Bridge of Sighs

too, had considered the possibility. “Tessa loves Lou-Lou.”
    You
love Lou-Lou, he thought. You don’t
want
it to be true. “That doesn’t mean—”
    “I know what it doesn’t mean, Bobby.”
    “I’m sorry,” he said, though he was none too sure why he should feel the need to apologize. “I didn’t—”
    “It’s okay. It’s just…they’re all so dear, the Lynches. I don’t know what we’d all do if we lost Ikey’s.”
    And then she was gone.
    Instead of backing out of the drive he stayed where he was, astraddle the Indian. Inside, Sarah gave her father—the man she’d just admitted to hating—a hug and a kiss good night, then headed upstairs. A moment later a light came on and she appeared in one of the second-floor windows, bathed in yellow light, and his heart was now like a fist in his chest. It must have dawned on her then that she hadn’t heard the motorcycle start up and roar away, because she raised her hand, and when she smiled sadly waggling her fingers in his direction, he tooted and turned his key in the ignition, trying
not
to know what he knew for absolute certain: that he was in love with Lucy’s girlfriend and, if she’d have him, that friendship wouldn’t stand in the way. And his own girlfriend? Poor Nan didn’t even factor into it.

    E XCEPT FOR HIS FATHER’S CAR, Nell’s parking lot was empty by the time he pulled in and parked the motorcycle beneath the solitary pole-mounted lamp and then stood looking up at the yellow halo of light in the vast blackness of the night sky. It reminded him of something, he couldn’t remember what, until suddenly he did: his weird dream about the cathedral that morning. Incredible. It felt like a month ago. How strange to think that the day had begun with clarity. Now, not so many hours later, everything was a hopeless muddle—including, for instance, what the hell he was doing back at Nell’s.
    His father was sitting in the same spot at the end of the bar, but now he was drinking coffee. Glancing at his watch, he said, “Just in time for last call.”
    “No thanks,” Noonan said, taking the same stool as before. The dining room was empty except for a waitress and a busboy doing setups for the next day. Then Maxine came out of a storage room behind the bar and pushed through the door into the kitchen, where she came up behind her son as he drew a tray of steaming dishes from the washer and grabbed him firmly by the elbows. When she planted a kiss on his balding pate, Noonan could hear his bray of delight before the door swung shut again. He looked over at his father then, trying to fathom how long he’d been a part of this domestic scene.
    “That boy,” Noonan said. He’d meant to complete some sort of sentence, but instead let the two words just float there in the air between them.
    “No relation to you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
    “I wasn’t worried, only curious. Also curious about why you prefer her to Mom, or this other family to ours. And maybe when you’re done explaining that…” Once more, words failed him.
    “What?” his father said. “Go ahead. You’ve got a good head of steam up. You might as well finish.”
    Except he wasn’t sure how. Was there one thing he wanted an explanation for, or everything? Without warning, his father had stopped being a simple man. Did Noonan want an explanation for the kindness he’d shown this Maxine and her idiot kid, or for the mean-spirited bullying he’d offered his mother, his brothers and himself?
The best guy,
Willie had called him. In what reality was his father even a decent guy? It was as if the first seventeen years of Noonan’s life had taken place under a full moon that suddenly had waned, allowing his wolf of a father to take on the shape of an ordinary man. How had he managed to miss that transformation? What was it Sarah had asked back at her father’s house—whether they’d all end up like their parents? Actually
become
their parents, without having any choice in the matter? He now felt some of his long-cherished loathing begin to leak away, crowded out by the fear that she could be right.
    “Look,” his father said, after the silence had stretched out too long. “What you need to figure out is simple. What do you want from me? If it’s something I can give you, fine. Right now, for instance, if you want a cup of coffee or a piece of pie, just say the word. Next year, if you need help with college expenses, I’ll try. I’m not