"Is that him?" Ava whispered.
"Yes."
As much as she tried to tell herself she didn't, Ava saw it. The invisible connection between these two. Of all the children in the orphanage, why him? She thought she knew. He had Jonathan's eyes and Ava's hair. Walking between them, no one would guess the child wasn't theirs. There was even something familiar about his face, Jean's chin and Amy's full cheeks. She shook her head and took a step back. She was being silly. Jonathan had never even come out and asked if they could consider adopting him. They didn't even know his name!
He didn't have to ask. She knew it was what he wanted. By the way he'd acted from the first time he'd mentioned the boy, the look in his eyes, then and now. She caught herself considering it, all in the blink of an eye as she stood watching these two, the silent conversation going on between them. But could they afford it? Another mouth to feed, another body to cloth. When she looked up, the boy was there standing before Jonathan with a seriousness beyond his years.
"You came back," he said.
"I need to talk to Mr. Everly."
"You're still not looking for a son?" he asked, brushing his long bangs out of his eyes. He raised his chin and steeled his face, showing Jonathan that he wouldn't shatter with the inevitable no.
But Jonathan couldn't bring himself to say no. He glanced at Ava. Her face was unreadable. He didn't dare open his mouth or he'd say something that might lead the child to have some hope. While he fumbled and searched for words, the boy waited patiently.
"What's your name?" Ava asked.
"Edgar. Everyone calls me Eddie."
"It's nice to meet you, Eddie." Ava put her hand out very formally, something the child seemed to be comfortable with. "I'm Ava. This is Jon."
Jonathan watched her. He saw it, too, but quickly told himself he only wanted to see it. A connection. A fondness.
Before anyone could say anything else, Anne called them from down the hall. Mr. Everly was free.
***
It was rare to hear of a happy ending, or at least a happy outcome and Mr. Everly seemed to delight in every word of Jonathan's story. He made some notes in Jeffrey's file, asked many questions and generally enjoyed a lengthy visit. When Jonathan felt they'd better go in order to see Jeffrey and be back in time to get to Boston Garden for the fight, he thanked Mr. Everly one more time for his help.
"You're so very welcome," he said, his small eyes shining. "Thank you for visiting and letting me know how it went."
"That's not all he came here to talk to you about, Mr. Everly," Ava said as Jonathan started to stand.
He stared at her, confused. She smiled sweetly. "At least he's not in diapers. I don't know if I could handle two."
Jonathan's eyes grew wide and then he smiled. "You're actually considering it?" he asked, barely above a whisper.
"My rational mind says there's no way we can afford another. But I see how you look at him. How he looks at you."
"How does he look at me?" Jonathan asked, sitting back down and seeming to have forgotten that Mr. Everly was sitting right there.
"Like he's looking at his father. Like...he chose you. I'd like to talk about the possibility."
***
Patrick had weighed in, the press had taken pictures and fought to get in a few questions. After O'Malley shoved them from the room where Patrick was getting ready, he requested to see his wife and friends, if they'd come.
O'Malley, having reserved the seats himself, knew right where to find them. He pushed through the crowd and squeezed between seats, waving his hand to get their attention. Jonathan stood and met him halfway down the aisle.
"Would ye like to see Pat 'fore the fight starts?" he yelled over the hum of the crowd.
Jonathan nodded and motioned to the rest.
"Just the men," O'Malley said. "Except for the wife."
Ava, Claire and Arianna hadn't heard him, but Jonathan turned and passed the message. They were content to stay where they were. Shannon was watching closely and O'Malley tilted his head, his eyebrows shot up in question. She took a moment to decide. Finally she gave a hard nod and followed them.
The noise and commotion of the arena became distant and muted as they went down the stairs and through a long corridor. O'Malley opened a door, called for Patrick and stepped aside. Everyone glanced around curiously as they entered the room. No one noticed that Shannon waited outside.
Patrick was sitting on a chair, a younger man helping him with his gloves. He wore red trunks with a small white tornado embroidered on the side. His arms and shoulders had filled out considerably since they last saw him. His face lit up.
