Bridge of Sighs

course, than to tell her of his threat to kill him if he ignored that warning.
    He hoped she’d invite him in again tonight, because she was the one person he wanted to tell about what happened earlier at Nell’s. But when they turned into her driveway, the downstairs lights were all ablaze, and Miles Davis was leaking from the stereo inside, and her father must’ve heard the motorcycle, because they saw him leap from his chair in the living room and begin windmilling his arms around like a madman. That would have been funny except that Noonan knew Sarah was worried about the smell of what could only be marijuana that greeted her when she returned home on weekend nights, especially when, as now, she arrived earlier than expected.
    He brought the bike to a shuddering rest, but Sarah made no move to get off. “Is it okay if we just sit a minute?” she said.
    It was, it was. He enjoyed the trusting, unself-conscious way she nestled against him on the bike. It was far more enjoyable, in fact, than the passionate good-night kiss Nan had given him outside of Ikey’s. Nan loved nothing more than to kiss for show, and tonight she’d been particularly anxious for him to understand what he was missing as a result of being such a grump.
    “Do you want me to come in with you?”
    “No,” she said. “Let’s just give him a minute.”
    So they just sat there, facing the shabby little house where Sarah and her father had lived since her mother left. Eventually, it dawned on him that Sarah was quietly crying.
    “Do you think we’re all going to end up like them?” she said, and he immediately knew she was talking not just about her present father and absent mother but also about all of their parents—Lucy’s, his, maybe even Nan’s.
    “That’s up to us, I suppose,” he said.
    Mr. Berg, no longer windmilling, came over to the window and peered outside, perhaps wondering why his daughter hadn’t come in yet. But you could tell he was seeing mostly his own reflection, and after a moment he gave up and returned to his chair.
    “He hates Lou,” Sarah said.
    “Your dad?” Noonan said, genuinely surprised. “Really?” He would’ve liked to turn around and face her, but her arms were still wrapped tightly around him, as if she imagined the bike might take off of its own accord. Did she not want him to see her crying? Or was she afraid if she didn’t keep him facing forward that he’d take her in his arms?
    “What kind of grown man hates a boy?” she said. Noonan wanted to say that Lucy was almost eighteen, not a boy anymore, but she added, “He says Lou’s everything that’s wrong with America.”
    “That’s crazy,” Noonan said. The words were out before he could call them back.
    “He says he’s gullible and a craven conformist,” she said. “And something even worse.”
    “Which is?”
    “An innocent. He says there’s nothing worse than that.” She was clutching Noonan even tighter now. “He wants us to break up.”
    “Will you?” Noonan said, his own heart clenching.
    “Of course not.”
    “Right.”
    “He thinks I should be dating you.”
    Did she want his opinion? He couldn’t tell. He also couldn’t tell whether she viewed the idea as repugnant or simply impossible. “I don’t see how it’s any of his business,” he said.
    She didn’t say anything else for a minute. Finally, she put her forehead between his shoulder blades and said, “I hate him sometimes, Bobby. My own father.”
    “You’re lucky,” he told her. “I hate my father all the time.”
    After a moment she said, “Let’s make a pact, you and I. That after tonight we’ll never say such terrible things again.” Only after he agreed did she give him one last squeeze around the waist and climb off the bike. When he started to follow suit, she put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t,” she said, so he stayed where he was. She wiped the tears away with her sleeve, then surprised him by taking his hand. “What if it isn’t up to us?” she whispered, like a scared child. “What if we’re going to end up like them and there’s nothing we can do about it?”
    Since Noonan didn’t know how to answer that, he said, “Do you think there’s something going on between Dec and Mrs. Lynch?”
    She let go of his hand abruptly, as if it had just occurred to her that she was holding it. “No,” she said. Her certainty surprised him a little, but he could also tell that his question hadn’t surprised her. She,