Hammered

be rivaled. Other times escape our notice, slipping by while we are preoccupied, and we do not appreciate their enormity until it’s too late to do anything but regret that we had not paid more attention in the present.
    For me, the times I always regret are missed opportunities to say farewell to good people, to wish them long life and say to them in all sincerity, » You build and do not destroy; you sow goodwill and reap it; smiles bloom in the wake of your passing, and I will keep your kindness in trust and share it as occasion arises, so that your life will be a quenching draught of calm in a land of drought and stress. « Too often I never get to say that when it should be said. Instead, I leave them with the equivalent of a » Later, dude! « only to discover some time afterward that there would never be a later for us. I did not intend to let that happen with the widow MacDonagh.
    But as I walked up to her house, I saw that a moment had already passed me by. The widow wasn’t on her porch, sipping whiskey and greeting me with a smile. For all that it was painted bright yellow, the house seemed a little forlorn for her absence. A ring of the doorbell and then a knock at the door brought me no welcome. No lights were on in the house—she usually had them on, even at midday—so I told myself that she must be out. Worried that I might have missed my chance to wish her well, I pulled out the lawn mower from the side yard and trimmed her front lawn while I waited for her return. When that was finished and I was still alone, I grabbed a pair of shears and groomed her grapefruit tree, fretting all the while that if she didn’t return by nightfall, I’d have to leave and might never see her again. That would mean my last words to her would be » See you soon, « which I’d said on Wednesday when I dropped Oberon off at her house. That phrase was such an inadequate farewell that I cringed inside to think I might have to let it stand.
    She arrived after four, dropped off by Mrs. Murphy in a ponderous minivan. Mrs. Murphy, a neighbor of the widow’s who thought I was nothing more than a punk college kid, seemed relieved to see me waiting on the driveway. She looked a bit harried because her four kids were making plenty of noise in the back, and she might have feared leaving them alone for the brief span it would take to help the widow out of the van.
    » Thank you, « she gushed as I opened the door and offered my hand to the widow. She backed up and drove off before we could take three steps away; I deduced from this that somebody in the van must have an urgent need to visit the restroom.
    » Thank the Lord yer here, Atticus, « the widow said weakly. She looked frail and stooped, her cheeks sunken in and her eyes weighted with fatigue. » That Murphy lass is a decent soul, but she’s raisin’ a right pack o’ brats, if ye ask me. «
    » Well, at least they’re Irish brats, « I observed. » They could be British. «
    » Aye, we need to count our blessings, don’t we? « She chuckled softly, and the laugh seemed to restore her somewhat. » I see ye mowed me lawn an’ trimmed the tree. Yer a dear lad. « She patted my shoulder. » Thank ye. «
    » You’re very welcome, Mrs. MacDonagh. «
    She put her hand on my shoulder for support. » Would ye mind givin’ an’ old lady a hand up to the porch? I’m not as spry as I used t’be. «
    » Sure, Mrs. MacDonagh. « She favored her left leg as we slowly made our way to her customary chair. » Where have you been? Haven’t seen you since I left. «
    » I’ve been to the bloody doctor for days on end. He’s been stabbin’ me with this and scannin’ me with that and chargin’ me a fortune to tell me I’m not well, which I already bloody knew before I walked through his door. «
    » What’s wrong? «
    » I’m older’n Methuselah is what’s wrong. Me body’s breakin’ down, Atticus. It’s tellin’ me it’s tired of bein’ so sexy all the time, hee hee. «
    » Seriously, Mrs. MacDonagh, what’s the matter? «
    » ’Tis no matter at all. « She groaned a little as I eased her into her chair and relieved the weight on her legs. » I’ll not trouble ye with it. The list o’ me plagues an’ agues is a fair mile long, an’ the best medicine for me right now is to talk of somethin’ else. Will ye be havin’ a glass o’ the Irish with me? «
    » Sure, I have a little bit of time to spend, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather spend it. «
    The