“Yes, that’s it. Thank you for coming,” she said, her gentle eyes focusing directly on his. “Mike would be happy to know you are here.”
Mike’s brothers, Danny and Eddie, were there as well, next to their mother. Danny hugged Jack, which again surprised him. This was not the reception he’d expected.
“Thanks for coming, Johnny. Mike was always so proud of you-the big-shot lawyer.” Jack didn’t know what to say.
Eddie was in a wheelchair. He tried to talk but just mumbled. He grabbed Jack’s arm with his left hand and smiled. There were tears in his eyes. Jack put his free hand on top of Eddie’s and smiled back.
“He had a stroke three years ago,” Pat whispered in Jack’s ear. “Never recovered.”
After he said hello to everyone else in the family, Jack approached the coffin to pay his respects to his childhood friend. He had thought about this moment on the trip up. He didn’t know how he was going to feel. Would he even recognize Mikey after all these years? But his emotions started to surface before he even looked into the half-open casket. This was his first friend-my best friend-and that was something the years could never erase. He knelt down to say a prayer, looked into the coffin and saw Mikey. The red hair was gone, as were the freckles and the smile-that joyful smile, the forerunner of many an adventure for the two of them. Jack began to cry. It was the last thing he wanted to do and he tried to keep it to himself but he was visibly shaking.
Pat knelt next to him, a comforting arm around his shoulders. He initially was too upset to speak but after a few moments he started to regain some of his composure.
“I don’t want to make a scene,” he whispered to her.
“You’re not. And even if you were-we’re Irish. It’s expected.”
“I just never had a friend like Mikey.”
“I know,” she said softly. “Me neither, except you.” Jack looked at her.
“Yeah, you’re right. Except you.”
They met later on at McGlade’s, although the name had been changed to Pat Herrity’s Irish Bar. “Have a Jar at Herrity’s Bar” was the new slogan that adorned the outside of the place. The interior had been substantially upgraded as well. They sat in a back booth. Jack ordered a Guinness, Pat a chablis. The conversation started light.
“I’ve been wanting to tell you this all day, Pat-you look great.”
“Why thanks, Jack.”
“So what are you doing these days?”
“I’m a CPA with Harrel and Jackson. Been with them for twenty-five years now.”
“Very impressive,” Jack crooned. “That’s a high-powered firm.”
“Yeah, well don’t get too impressed because I’m retiring in two weeks. I’ve had enough. How about you? We’ve all heard you’re with this big, successful law firm in Miami.”
“Not anymore. I’m about to retire myself-any day now, actually. I haven’t decided when. I’m moving to a small town. I’m still going to work but only while I’m enjoying it.” Jack decided not to get into the sordid details of how he’d accepted the state attorney’s job in Cobb County.
“Really?” Pat replied. “That sounds nice. Are you married? Any kids? I know you were married ten years ago but I can’t remember the kids part.”
Jack laughed. “I can’t remember anything either anymore but the answers to your questions are-’Nope’ and ‘Nope.’ I’ve been married a few times but it never worked out for me. How about you?” They were friends who hadn’t seen each other in years, but Jack was more comfortable at that moment than at any time he could remember.
“I never did get married,” Pat replied. “I had a few relationships over the years but, like yours I guess, they just didn’t work out. Frankly, I think I’m a little hard to take on a daily basis.”
“Me too,” Jack said, and they both laughed. The small talk was over.
“I read it was cancer?”
“Yeah, lung cancer to be exact. Mike was never able to kick the habit and I tell you, Johnny, if I had lived his life, I’d still be smoking myself.”
“You know, I left home after college and I didn’t see Mikey on my trips home after that like I saw you. I don’t know much about his life after I left.”
“How much time do you have?” Pat asked. “Because it’s a long story.”
“I’ve got all night-and tomorrow if need be.”
Pat laughed. “We have a funeral to attend tomorrow, but I’ll give you the short version.”
“Hang on a second.” Jack caught the waiter’s attention and ordered a second round. “Never thought I’d see a waiter in McGlade’s.”
“Bernie’s probably rolling around in his grave at the thought,” Pat laughed. Bernie McGlade had run the place by himself when they were kids. There were tables even back then, but if you wanted something to drink you had to go to the bar to get it.
They were always in there as youngsters, usually because their fathers were in there. But there was another reason. Depending on the season, Bernie always had a supply of footballs, basketballs, or baseballs and bats on hand that the neighborhood kids could take to Central Park. It was a small part of the neighborhood that no longer existed.
“When he got out of jail,” Pat began, “Mike kinda slipped back into the old neighborhood routine. His uncle got him a job with the steel workers and he made good money. We’d all get together right here on Friday and Saturday nights. There was a hard edge to his personality after prison, something that most people wouldn’t notice, but I did. He spent two years upstate, you know.” Jack just nodded, his head down. That was the part he felt responsible for. Right there in the beginning-the first pebble in the landslide.
“He started drinking a lot-too much. He was drunk all the time. He almost lost his job a couple of times but his uncle saved him. Apparently, his uncle was a bigwig in the union. Anyway, he met this Puerto Rican woman, Elena-lovely girl-and they started dating and he straightened up. They eventually married and had a little boy. I thought he had gotten over the hump, but he hadn’t. Six months after his son was born, he started back again, worse than before. I don’t know if it was the added pressure or what. He lost his job. She finally fled-and I mean fled. She didn’t even tell him where she was going. She just vanished.
“He didn’t stop even then. He just kept drinking until he was living on the street-a total bum. After doing that for years, one day he just stopped. It was a long process back, as you can imagine, but eventually he got a job and an apartment and started to settle in again. We’d meet for coffee once in a while, had dinner once a month. He was fine, but the thing with his wife and kid was always eating away at him.”
“He never heard from the kid?” Jack asked.
“Let me finish, I’m getting there,” Pat said, motioning at him with her hand. “You can’t rush a storyteller.” Jack sat back, feigning a chastened look.
“About ten years ago-and I don’t know the particular facts very well, Mike just gave me snippets from time to time-he got a call from Marguerite, his wife’s sister. The boy was in trouble and they needed money.”
“He hadn’t seen or heard from the wife or child since they left?” Jack asked his question again. He couldn’t help himself.
“Not for seventeen years.”
“That’s pretty ballsy.”
“Or desperate-and it turned out to be desperate. Mike gave what he could. The sister, Marguerite, gave money too but apparently it wasn’t enough. The kid was charged with murder. The private attorney quit because she-I think it was a woman-wasn’t getting paid. The public defender handled the case and, I guess, screwed it up because the kid got convicted of first-degree murder. He’s on death row right now.”
“Death row? Holy shit!”
“Yeah, holy shit is right. You don’t hear from your wife and kid for seventeen years-and don’t get me wrong, I think she should have left him and started a new life, I’m not blaming her-but after all that time, you finally hear from them and your son is on trial for his life and eventually gets convicted. It’s enough to start a man drinking again.”