

"I'm done with that, too," he said.

They stood there for a long time, and the streets smelled of the early-evening rain.

"You're crying," she said. "I can feel the tears."

He removed his forehead from hers and tried to speak, but he couldn't, so he smiled, and the tears rolled off his chin.

She leaned back and caught one on her finger.

"This is not pain?" she said and put it in her mouth.

480DENNIS LEHANE

"No," Danny said and lowered his forehead to hers again. "This is not pain."

Luther came home after a day at the Coughlin household in which, for the second time since he'd been there, the captain had invited him into his study.

"Take a seat, take a seat," the captain said as he removed his uniform coat and hung it on the coat tree behind his desk.

Luther sat.

The captain came around to the front of the desk with two glasses of whiskey and handed one to Luther. "I heard what you did for Aiden. I'd like to thank you for saving my son's life." He clinked his heavy glass off Luther's.

Luther said, "It was nothing, sir."

"Scollay Square."

"Sir?"

"Scollay Square. That's where you ran into Aiden, yes?"

"Uh, yes, sir, I did."

"What brought you over there? You've no friends in the West End, do you?"

"No, sir."

"And you live in the South End. As we know, you work over here, so . . ."

The captain rolled the glass between his hands and waited.

Luther said, "Well, you know why most men go to Scollay Square, sir." He tried for a conspiratorial smile.

"I do," Captain Coughlin said. "I do, Luther. But even Scollay Square has its racial principles. I'm to assume you were at Mama Hennigan's, then? 'Tis the only place I know in the square that services coloreds."

"Yes, sir," Luther said, although by now he knew he'd walked into a trap.

The captain reached into his humidor. He removed two cigars and snipped the ends and handed one to Luther. He lit it for him and then lit his own.

THE GIVEN DAY"I understand my friend Eddie was giving you a bit of a hard time."

Luther said, "Uh, sir, I don't know that I would--"

"Aiden told me," the captain said.

"Oh."

"I've spoken to Eddie on your behalf. I owe you that for saving my son."

"Thank you, sir."

"I promise he'll be a bother to you no longer."

"I really do appreciate that, sir. Thank you again."

The captain raised his glass and Luther did the same and they both took a drink of the fine Irish whiskey.

The captain reached behind him again and came back with a white envelope that he tapped against his thigh. "And Helen Grady, she's working out as a house woman, she is?"

"Oh, yes, sir."

"No doubts to her competency or her work ethic?"

"Absolutely none, sir."

Helen was as cold and distant to Luther as the day she'd arrived five months ago, but that woman could work, boy.

"I'm glad to hear that." The captain handed Luther the envelope. "Because she'll be doing the job of two now."

Luther opened the envelope and saw the small sheaf of money inside.

"There's two weeks' severance in there, Luther. We closed Mama Hennigan's a week ago for code violations. The only person you know in Scollay Square is one who used to be in my employ. It explains the food that's gone missing from my pantry these past few months, a theft that Helen Grady began to report to me weeks ago." He considered Luther over his scotch glass as he drained it. "Stealing food from my home, Luther? You're aware I'd be well within my rights to shoot you where you sit?"

Luther didn't respond to that. He reached over and placed his glass on the edge of the desk. He stood. He held out his hand. The captain 482DENNIS LEHANE considered it for a moment, then placed his cigar in the ashtray and shook the hand.

"Good-bye, Luther," he said pleasantly.

"Good-bye, Captain, sir."

When he returned to the house on St. Botolph, it was empty. A note waited on the kitchen table. Luther, Out doing the good work (we hope). This came for you. A plate in the icebox.

Isaiah Underneath the note was a tall yellow envelope with his name scrawled on it in his wife's hand. Given what had just happened the last time he opened an envelope, he took a moment before reaching for it. Then he said, "Ah, fuck it," finding it strangely guilt-inducing to cuss in Yvette's kitchen.