"Ye made it!" he yelled. "Shan said ye might, but I hadn't heard for certain."
"Of course we made it," Jonathan said. "Our friend headlining at Boston Garden...wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Aye, it's somethin' isn't it? To think not even a year ago I was fightin' in back alleys for shite wagers."
"Too talented fer that," O'Malley chimed in. Standing behind the chair he slapped large hands on Patrick's shoulders and began squeezing and kneading.
"I'll be horrible embarrassed if I lose tonight," Patrick said. "Wi' all of ye watchin' me." He grinned and they could all see that he had no real fear of losing. In fact, he looked more confident than ever.
"Too talented to lose," O'Malley barked.
Patrick tried to turn around, but O'Malley shoved him forward and continued to loosen up his shoulders. Facing forward again, Patrick noticed Aryl's cast.
"Which one did ye go at it with? Jon or Caleb?" he asked with a wink.
"A slick pier," he said.
"A pier? Ye lost a fight wi' a pier?"
Aryl nodded. "He was fast and I never saw it coming."
"Slipped gettin' off the boat, eh? Later, I'll help ye to come up with a much more interestin' story to tell folks."
Caleb snickered and Patrick's eyes darted.
"How the hell are ye, Caleb?"
"I'm good," he said, grinning. There was only minutes left to the fight and no time to really say much.
"I'll be home tonight. Yer all stayin' there?"
"We are. It's a terrible inconvenience, but we appreciate a place to stay," Jonathan said.
"Nonsense. Tonight, we'll drink to my victory and keep drinkin' until either the sun rises or we pass out. I want to hear all about things in Rockport. All the news about all of ye."
Just then, a young boy poked his head in the door.
"Five minutes," he said and darted away.
O'Malley slapped him on the back. Patrick sprang out of the chair.
"I guess we should head back to our seats," Jonathan said.
"Unless ye want to walk to the ring wi' us," O'Malley said.
Caleb's eyes lit up. "We can do that?"
"If I say ye can, ye can. Now let's wait outside so he can have a moment wi' his woman."
They left and Shannon walked in. She'd never been to a match, never been to the arena and had never seen the room where he got ready for a fight. It was surprisingly simple, drab even. The brightest thing in the room was Patrick, who was beaming.
"I've missed ye," he said, hugging her.
"I'll be glad to have you home tonight," she whispered in his ear. Glad to have this fight over with.
"The babes are well?"
"They're fine."
She closed her eyes. It was good to hold him tight like this, without him wincing in pain. It was good to look in his eyes, wide and clear and kiss his unbruised, uncut lips.
She stepped back, unsure of whether to wish him luck. She didn't want him to think she didn't have faith in him.
"I'm glad ye came, Shan."
"Are you?" She wasn't sure if she was.
O'Malley threw open the door. "Time to go, Pat."
He kissed her one last time.
Heading down the long corridor the crowd had grown considerably louder. The walls seemed to shake with the anticipation of tonight's fight. As Patrick walk
ed with O'Malley at his side, he shifted from light and happy to a mood of focus and determination. Behind him, Shannon with her hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles were white and Jonathan, Aryl and Caleb behind her. The closer they got to the entrance of the arena, the more deafening the noise.
"He's gonna win," Caleb said to Aryl with deep conviction.
"He'd better. I put my last five dollars on him."
***
The younger ones were in bed, Jean, Scottie and Ethel were huddled around the radio with Maura and Ian.
Ian was particularly excited. Perhaps he felt closer to Patrick than the others due to their shared heritage, or because they were both outsiders in their own way. Regardless, he was excited for Patrick's success and prayed fervently that he'd win this match. He turned the knob on the radio, raised the volume and hushed everyone in the room even though no one was making a noise. He dropped down into the chair, sitting on the edge, leaning forward. He'd missed the initial announcement, catching the fight just as it started.
And there's the bell! Patrick 'the Irish tornado' Mulligan wastes no time getting this fight started. A brutal right hook has Tony Carnera stumbling only seconds into the first round...he recovers, getting his footing, but is clearly defensive in his position. They're dancing around each other, Mulligan appears to be smiling, waiting for just the right moment to strike. The crowd is going wild with anticipation.
