Barrington Street Blues by Anne Emery

later. I was nearly crying by the time I got into my car. Then I realized I couldn’t use the clutch with my leg in the cast. I lurched along in the car and somehow made it to her place. Got out and hobbled to her door. She looked at me as if I were a bug that had just crawled out of her salad. I tried to smile at her but I kept my tongue over my loose tooth and, well, it just went downhill from there. She lit into me for being late, for being hungover, unreliable, and irresponsible. I told her I had to go home first to clean up, and she said we either got going right then or forget it. I insisted on shaving at her place, with her rusty razor, so I had cuts all over my face along with everything else. Then I had a shower with the cast on, and fell in the tub. I feel as if I’m living through it again. When we finally got going, she had to drive, but she wasn’t used to a standard shift, so she kept stalling the car. I was afraid she’d strip the gears. I barked at her aboutit, and she barked back. It took eight fucking hours to get to Cape Breton. Since I hadn’t eaten, I was feeling increasingly sick and at one point had to ask her to pull over so I could throw up at the side of the road. At least I still had my tooth. Anyway that’s how I presented myself to her family.”
    â€œMy relatives were damned impressed. ‘Oh, you’ve done well for yourself there, Maura. You went all the way to Halifax for the likes of that? You could have got something like that over in Reserve Mines, saved yourself the time and expense.’”
    â€œAnd yet, you ended up at the altar.”
    â€œYeah,” she said, not without a spark of humour. “I wonder if we can sue the priest. Have you ever been named a defendant in a sacrament-gone-wrong lawsuit, Father Burke?”
    â€œBut, when you look at it,” I suggested, “if we made it through that day, surely we can —”
    â€œGo home, Collins, I’m tired.”
    â€œOh. Uh, you don’t happen to know where I can score a box of Ganong’s dark chocolates at this time of night, do you, sweetheart?”
    â€œ
Go!
Do I have to scream it into the side of your head? Go home. Normie! Come down and say good-night to your dad. He’s leaving.”
    Burke and I stood in the front hall waiting for Normie to say goodbye.
    â€œSo, Brennan, the bachelor life must be looking pretty good tonight, eh?”
    â€œIt has its blessings. What’s this?” He picked up a postcard of the Roman Colosseum from the little table in the hall. “Someone you know is visiting the Eternal City?”
    â€œI don’t know who it’s from. It arrived in the mail at the office this morning. Take a look at the message — the sender says ‘Ask.’ Took the trouble to use a calligraphy pen by the look of it, but just wrote the one word.”
    â€œAsk what?”
    â€œI can only assume it’s from the plaintiffs in a lawsuit over the shoddy construction of their condominium. We’re defending the contractor who built it. But why send it to me? Maybe they think their lawyer’s pleadings weren’t eloquent enough. They’re either saying: ‘It should have been built to last two thousand years,’ or: ‘It’s aruin.’ I don’t know. ‘Ask’? I don’t have to. I’ve seen the place. If we can’t pin it on somebody else, we’d better cut our losses and settle. Anyway, I brought it over for Normie; she’s studying Rome in school. I forgot to give it to her.”
    Brennan stared at the postcard. “Next time I go to Rome you’ll have to come with me. Ever been there?”
    â€œI had a short visit there. Too short. You lived there for what, three or four years?”
    â€œFour, when I was studying at the Greg and the Angelicum.”
    â€œThose are the Pontifical something or other?”
    â€œPontifical Gregorian University, Pontifical