Zib shook her head. “You’re wrong. I told you. He’s a lamb and I wish he weren’t.” Because if he weren’t, she thought, I wouldn’t be carrying on with you, or anybody else. So, in a sense, it was Nat’s fault. Comforting thought.
“Sweetie,” Paul said, “let me tell you something. Don’t ever push him too far. Now, let’s order. I’ve been summoned to the presence.”
Patty was at a table for two at Martin’s when Bert McGraw walked in. Martin himself, menus in hand, scurried up in greeting and led the way across the restaurant. McGraw bent to kiss his daughter, not on the cheek, but squarely on the mouth; for the McGraws a kiss was a kiss and not a vague gesture.
Then he sat down. His whiskey was waiting, as promised, a generous hooker of bourbon on ice. He tasted it, sighed, and smiled at the girl. “Hi, honey.”
“You look peaked, McGraw.”
“Maybe I am, but seeing you makes it better.” Simple truth. Patty was a long generation removed from his Mary, but there was a similarity between the women that never ceased to amaze him, a quiet warm steadiness that certainly had not sprung from his rough genes. In her presence he could relax. “Between you and the whiskey I’m feeling fine.”
Patty was smiling too. “Liar. You’re tired. They put too much on you on the big jobs, and there’s never been a bigger than the World Tower.”
“Your mother’s been at you.”
“She didn’t need to.” Smiling still. “I have eyes in my head. You need a rest. Take Mother away. Take that trip to Ireland you’ve always talked about.” Patty paused. “Why haven’t you ever done it, Daddy?”
Why indeed? “There’s never been the time.”
“That isn’t the reason.”
McGraw smiled. “If you’re such a smart whippersnapper, tell me what the reason is.” He shook his head then. “No, that isn’t fair, is it? I’ll tell you the reason, honey. It’s because Ireland isn’t a place to me, it’s a dream, and I’m afraid the dream would be damaged if I actually went to look at it.” Confession. He finished his whiskey.
Patty was smiling fondly. “I believe it all but one part,” she said, “and that I won’t swallow. You afraid? Of anything? Ever?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.” There were times when his feeling of closeness to her equaled, in different ways even surpassed, his feeling of closeness to Mary. Wife and daughter were not the same thing: each had her domain where she ruled supreme. “Afraid of many things, honey,” McGraw said. “Afraid from the moment I saw you through the hospital window that one day you would go away, as you have—”
“I haven’t gone away, Daddy.”
“In a way you have. I don’t know how mothers feel about their sons who marry, but I know how a father feels about his daughter.” He forced himself to smile. It was uphill work. “The finest man in the world isn’t good enough for her.”
“Do you think Paul is the finest man in the world?” Right up to you, McGraw. How do you answer that? Smiling, “I’ve known worse.” Have you? After your talk with Giddings, do you still think so?
Patty’s smile was gone. “I wonder if you mean that.”
“I said it, didn’t I, honey?”
Patty said, “You’re a woolly bear, Daddy, and, I’ve been told, a very fine poker player.” She shook her bright head. “I don’t see how, because sometimes you’re so transparent. I always thought you liked Paul.”
“And what changed your mind?”
“The look in your eye. Daddy, what’s happened?” McGraw took his time. He looked up as a waiter approached.
“Another drink, sir?” the waiter said.
“Yes.” It was Patty who answered. “For my father, but not for me.” And when the waiter was gone, “It’s bad?” she said.
“Bullied by my own daughter,” McGraw said. He tried to keep it light, but he wasn’t sure it sounded that way. “I don’t know, honey. There may be—things to do with the World Tower.”
“What kind of things?” And then, contractor’s daughter, subcontractor’s wife, she answered her own question: “Shenanigans? Paul? But how could—” She stopped. She said quietly, “He could, couldn’t he? I’ve heard your tales—kickbacks, false invoices, bills, of lading—” The words came easily to her tongue. “Is that it?”
“I don’t know anything for sure, honey. And I’m not going to badmouth a man until I do know.”
The fresh drink arrived. McGraw looked at it, picked it up, and made himself sip it slowly. What he needed, he thought, was not a drink in a glass, but a bottle. And cronies, as in the old simple days. Frank and Jimmy and O’Reilly and McTurk—the names ran through his mind like a litany. Drinking and brawling and laughing together—a long time ago.
“Yes, Daddy.”
Good, God, was he talking aloud? He noticed that his hand was unsteady as he set the glass down.
“I’ve heard you talk of them all,” Patty said. “I wish I’d known you then.”
He had himself under control again. “I was pushing forty, honey, when you were born.”
“I know.”
“Mary, bless her, only a year younger.”
“I know that too. It never mattered that you were older than other parents. You weren’t really.”
“I don’t know,” McGraw said. “The young days were gone, and there you were.” He smiled. “We wanted you bad, honey. I went down on my knees and thanked the good Lord when you arrived healthy and whole.” He picked up the glass again. “Let’s order a meal.”
It was as if Patty had not heard. “What happened to them, Frank and Jimmy and O’Reilly and—was it McTurk?”
“It was. A big black Irishman with shoulders like a truss bridge.” McGraw was silent. “What happened to them? I don’t know, honey.” Today was filled with confessions and reminiscences. “I had a dream once. I was climbing a mountain with friends. Up and up we went, into the mists. I lost the sight of them, and even the sound of their voices, and there was nothing to do but climb on.” He paused, looking far beyond the girl, beyond the walls of the restaurant, into the past. It took an effort to bring himself back to the table. “At the top of the mountain,” he said, “I came out into bright sunshine. I searched, but I was all alone. I never knew what happened to the others. I don’t think you ever know. At the top of the mountain you are always alone.” He started to beckon the waiter and then stopped. “What was that you said?”
“I’m leaving Paul, Daddy. Or I was. But if he’s in trouble—” She smiled, mocking herself. “I don’t mean to sound noble. I detest noble women. Their—nobility spoils everything they do.” Pause. “It’s just that if Paul’s in trouble, the n this isn’t the time to walk out on him, is it?”
“I don’t know, honey. I don’t know what the reason is.” McGrau hesitated, “Do you want to tell me?” How many times had he asked that question, knowing that the answer was yes on the subject, whatever it was, would never have been brought up? He watched the girl quietly and waited.
Patty smiled again. “I guess I’m transparent too. Maybe we’d better not play poker together.”
McGraw said nothing.
The reason,” Patty said, “is the usual sordid reason. Or maybe it isn’t usual these days. Maybe to most people a little wife-swapping doesn’t matter. But it does to me.” McGraw sat quiet, fresh anger under tight control. He said at last, “It does to me too, honey. And to your mother.”
“I know.” Patty was smiling gently. “You gave me old-fashioned standards. I’m glad.”
McGrau was silent for a time. He said at last. “Do you know who it is?”
“Zib Wilson.”
“Does Nat know?”
“I haven’t asked him.”
There was silence. “Maybe,” McGraw said slowly, “if you’d had children. I know that’s old-fashioned too.”