OH! Mulligan lost focus for the briefest of seconds and Carnera moved in with a double punch, head and stomach. Mulligan appears more stunned than anything. He takes a step back, shakes his head and looks furious, folks.
Carnera is fast, Mulligan knows that. His only defense against Carnera's speed is to strike first, hard and repeatedly, which, apt to his nickname the Irish Tornado, Mulligan has a reputation of doing. The crowd seems to be waiting for that.
They're dancing again, circling and Mulligan is no longer smiling. His wife sitting ringside is absolutely cringing. It's said this is the first professional match she's attended. This is also one of the most anticipated matches because of Carnera's speed and Mulligan's-Mulligan sees an opportunity and moves in!
Left to the head, right to the stomach, left to the head again, right to the ribs! Carnera drops to his knees, swaying. This is what he trained for in anticipation of fighting Mulligan. Those strikes that just don't stop coming once they start. He's back on his feet again, turning to face Mulligan.
Both men are known for their stubbornness. This match was rumored to only last two rounds, but it could go all the way, folks. Carnera throws, makes contact and Mulligan goes to the canvas. There's the bell and it's Carnera who's smiling now. Mulligan struggles to his feet, blood pouring from his nose...He's in the corner now, getting an earful from his trainer.
What's most impressive about Mulligan is how quickly he rose to be one of the most feared new fighters on the east coast. Many speculate, if he keeps up this level of dogged determination, he'll go down in history as one of the greats. The bleeding from Mulligan's nose has slowed and his trainer has calmed down. Carnera is standing, ready to go again and there's the bell.
Mulligan springs from his stool, meets Carnera in the center of the ring with three punishing blows. Carnera retreats briefly then comes at Mulligan. Mulligan dodges, ducks a second blow and OH! Carnera right hooks and Mulligan falls like a tree...two...three...four counts and Mulligan is back up, woozy. There's a large cut over his left eye from that last hit and he's looking tired already which isn't like him.
He pulls up his gloves...they're circling...both men looking for an opportunity...if I had to guess, I'd say Mulligan has a mind to finish this right now. But Carnera's too fast. Another blow to Mulligan's already broken nose sends him to his knees. This isn't looking good for Mulligan. He's giving Carnera too many opportunities...both men seem to be conserving energy now, keeping a distance, taking their time, staying defensive...Carnera throws a weak blow and misses. Mulligan swings and grazes Carnera's shoulder. The crowd is growing impatient for action. They're chanting Mulligan's name. Carnera aims for the head, Mulligan throws back in an attempt at dodging and wobbles. Carnera lands a glove to the kidneys, sending Mulligan to the canvas again just as the bell rings.
The audience is not happy with Carnera! The entire arena is yelling out against the low blow to Mulligan's back. That has got to be one of the most painful hits to take, folks.
Mulligan is struggling back to his corner. He's splashed with water, his trainer looking at his eye which has started to swell. Mulligan's wife is looking worried, fighting tears and being comforted by her friends.
Round three and Carnera shoots from his corner. Mulligan is slower to move, gloves up, head down...he has an almost feral look about him as Carnera circles around him. Mulligan's waiting, watching...looking for an open space. Carnera swings, Mulligan dodges.
Again...Mulligan might be trying to wear him out, folks, to level the playing field a bit. One, two, three more swings, all dodged by Mulligan. Carnera's tiring...Mulligan is dodging, waiting...this could go on for...Right by Mulligan, left, right, right, right, left...Mulligan's exploded! This is what the crowd has been waiting for! There's absolute madness as Mulligan appears to be screaming now and the Irish tornado is not stopping...not stopping at all until Carnera is on the canvas and going to stay there. Carnera is providing what defense he can and Mulligan is finding every weakness...nine, ten, eleven blows in a row! Carnera can't hold up to much more of this! Mulligan takes a step back and Carnera lowers his gloves...right hook to the temple and Carnera is down!
Looks like this fight might be over, folks...is it...is he...he's out! Patrick Mulligan wins! Knocking out Tony Carnera in just three rounds!
