‘Thank you, Father.’

‘And Sammy—back to Sammy. When it comes to shooting pool, he’s a genius. All we have to do is figure out how to channel genius.’

She looked away from him. ‘One day . . .’

‘Yes, oh, yes, definitely. One day.’ One day there would be an end to the hurting. There had to be an end to it.

•   •   •

THEY WALKED OUT with Barnabas to the flower borders, carrying mugs of Earl Grey.

His wife looked west over the trees; a breeze stirred her hair, the sleeves of her blouse. ‘’T will be a lovely sunset,’ she said.

Hydrangeas blooming, digitalis thriving, black mulch from the pile where the garage once stood. Harley had done a fine job of keeping things in order.

‘I told Louella about Henry.’

‘Wonderful.’

He cleared his throat and made the announcement in what she called his Old Testament voice. ‘I’m wearing a suit tomorrow night.’

She laughed, put her arm around him. If he never wore a tux again, it would be too soon.

‘Forgive me for pushing you to the brink?’ she said.

‘Always.’

‘Bookends?’

‘Always.’

‘Puny left you a wonderful salmon and pasta dish, but I’m hungry for liver and onions tonight, will you have some? It might be fun just to try it, darling.’

‘Never,’ he said.

Chapter Four

At first light, he got up and sat on the floor by his dog and buried his hand in the bristly coat and prayed, silent.

Almighty God, whose Son our Savior Jesus Christ was lifted high upon the cross that he might draw the whole world unto himself: Mercifully grant that we, who glory in the mystery of our redemption, may have grace to take up our cross and follow him; who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, in glory everlasting.

His dog rolled on his side and looked up—it was that slow, lingering look that spoke volumes could he but read them. He thought the look might be saying, It’s okay, it’s fine down here; I don’t mind, you can stop feeling guilty now.

•   •   •

‘HEY, DAD.’

‘Hey, yourself.’ Always the unabashed joy of hearing, Hey, Dad.

‘What’s up?’

‘Off to the doctor. Hoppy’s retired, as you know, so it’s Wilson these days. How about you?’

‘Killed,’ said Dooley.

Midterms. ‘Hang in.’

Dooley laughed. ‘Is that the best you can do? Hang in?’

‘It works, buddy, it works. I’m praying. Don’t worry about anything.’

Dooley was doing well in school. Long haul that it would be, the boy was keeping his eye on the ball of having a successful country vet practice, maybe raising a few cattle.

He remembered bearing down hard on the books, going for the high marks and professorial praise, believing he would no longer be a shadow in his father’s eyes, but a viable being pumping real blood and real sweat and hitting the mark.

‘How was Hoppy’s retirement party?’ asked Dooley.

‘A little tearful here and there. Hoppy’s been good medicine for us, we’ll miss him keenly.’

‘Lace said you told the Uncle Billy joke.’

‘They asked me to say a few words. Uncle Billy’s still bringing the house down. Lace was a great surprise, by the way, didn’t know she could make it. A lot of people noticed the ring.’

A long pause. No information forthcoming.

‘She denied that it was an engagement ring,’ he said, assuring Dooley of her discretion. ‘I guess friendship rings can look a lot like engagement rings.’

‘Maybe,’ said Dooley.

‘Big doin’s down here for your October weekends. We look forward to seeing her midmonth, and you on the twenty-sixth.’

‘Can’t wait. When do the guys come home? I can’t get through to Kenny or Harley’s cell; I guess they’re pretty much in the boonies.’

‘Miss Pringle arrived this morning from Boston, she says Harley and your brothers will be here tomorrow evening. We’re loading up on ground sirloin and buns.’

‘We can talk about Kenny when I get home?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘About the college business.’

‘And maybe figure out something for Sammy.’ Sammy the willful, Sammy the shark, Sammy who would not be tethered or tamed. He loved Dooley’s younger brother but couldn’t manage him, and maybe that was a good thing—or maybe not.

•   •   •

‘THERE WE WERE, two of three misfits who didn’t show up as penguins. Deep breath.’

‘Any man can be roped, Doctor, but not every man tied.’

‘I was just out of the shower when the call came—had to get to the hospital and yank an appendix, or else. Long story short, too late to go home and don the tux—deep breath—wife already at the club and couldn’t bring it by the hospital. So—into a clean set of scrubs and off to the revelry.’

‘You were the envy of every man there.’

‘Who was the other fellow out of uniform? I’ve seen him around, but can’t remember his name.’

‘Omer Cunningham, our former mayor’s brother-in-law. He’s flown Hoppy in and out of a few tight spots in these mountains, though his aircraft is hardly suited to the job. The poor man’s helicopter, he calls it.’

‘A character,’ said Wilson.

‘Great guy. ’Nam vet. I’ve been up with him a couple of times. Flies a ragwing taildragger.’

His doctor sat on a rolling stool, palpated his feet and legs.

‘Greek to me. Was that a pair of overalls he was wearing? I’m a city boy, Father, we don’t know these things.’

‘Overalls with a hammer-hanger, as I recall. Which city?’

‘Born in Boston, moved to New Haven young enough to lose the broad a. Exercise?’

‘Just starting to run again after a trip with my wife. Two miles now and then, I’ll do better.’

‘Ireland, wasn’t it?’

‘County Sligo.’

‘The Wilsons populated a good bit of the Eire. My set came over from Tyrone.’ His doctor looked up. ‘You had a rough time a couple of years back. Any depression these days?’

‘Nobody will let me be depressed,’ he said. ‘I have two women watching me like hawks. Of course, there was that moment in front of the mirror a few days back. That was pretty depressing.’

‘Why?’

‘Obviously over the line by ten pounds, maybe twelve.’

‘Let’s check it.’

He stepped out of his loafers and pulled off his watch, vain soul that he was; Wilson popped him on the scales. Miserere nobis. One seventy-nine.

He was nearly always 165 on Hoppy’s scale, but this was obviously not Hoppy’s scale. This thing had big red numbers and was digital.

‘Who changed this scale?’ he said.

‘This is my scale.’

‘What was the matter with Hoppy’s scale? It could have stayed right here.’

‘Dr. Harper took his scale with him, carried it home on my golf cart. He’s fond of it, it weighs him four pounds lighter.’

There was professionalism for you. So if he had weighed 165 on Hoppy’s scale, plus the four Hoppy had cheated him out of, that was 169, and so he had, indeed, gained ten pounds since his last visit—if Wilson’s scale was accurate.

‘Is this scale accurate?’

‘On the money.’

He stepped off the thing. ‘There you have it, then, Doctor—the depression you were asking about.’

Nurse Kennedy handed him a prescription on the way out. He eyed it, nonplussed, and handed it back. ‘What does it say?’

‘It says, “Run three times a week. Three miles a day first week, four miles a day ensuing weeks. Drink plenty water. See you Nov.”’

‘Four miles one way or round-trip?’

‘Round-trip. He’s too easy on his patients. Dr. Harper made grown men cry.’

See there, Hoppy had been out of here only a few days, and was already spoken of in past tense. That was retirement for you.

‘Dr. Wilson is a runner,’ she said.

‘Really? Does he follow his own prescription?’

‘He’s hard on himself, but soft on others. He does fifteen miles three times a week, sometimes twenty.’

He couldn’t take any more.