The long apology that followed wasn’t something I needed, but I was fairly certain he had to get it off his chest. He spoke slowly and haltingly, in a manner far removed from that of the glib young manipulator who had put himself forward so often in recent months. The omelets arrived just as he was getting to the part about how he knew he had caused embarrassment to everyone on the whole newspaper.

“We’ll get over it. Don’t let that food get cold. Oh-thanks, and you’re forgiven, and don’t let any of this keep you from moving on from here.”

“That’s it?”

“No. Can I have your sour cream?”

He laughed a little nervously and dished it onto my plate. “It’s not good for you.”

“Oh yes it is. Hair shirts, on the other hand, are really bad for you.”

“Hair shirts?” he asked, puzzled.

I sighed. “I should make you look it up, but-people used to wear them as penance.”

“Oh. Okay.”

We ate in silence for a few minutes. He was, I noticed, starting to tuck into his breakfast with earnest.

My cell phone rang. I apologized to him-I usually turn it off in restaurants.

His mouth was full, but he motioned me to go ahead and answer it.

The call was from Frank. “Lydia didn’t know where to find you, so I worried a little,” he said.

“I’m having breakfast at the Lucky Dragon. What’s up?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said about Maureen O’Connor. Harmon worked for Eden Supply of Las Piernas. Ring any bells?”

“Eden Supply? No, and there’s nothing about it in O’Connor’s notes that I can recall. Was it owned by some other company?”

“Haven’t had a chance to look it up. It’s not around now, though.”

“I’ll see if I can find anything about it in the newspapers from the 1940s. Maybe they advertised with the Express.”

“Okay, but don’t run anything in the paper yet-I’d rather Yeager didn’t know we were looking in this direction.”

When I hung up, Ethan said, “That was about O’Connor?”

I felt a little rise of anger.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said quickly.

“You could hardly help it. That’s not what’s bothering me. It’s that-”

“That you were close to O’Connor and I stole from him.”

“Yes.”

“That was wrong, I know. You probably won’t believe this, but-the reason was-I mean, I should never have done it, but-but I love the way he wrote.”

“I do believe that.”

“It makes it all worse, really.”

“Ethan, if we could go back in time and pull all of O’Connor’s writing out of your articles, believe me, I’d jump into the time machine right now. We can’t. You have to live with that. But I knew O’Connor really well, and I know what he’d tell you.”

“ ‘Why’d you steal from me, you stupid son of a bitch?’”

I laughed, which surprised him. “No. He’d tell you to keep your head up.”

He looked down at the table, caught himself, and met my gaze. “Why are you being nice to me? You hated me.”

“When I first came to work for the paper, I hid in the men’s room of the Express one day, and eavesdropped on O’Connor insulting the hell out of me.” I told him about some of my early troubles with O’Connor.

“What I’ve done,” he said, “is pretty different from that.”

“Yes, it is. But you aren’t the first reporter to get off to a rough start at the Express, Ethan. You have talent. You’ve just got to show people what you’ve got, that’s all. Never mind trying to impress them any other way-just use your own skill. Let it speak for itself.”

“What if that’s not enough?”

“If that isn’t enough, nothing else ever will be. You’ll need to find another line of work.”

“No-this is all I want.”

I smiled. “You’ll be all right.”

“I don’t know. They’ll never forget about this.”

“You think you’re so important that they’ll remember your mistakes more than anyone else’s?”

He smiled back a little. “When you put it like that, no.” He drank some coffee, then said, “Thanks.” After another few sips, he said, “It’s going to be hard, because…I really fucked up. I’m not too proud of myself. And it’s also going to be hard because…well, because until lately, it’s been so easy. I know that doesn’t seem to make sense, but what I mean is, no one ever stopped me before. I know how to get away with things, but now…I can’t do it that way. Even if I know I won’t get caught.”

“You have to catch yourself.”

“Right. So…I kind of have to reinvent myself. You know what I mean?”

“Yes, I think so.” I stared out the window of the Lucky Dragon, watching a steady stream of downtown workers, panhandlers, shoppers, and others walk by. Each one a little bundle of troubles on legs, determined to make it through the day. I looked back at Ethan. “I’ve got a project for you. Something to do with O’Connor, so maybe it will be a way of paying him back.”

“What?”

“A little background work for a story-nothing we can run with yet, but maybe it will go somewhere if you find a connection. Go down to the morgue…” I stopped, seeing his face go pale. “You can’t avoid going in there forever, Ethan.”

“No.”

“All right, use the public library, then, but be careful not to mention to anyone else exactly what it is you’re looking for. Find out if a company named Eden Supply, which was operating around here in the 1940s, was owned by anyone else-a larger company, for example. The city might have a record of it, although only with luck would that still be available. Try the ads for it first.”

“Okay. If you don’t mind my asking, what does this have to do with O’Connor?”

“It’s the company Harmon worked for.” I told him about the possible connections to Maureen’s murder. “While you’re at it, read up on her disappearance.” I gave him some dates.

We talked about O’Connor for a while. I told him about the papers in the storage locker, and that O’Connor’s brother Dermot would be visiting the States soon. It became clear to me, as he mentioned O’Connor’s work, that he had read a great deal of it, and his enthusiasm for it made conversation easy between us.

I paid for our breakfasts, over his protests. The rain had let up, and it looked as if the skies were clearing. We walked back to the paper in a companionable silence. He seemed lost in thought, but at least he was lost with better posture. He was keeping his head up.

I thought he’d follow me into the newsroom, but he went downstairs to the morgue instead.

Until that moment, I wasn’t really sure-for all my speeches over breakfast-that much could be made of Ethan Shire.

62

F OR A WHILE, I THOUGHT THAT GIVING ETHAN A CHANCE WAS GOING TO cause a bigger fight between Lydia and me than the one we had over him before. Somewhere along the line we both saw that, pulled back a bit, and she (a little gleefully, I thought) told me she thought it would be a good thing if I took him under my wing. “He’s all yours,” she said.

Not exactly what I had in mind, but I couldn’t really back down.

Mark Baker, who was too tied up with writing stories about current criminal activities to be very active in the historical ones, told me that he wouldn’t mind working with Ethan if I didn’t want to be his scoutmaster.

“If it doesn’t work out,” I said, “you’re my backup.”

“He’s not going to be your problem,” Mark said. “Hailey is going to pitch a fit.”

He was right. When I told Hailey that we were going to share our research with him, she told me I was crazy, that he was using me, and went on and on about it. “Ethan is going to be working with us,” I said, interrupting her. “If you don’t want to work with him, you can find something else to do.”

She stood up. She didn’t quite go so far as moving to the door, but I wouldn’t have laid money on her staying. The success of the interview with Helen had produced a foreseeable side effect-Hailey, not exactly humble to begin with, now thought fairly highly of herself. I found myself half-wishing she’d walk away.