Bridge of Sighs

the worst storm in several winters, but by seven-thirty that morning, as Noonan made his way through the snowbound streets of the East End on his way to Ikey Lubin’s, the sun came out, and the sky was a robust shade of blue that augured spring. People who’d come out bundled up in heavy coats to tunnel through the monstrous snowbanks now shed them in favor of bulky wool sweaters, and even so their foreheads glistened with sweat as they worked. The warming sun was welcome, but it made the snow heavy and slippery, difficult to shovel. Still, everyone seemed to be in a fine mood, convinced that winter had delivered its final blow. Several people called out greetings as Noonan trudged by in the middle of the street, and though he tried to share their good cheer, it wasn’t easy. His girlfriend’s father had just tried to punch him, injuring himself in the process; her mother had shrieked like a banshee and called him a monster. Worse, as soon as he got to Ikey’s, he was going to have to call his father and explain that he’d left his car in Mr. Beverly’s driveway with him pinned beneath it. And then there was the serious stuff. Last night, he’d had sex with a girl he not only didn’t love but didn’t even like very much. If she got pregnant…as if to complete this thought, church bells began to ring. It was Sunday. Somehow he’d forgotten that.
    Business at Ikey’s was brisk. People were too snowed in to drive any distance, certainly not out to the A&P. By the time Noonan arrived, Lucy and his father had cut a tunnel from the store’s entryway to the street, and Big Lou, looking pale and tuckered out, was all too happy to surrender his shovel to him. Midmorning, Dec came down, brutally hungover, and surveyed the situation. “Damn,” he said. “I was hoping you’d be done with this Eskimo shit by now.”
    “Well, we’re not,” Lucy told him.
    “I can see that,” Dec said. “You don’t mind if I just watch, do you?”
    Tessa then came out with another shovel from the storeroom and handed it to him without a word.
    “Sunday’s my day off,” Dec reminded her. “Did you forget that?” But he took the shovel and headed over to the parking lot, where they hadn’t even begun yet, and stood there for a good solid minute before throwing up violently into the snow and causing Noonan to wonder who’d be sick next.
    Tessa nudged him with her elbow. “See?” she said. “You aren’t the only damn fool in the world, are you?”
    Maybe not, but that’s exactly what he felt like. Nan had been right. Except for Dec, the Lynches all seemed to know about last night. Throughout the morning Lucy had been watching him out of the corner of his eye, and Noonan couldn’t tell if his friend was disappointed or just plain scared, knowing what the consequences might be. At noon, Tessa insisted they take a break, heaping paper plates high with cold smoked pork chops and both macaroni and potato salad. Noonan scarfed his down and allowed himself to be talked into seconds. Big Lou, still looking pale and weak, ate little before pushing his plate away.
    “You all right, Biggy?” his brother said. “I ask because you look like hell.”
    “I don’t seem to have no strength,” he told him.
    “You never did,” Dec replied. “Even back on the farm you always managed to give me the heavy end of everything.” Then he turned to Noonan. “Were you at Murdick’s last night?”
    “No,” he said. They hadn’t made it inside, so it wasn’t much of a lie.
    “Damn,” Dec said. “I just had this really vivid recollection of you and Cupcake being there.”
    After lunch they went at it again. It seemed like every time they made a good, wide opening in the snowbank, the plow came by and shut them in again. There was room for only eight cars in Ikey’s tiny lot, but three feet of snow in an area that size was a stupendous amount, and by the time they’d finished clearing it Noonan’s bad wrist was throbbing. The pain was strangely welcome, though, and the ache helped him locate the rhythm that hard physical labor demanded, his efforts becoming economical and compact, each swing of the shovel having just enough force behind it to propel the wet slippery snow onto the bank. Though Lucy matched him shovel for shovel, he noticed happily that his friend wasn’t taking full shovelfuls and that sometimes the snow he flung came sliding back down the bank at him. Midafternoon, Dec, bent over at the waist like a