by Peter Murphy
“Billie?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to be okay with you being with my dad.”
“Good, kid, because I’m going to be okay with you.”
*
The morning of his seventy-fifth birthday was cool but sunny. John Melchor had decided to take the day off and celebrate. It wasn’t as though he’d be missed. They had him translating footnotes, and someone else proofed everything he wrote anyway. He called Patrick but he was busy. John envied him a little. Patrick still had a purpose in the world, but at least he had found the time to wish him a great day and agreed to meet for dinner later.
So John had the day to himself and was going to enjoy it as if it were his last—a determination that grew a little more with each birthday. He left his lodgings and walked along the Via Giulia, past the Santa Maria dell’Orazione e Morte, built by Confraternita del Suffragio, the Church of the Dead, and one of his favorite places in the whole city. He had visited the crypt and stood face to face with the skulls of the past. It was a pilgrimage he had to make. When he was shot, the dead had hovered around his bedside for days.
Being back in Rome suited him, even though he still grumbled. For all that his soul yearned to go out and fight the good fight, his body was past it. He stayed involved and did his part through letters to newspapers and politicians, drawing attention to the things that were often forgotten. He had tried to pester Patrick to be more active, too, but had gotten nowhere.
“Render unto Caesar?”
“It’s not my place to say, John.”
“That’s all very well, Patrick, but sometimes the shepherd has to chase the wolves away.” He knew Patrick saw the world as one big wheel that just kept trundling around and around. He had often said that everything made far more sense when this was understood.
“And sometimes he just has to move them to safer pastures.” Patrick smiled. “Things are not getting better or worse—not where it really matters. Civility, like civilizations, comes and goes and the poor still trundle on. All we can do is spread a bit of comfort and hope where they are needed.”
“A bringer of comfort . . . like Simon of Cyrene?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far, John, but sometimes just having a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on is the best medicine. I think it’s one of the things the example of Jesus asks of us. I know the world is run by rich and cruel people who hire men to go around and do their killing for them. It’s always been like that. And I know when the Church tried to set up a new and fairer order, it just made a total mess of it. But with all due respect, John, I don’t think priests are cut out for getting involved in the temporal world.”
John had bristled at that and reminded Patrick that, as a Jesuit, he was committed to the fight against social injustice.
Patrick had just smiled again. “I appreciate that and I do admit that I’m becoming a bit of a Trappist. I wasn’t a very good priest when it came to dealing with other people’s problems. I’m much better suited to the cloisters.”
Still, John liked his company and appreciated his friendship. Most of the men he worked with gave him a wide berth. He was tainted by his past, and no one wanted to get too close in case they might be tarred by the same brush.
He turned onto the Via Paola and walked toward the Ponte Sant’ Angelo. He wanted to watch the river for a while. As he walked he could hear the whisperings of the dead, harder to hear when the city was awake. At times like this he wondered what his life would have been like if he had been a normal person, with normal problems.
*
Billie walked past the liquor store twice and looked inside each time. The windows had been decorated for the Christmas season and everyone inside looked so happy. She wasn’t, and turned away again. She should just get on the subway and go home. And, if she still felt like taking a drink, she should go to a meeting.
She should, but life should have been a lot better by now. It wasn’t. Danny was in a funk over Grainne. She was supposed to spend Christmas with them while her mother and brother went skiing for the holidays. They were probably going with Deirdre’s boyfriend but Billie didn’t think she should mention that. It didn’t matter anyway. It was canceled, and Danny would have to make do with just seeing her on Christmas Eve. Billie didn’t see why it was such a big deal. People made too big a fuss over Christmas, and Danny made far too much of his relationship with his daughter.
Billie had known it was going to be difficult, but she’d had no idea how much she’d have to give up for a kid she really couldn’t get to like. They had begun to disagree over that. He felt she was being insensitive, and she thought his daughter was soaking him for all she could get. It wasn’t just money. It was everything else. Every time she had a problem with her brother she called, and Danny would spend an hour on the phone listening to her. She would also get him involved when she had problems with her mother. Billie thought Danny should stay out of it, but had kept her thoughts to herself until the other night. They were just sitting down to dinner when the call came.
“Just leave it ring through,” she had suggested as she placed his plate before him. He didn’t, and she ate alone while his food got cold. They had planned to go out and catch a movie but she knew that wasn’t going to happen now.
“Sorry, I had to deal with that. The kid is having a fight with her mother.”
“What about?”
“Her mother won’t let her to go to a sleep over.”
“Maybe she’s not ready, Danny.”
“I think she is. Besides, I don’t think her mother handled it very well.”
“Do you really think you should be getting between them?”
“I’m still her father.”
“I know, but sometimes kids try to take advantage when their parents are divorced.”
“She’s not like that.”
“Okay, then.”
“I mean it. She’s a good kid.”
“I’m not saying she isn’t. It’s just that . . .”