Ian sprang from the chair with a whoop. Maura joined him, startling Ethel awake and she began yelling. That scared Jean and Scottie, who cried out in fear of the old lady. That woke the children upstairs and soon the entire house was screaming for one reason or another.
***
They waited out back for Patrick. After cleaning up, the press getting a few more pictures, impromptu interviews and giving a couple of autographs for admirers, Patrick finally emerged from the door looking like a slab of tenderized meat dressed in a very nice suit.
This, Shannon was used to seeing. The end result of a match. It was watching the blows, nearly feeling them herself and seeing the blood that had her near sick and vowing never to come to another fight again.
Everyone was jovial, celebrating Patrick's success. Hugs, back slaps and handshakes went on for several minutes on the sidewalk.
"Who's hungry?" Patrick asked. "Dinner's on me." With an arm around Shannon he led the way down to a restaurant.
The staff, who'd been listening to the match on the radio welcomed and congratulated him. While there was a wait for tables, Patrick and his friends didn't have to wait, being shown to a back table big enough to seat them all. Jonathan realized Patrick was becoming a local celebrity and looked as if he were really enjoying that.
"Well, what did ye think?" he asked after they were seated.
"That was amazing, Pat. I've never seen anything like it," Jonathan said.
"I've never fought in front of a crowd that big. I was nervous as hell," Patrick said, grinning.
"Well, you didn't show it," Arianna said.
"It didn't last as long as I thought it would," Claire said.
"Well, if I'm doin' it right, they don't last long at all." Patrick winked with his one good eye. "It's the ones that drag on for seven, eight, nine rounds that have me in bed for days. This..." He shrugged. "This was an easy one."
"You say that with a swelled up eye and a nose that's now crooked," Shannon said. "And that blow to the back...you're likely to piss blood for a week."
He leaned over and nuzzled her. "Ye know ye liked watchin' me fight."
"No, actually I didn't. I thought I'd be sick." While Shannon was visibly relieved to have it over with, the lingering effects of watching were still evident.
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"She nearly was," Arianna said. "And she nearly broke my hand gripping it so hard. Not that I minded," she added quickly, glancing at Shannon.
"Aye, I know it bothers ye. I won't ask ye to come to another if ye don't want to."
"I fully see where you get the tornado nickname, Pat. That business at the end...I've never seen anything like that. It was like you had six arms and they were all going at the same time," Caleb said.
Patrick only smiled with pride.
"I'd like to personally thank you for winning," Aryl said. "I came here with five dollars and I'm leaving with fifteen."
"Ye wagered on me then?"
"Of course!" the collective group called out. Arianna's eyes flickered down and it caught Patrick's attention.
"It's okay if ye didn't," he said.
"It's not that. Caleb did bet on you. Only I...bet against you. You know, so either way, we'd win."
Patrick roared with laughter. "Ye wouldn't be Arianna if ye didn't find a way to win no matter what," he said. Looking around the table, happy to be among his friends, he sighed. "I only wish Maura and Ian could have been here."
"I seem to remember you not being too happy when someone bet against you at the Valentine's dance," Jonathan said to Arianna. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, though she wasn't truly angry.
Jonathan turned his attention back to Patrick. "They told us they would be listening on the radio. I'm sure they're celebrating right now."
"Give them my best. Our best," he said.
"I will. More than that, I'm going to give Ian some money, thanks to you," Jonathan said.
"Did ye bet fer them?"
"We all pooled together a few dollars and placed it for them. They don't know, it will be a surprise when we get home."
"A happy one, no doubt. Tell them we'll try to come out this summer fer a visit. I'd love to get caught up wi' Ian. He's doing well?"
"He is," Jonathan said. "We have someone helping him on the boat now. He's worked long and hard without a complaint. Couldn't have kept going without him. I'm hoping he'll be happy to hear you won him some money and we're hoping he will head up a venture we're starting this month. Recreational fishing. The idea is to bring down the big money from here and New York and take them out for a day. Ian's great with people. He's the perfect person to head this. We're hoping he likes the idea."
Purling Road - The Complete First Season: Episodes 1-10 Page 26