will I do?
Of course, he didn’t have to worry—he had been rehearsing this reunion for so long. Maybe he would limit his comments to only those words that might mean something to her: “Stop punishing yourself. It was an accident. If I can forgive you, why can’t you forgive yourself?”
He had given his card to Lilly Brown, the woman he had met in the shelter. “If you see her, just phone me,” he told her. “Please don’t tell her I’m looking for her. She might disappear again.”
Lilly had assured him, “Quinny will be back. Knowing her, it should be about now. She never stays away from New York for too long at a time, and in the summer she likes to sit in Central Park. She says it’s her favorite place in the world. I’ll ask around for you. Maybe someone’s seen her lately.”
For now I’ll have to be content with that, Dan thought as he jogged the paths of Central Park, the sky still light with the setting sun, but the air getting steadily cooler and the wind chilling his damp back and legs. Now that summer is almost here—but please, he thought, don’t let this evening be any indication ofwhat summer in New York will be, because she’ll freeze—there was always the chance that the woman who called herself “Quinny” might be found sitting on one of the park benches.
twenty-two
C ORNELIUS M AC D ERMOTT ARRIVED at Nell’s apartment promptly at six o’clock. When she opened the door for him, they stood apart for a few moments, silently looking at each other. Then he reached out and put his arms around her.
“Nell,” he said, “remember what the old Irish guys say to the bereaved at wakes? They say, ‘I’m sorry for your trouble.’ You used to think it was the dumbest remark in the world. In your most smart-alecky voice, you’d say, ‘You’re not sorry for someone’s trouble. You’re sorry they’re experiencing trouble.’ ”
“I remember,” Nell said.
“And what did I tell you?”
“You said that what the expression means is, ‘Your trouble is my trouble. I share your grief.’ ”
“That’s right. So just think of me as one of those old Irishmen. In a very real way, your trouble is my trouble. And that’s why you have to know how very, very sorry I am about Adam. I’d do anything to keep you from having to go through the hurt I know you are experiencing right now.”
Be fair to him, Nell told herself. Mac is eighty-two years old. He has loved me and cared for me as longas I can remember. Maybe he couldn’t help being jealous of Adam. There were plenty of women who would have loved to marry Mac after Gram died. I was probably the reason he didn’t get involved with any of them.
“I know you would,” she told him, “and I’m glad you’re here. I guess I just need some time to let everything sink in.”
“Well, unfortunately, Nell, you don’t have time,” Mac told her abruptly. “Come on. Let’s sit down. We’ve got to talk.”
Not knowing quite what to expect, she obeyed, following him into the living room.
As soon as she was seated, Mac began: “Nell, I realize that this is an awful time for you, but there are some things that we have to talk about. You haven’t even had Adam’s memorial Mass yet, and here I am about to start lobbing some tough questions at you. I’m sorry to move on you like this. Maybe you’ll want to throw me out, and if you do, I’ll understand. But some things simply can’t wait.”
Nell knew now what he was going to say.
“This isn’t just any election year. It’s a presidential election year. You know as well as I do that anything can happen, but our guy is ahead big time, and unless he does something really stupid, he’s going to be the next president.”
He probably is going to be president, Nell thought, and he’ll make a good one. For the first time since she heard the news of Adam’s death, she felt a stirring within her—a first sign that life was returning. She looked at her grandfather and realized
Of course, he didn’t have to worry—he had been rehearsing this reunion for so long. Maybe he would limit his comments to only those words that might mean something to her: “Stop punishing yourself. It was an accident. If I can forgive you, why can’t you forgive yourself?”
He had given his card to Lilly Brown, the woman he had met in the shelter. “If you see her, just phone me,” he told her. “Please don’t tell her I’m looking for her. She might disappear again.”
Lilly had assured him, “Quinny will be back. Knowing her, it should be about now. She never stays away from New York for too long at a time, and in the summer she likes to sit in Central Park. She says it’s her favorite place in the world. I’ll ask around for you. Maybe someone’s seen her lately.”
For now I’ll have to be content with that, Dan thought as he jogged the paths of Central Park, the sky still light with the setting sun, but the air getting steadily cooler and the wind chilling his damp back and legs. Now that summer is almost here—but please, he thought, don’t let this evening be any indication ofwhat summer in New York will be, because she’ll freeze—there was always the chance that the woman who called herself “Quinny” might be found sitting on one of the park benches.
twenty-two
C ORNELIUS M AC D ERMOTT ARRIVED at Nell’s apartment promptly at six o’clock. When she opened the door for him, they stood apart for a few moments, silently looking at each other. Then he reached out and put his arms around her.
“Nell,” he said, “remember what the old Irish guys say to the bereaved at wakes? They say, ‘I’m sorry for your trouble.’ You used to think it was the dumbest remark in the world. In your most smart-alecky voice, you’d say, ‘You’re not sorry for someone’s trouble. You’re sorry they’re experiencing trouble.’ ”
“I remember,” Nell said.
“And what did I tell you?”
“You said that what the expression means is, ‘Your trouble is my trouble. I share your grief.’ ”
“That’s right. So just think of me as one of those old Irishmen. In a very real way, your trouble is my trouble. And that’s why you have to know how very, very sorry I am about Adam. I’d do anything to keep you from having to go through the hurt I know you are experiencing right now.”
Be fair to him, Nell told herself. Mac is eighty-two years old. He has loved me and cared for me as longas I can remember. Maybe he couldn’t help being jealous of Adam. There were plenty of women who would have loved to marry Mac after Gram died. I was probably the reason he didn’t get involved with any of them.
“I know you would,” she told him, “and I’m glad you’re here. I guess I just need some time to let everything sink in.”
“Well, unfortunately, Nell, you don’t have time,” Mac told her abruptly. “Come on. Let’s sit down. We’ve got to talk.”
Not knowing quite what to expect, she obeyed, following him into the living room.
As soon as she was seated, Mac began: “Nell, I realize that this is an awful time for you, but there are some things that we have to talk about. You haven’t even had Adam’s memorial Mass yet, and here I am about to start lobbing some tough questions at you. I’m sorry to move on you like this. Maybe you’ll want to throw me out, and if you do, I’ll understand. But some things simply can’t wait.”
Nell knew now what he was going to say.
“This isn’t just any election year. It’s a presidential election year. You know as well as I do that anything can happen, but our guy is ahead big time, and unless he does something really stupid, he’s going to be the next president.”
He probably is going to be president, Nell thought, and he’ll make a good one. For the first time since she heard the news of Adam’s death, she felt a stirring within her—a first sign that life was returning. She looked at her grandfather and realized
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