“It’s just that you don’t like her. That’s the real problem here.”
She should have let it go but she didn’t. “Danny, that’s not fair. I’m not good with kids but you can’t accuse me of not trying.”
“Well, I think we all have to try harder.”
“I am trying, Danny. I want things to be good for all three of us, but sometimes I think Grainne is . . .”
“Is what?”
“Well, she’s just a kid, Danny. They’re all a bit self-obsessed at that age.”
“And how would you know?”
“Because I was just like that.” She wasn’t. She had lied to make him feel better and it almost worked.
“Maybe you’re right, but you got to see it from where I’m sitting. It’s like I’m stuck between two relationships.”
And that worked out so well for me the last time, Billie thought but didn’t say. She was just about to reach forward and touch him. They could even go to bed. Everything was better after they did it. She’d almost reached him when the phone rang again. It was Deirdre wondering what gave Danny the right to undermine her. It was never going to end.
“Screw it,” she decided aloud and turned back and went inside the liquor store. She bought a bottle of white rum. It didn’t leave too much of a smell and she could mix it with Coke. Danny would be gone all evening and she would be sleeping by the time he got home. She didn’t intend to get hammered; she just needed to take the edge off. She shouldn’t, but she couldn’t see any other way. The program might be working for Danny but it wasn’t for her. She had tried. She had gone to meetings and done all the things they told her to do, but it didn’t make any difference.
She had hoped that if she got her act together they could go back to what they had once been, back when he lived on Jarvis Street. She had hoped she could rekindle the side of him that sang about the world with su
ch poignancy. He was never cut out for the life he chose with Deirdre.
That was another thing that had always bothered her—he hadn’t chosen Deirdre over her. He had just gone along with her because of the past, and because he felt obliged. Billie should never have reacted the way she did but she had been hurt. She was, despite all her bravado, insecure when it came to love. That was why she drank too much.
Besides, cocaine was her real problem. Admittedly, she always gave into it after she had been drinking, even when she knew she shouldn’t. But she had kicked it, and from now on she would just stick to booze. She just wouldn’t let Danny know for a while.
*
After the kids sidled off to their rooms—Martin to study and Grainne to talk on the phone— Deirdre tidied the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of red wine. She kicked off her shoes and settled on the couch. She flicked around a few channels but there was nothing that interested her. As Good As It Gets was still in the VCR so she started it from the beginning. The last time she watched it she felt a bit like Carol, but this time she was feeling more like Melvin.
It had been one of those days when she wished she worked without any human contact. Most of it had been taken up by a young woman from Corporate Services who was threatening to file a complaint, citing sexual harassment. She claimed she was overlooked for a promotion because she had declined her manager’s advances.
That type of thing always made the whole bank tremble and a flurry of emails fluttered down to Deirdre’s desk. She had to interview both parties separately and report back to senior management. She was always called to clean up little messes before they got bigger, just like at home.
The young woman claimed her manager forced himself on her near the washroom of the restaurant that hosted the last Christmas party. Deirdre wasn’t sure about that. She had been at that party and remembered the young woman drinking far too much and being far too flirty, but she couldn’t say any of that. She just made notes and nodded along, even when the young woman broke down and cried. She did offer her the box of tissues she always kept on her desk and calmly asked why the complaint wasn’t made earlier. She could understand, but she had to ask. If she didn’t, someone else would.
The manager had a very different story. He said that she followed him and forced herself on him. It was probably closer to the truth, but he was the kind that always hovered far too close to the line between what was appropriate and what was not.
Regardless, Deirdre remained placid as she took notes, but she had to ask how the young woman managed to force herself on someone who was bigger than she. He admitted he’d been drinking a bit and didn’t realize she was going to take it so far. Deirdre just nodded along and then asked if the young woman had ever been considered for the promotion. He told her she was and that she’d made the long list. She even offered him a tissue when he cried about what would happen if his wife and children ever found out—not that anything happened. He hadn’t let it.
Deirdre would make her recommendations in the morning. The young woman should be given a settlement in lieu of the promotion and shuffled away. She could feel vindicated and the bank could avoid any type of stain. Deirdre didn’t want to judge her, but she had seen too many like that—women who used their tits instead of their brains. If the young woman had been thinking she would have gone for someone better than a department manager. There were far hornier old goats on the higher floors. And the manager should be formally reprimanded and sent for sensitivity training. He’d be red-circled then and given every encouragement to seek employment elsewhere—with a clean record. He could take it and leave. It was cold but what did he think would happen?
She went for more wine, checking on the kids on her way back. Martin grunted when she looked in on him. He had his books open and was furiously typing away. He had an essay due and would stay up until it was done. Grainne was lying on her bed, busy yakking away with a friend. Deirdre didn’t react in case she had brought any part of her day home with her. Things were messed up enough, and she’d been thinking about Grainne when she was interviewing the young woman. She just shook her head and went back downstairs.
