Bridge of Sighs

the last decade. Whoever Nell was, her sign was tilting precariously when he roared up the gravel road on his bike. His father’s was one of half a dozen cars in the lot, and Noonan parked off to the side by the dumpster.
    His father was seated at the far end of the bar, talking to a large woman bartender who looked to be in her early forties and might’ve been attractive had she not been so overweight, her expression so glum. She looked like somebody who could easily be named Nell and who’d invested her last nickel in the place.
    When Noonan slid onto the adjacent stool, his father consulted his watch. “I was about to come looking for you,” he said.
    “I told you I’d be here.”
    “I thought maybe you changed your mind.”
    “I don’t do that,” Noonan told him, and he could tell from his smile that they were both referencing the day that spring when he’d warned what would happen if his mother got pregnant again.
    “A person should change his mind occasionally,” his father said.
    “Why?”
    “Situations change.” Then, before Noonan could offer a response, he said, “This is Max,” and nodded vaguely at the woman behind the bar, who was wiping her soapy hands on a towel so they could shake.
    “Maxine,” she clarified.
    “Not Nell?” Noonan said.
    “Nell was my sister. She died of leukemia. We named the place for her.”
    “And this is Willie, Max’s boy,” his father added when the kitchen door swung open and a Down’s syndrome kid came in with a bucket of ice. He looked to be about Noonan’s age, but he was already balding so it was hard to tell. He grinned and emitted a braying sound that might or might not have been a word, then disappeared back into the kitchen.
    “So what kept you?” his father said.
    “I stopped by Ikey Lubin’s.”
    His father nodded. “That Lynch kid figure out he’s a queer yet?”
    “Nice language,” Maxine said, glaring at him. It made Noonan like her, though he couldn’t help wondering why she imagined she had a place in their conversation. She may have sensed this reaction, because after drawing him a draft beer and sliding it in front of him she busied herself at the other end of the bar.
    “He’s got a steady girlfriend, actually,” Noonan said.
    “They’ll do that sometimes.”
    “A person should change his mind now and then,” Noonan said. One of the best things about honors English was that Mr. Berg had taught him the value of using other people’s words against them. In the two months he and the others had been parrying with Sarah’s father, they’d all gotten quicker on their rhetorical feet. They used their new skills outside of class and made short work of anybody who hadn’t learned to survive a withering Berg assault. “When situations change.”
    His father seemed to enjoy the counterthrust himself. “Some situations change. Others don’t.”
    “Have it your way,” Noonan said. “What am I doing here?”
    “Having a beer with your old man. Let’s see your fake ID.” He held out his hand. Noonan paused before handing it over. In another month he’d be eighteen anyway, and besides, he doubted his old man meant to confiscate it now, having just bought him a beer.
    His father looked the card over, nodding in appreciation. “Nice job. How much did it set you back?”
    “Seventy-five.”
    “I could’ve got you one for less if you’d asked.” He added, when Noonan offered no reply. “But Jass was right. It’s a good one.”
    “Jass?”
    “Jasper Englander. Your boss. Why do you think he hired you?”
    The last thing Noonan wanted to do was grant his father the satisfaction of yet another surprise when he still hadn’t figured out what to make of the first. Was it possible he’d really come to all his games and Noonan had just failed to notice him? What would that mean? For that matter, what did it mean that he’d never suspected his influence when, underage, he got a bartending job from a man who’d been looking at fake IDs all his life?
    “You hungry?” his father said.
    “No,” Noonan lied.
    “It’s prime rib night. They do it good here.”
    “I’m not hungry,” he repeated.
    “Suit yourself,” his father said, signaling Maxine, who came down the bar and took his order for a prime rib, medium-rare, just as Noonan would’ve taken his if he wasn’t being so stubborn.
    “They let people eat at the bar?” Noonan said when Maxine went into the kitchen.
    “Normally, no, but they let