She sat back on the couch and sipped. Life was so much easier to deal with when she wasn’t personally invested. Melvin Udall would totally agree. Eduardo had canceled the trip because of his mother.
“She went ahead and made all the arrangements without telling me.”
He had phoned full of indignation. Deirdre wasn’t too surprised, just disappointed. Not so much in him, just in the way things were turning out these days. It was what her mother used to call “one of those trying times, but often they turn out to be blessings. In disguise,” she’d add if Deirdre’s father was around.
And she wasn’t surprised when he made it obvious that he was going to have to go alone. “I know what they’re planning for me,” he had explained, growing more indignant as he did. “And I’m mad about it, too, but I have no choice. I have to go to my mother’s.”
It was the essential difference between them. Everything was a big deal with him. He admitted it openly and claimed it was very Portuguese. At first she had liked all of that—all the bright energy that sparkled when they were together. But the other days—when all his guilt and sadness engulfed him—were just far too much.
She didn’t make a big deal out of it and quickly reassured him. “It’s okay, Eduardo, I understand. Besides, we can try again at March break.”
“I’m not going back to them, you know that?”
“I know, Eduardo. I know.”
“Dee-dree, I love you now and I promise you that nothing will change between us.”
But it already had.
As the movie closed so satisfyingly, Deirdre felt miserable. She had been so upset about the trip being canceled that she had decided that Grainne would be staying with her for Christmas. It was a little mean-spirited of her and not at all like the principles they had talked about at the meetings.
She hadn’t been in a while. She told herself it was because she was too busy, but there were other reasons. Too much of her life was still taken up by Danny. He was still a factor in every decision she made and she was getting very tired of that. Sure, he’d always be the father of her children and she would always have to take that into account, but she couldn’t go on tip-toeing around him, always afraid that anything she did might send him spiraling down again.
His recovery was his business now and had very little to do with her. She hoped he would make it, but past experience made her skeptical. Danny always had difficulty adapting to the world around him. He always became caught up on what they had been taught as children. She had learned that it was better to go along with things as long as they got her where she was going. She worked hard and wanted to enjoy the comfort and security that afforded. She supported her charities and volunteered when time allowed. She did her part and she was content with that.
Danny had never been able to find a way of doing that. For him it was still a matter of the world being full of lies and deceit and, instead of doing something to change that, he’d sit brooding and feeling sorry for himself. She had indulged him before and that just made things worse. No, Danny Boyle would have to face the world head-on and learn to deal with it by whatever means he could.
Her mother would have thought she was becoming heartless, but Deirdre had never told her how bad things had gotten. Part of it was she wanted to be understanding—Danny was suffering from a disease—and part of it was shame. She was working on ridding herself of that, but sometimes just remembering what it had been like . . .
Besides, Danny had Grainne for her birthday and every second weekend, and sleepovers, so she should really spend this Christmas at home. Grainne was showing all the signs of being troubled, and Deirdre needed to spend some time with her.
She had called to let him know and Billie had answered. She quickly agreed that Deirdre was ab
solutely right and Grainne’s stability was more important. She would let Danny know and he could call back. She sounded disinterested and a little out of it, but Deirdre didn’t care. At least she had let them know.
She wished she hadn’t now. Grainne was making her pay. She was so tempted to book the three of them into a hotel in Montreal for the holidays. Only not in the one that she and Eduardo had . . .
“Mom.”
“Martin. All finished?”
“Oh, yeah. Can I ask you a big favor?”
Deirdre sat up because she knew it was going to be important.
“Can Rachael come over on Christmas Day? She’s never had a Christmas and asked if she could see ours.”
Deirdre could see how much it meant to him. “Sure, only it mightn’t be our best.”
Chapter 3 – 1999
That’s another sober St. Patrick’s Day, done and dusted.” Danny smirked as he carefully shaved the last of the cream from under his chin. A part of recovery was looking as though he cared; the old-timers had been adamant about that. They said that if he ever wanted to become a living example of the power of the program then he’d better start looking like a winner.
Danny liked the sound of that and started to send his shirts to the dry cleaner, too, and enjoyed their crisp, white cleanness. He always wore the best ones to meetings. He liked the effect it had when he talked with one of the new guys afterwards. He could tell they were looking at him as if he had it made. Except the old-timers. They still looked at him like they could see right through him.
“Nothing to say?” he asked the mirror as he daubed aftershave on his face. Part of his new morning ritual, after making coffee from freshly ground beans, was to talk with Anto while he shaved. He needed to talk with someone. Things with Billie were strained and had been since Christmas.
She wouldn’t admit it but he could tell she was having a tough time. He’d tried to help but that didn’t go too well. He understood. It was one of the things the old-timers warned him about. Two recovering alcoholics, together—it was hard enough to try to get along with a normal person. And it was probably hard on her that he was doing so well.