Bridge of Sighs (47 page)

Noonan would have liked to, but he assumed that neither one of them probably wanted him along to witness their goodbye, so he was surprised that both Sarah and Lucy seemed disappointed when he declined.

“You have a good summer, sexy,” Dec said, coming over for his own goodbye hug. “I’m not as old as I look, you know. A lot of girls your age think I’m cute.”

“Name three,” Sarah said, making Noonan smile at the ease with which she handled him and, really, all of the Lynches.

“That’d be bragging.”

Tessa Lynch returned from the walk-in then, carrying a heavy tub of potato salad and regarded her brother-in-law with chagrin. “Quit fondling that girl and open the case, will you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dec said, going back around the counter to help her.

“Most women my age think you’ve seen better days,” Tessa told him.

Was it Noonan’s imagination, what he witnessed then? The glass of the display case was thick and curved, magnifying and distorting the purple roasts and troughs of ground meat within, so probably it was just a trick of the eye. Yet when Tessa Lynch stepped away, it seemed to Noonan that Dec Lynch reached out and grazed the back of her hand with his.

L
ATER,
walking home, he talked himself out of it. The fact that his own parents’ marriage was a tangle of deceit didn’t mean other people’s marriages were similarly flawed. In truth, he was quite taken with the world the Lynches had created for themselves and how easily they all moved within that sphere. Not just them—Sarah, too. It was clear she loved not only the Lynches but also Ikey Lubin’s, as if the store satisfied some deep craving, and everything she could ever imagine wanting was right there on the shelves, whereas all the things she didn’t want or weren’t good for her had been thoughtfully removed. Though Noonan was pretty sure that much of what he himself wanted out of life was not for sale at Ikey Lubin’s, he had to admit the attraction of the place, its warmth, camaraderie and generosity. Would he have felt that way if it had been just the Lynches, if Sarah hadn’t been there? He supposed the coming months would tell.

He was halfway home, dusk falling, when a horn tooted, and the Lynch station wagon, Lucy’s mother at the wheel, pulled alongside the curb. “Get in,” she called across the seat, “and I’ll give you a lift.”

Since her phrasing was more an order than an offer, he did as he was told, sliding onto the big bench seat and closing the door. He’d never been alone with Mrs. Lynch before, and while he had no particular reason to be uncomfortable, he was. Had she followed him, and if so, for what purpose? To warn him away from their world, from Ikey Lubin’s, from her son? He thought again of Sarah’s drawing, where he was pictured outside, about to enter. Was Tessa Lynch there to tell him that outside was where he belonged? He was relieved when she spoke, revealing another agenda entirely.

“How’s your mother?” she asked, taking her eyes off the road to watch him answer.

“Okay,” he said. “You should give her a call sometime.”

“I went out to the hospital,” she said, “but your father sent me packing. I called the house last week, but apparently she promised him not to talk to me.”

Noonan nodded but offered no comment. Had he wanted to talk about his parents, Mrs. Lynch wouldn’t have been a bad person to confide in. But he
didn’t
want to talk to anybody.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she said, apparently reading his reluctance. “I want you to promise me, though, that if things get bad you’ll tell me. Your mother’s endured about as much as she can, and I might be able to help. Don’t tell my husband or Louie. Tell me.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Noonan assured her.

“Really? And why’s that?”

“I’m home now.”

She turned to look at him again. They’d come to a stop sign and were about to cross the Boulevard, which unofficially separated the East End from the Borough. They were just a couple blocks from the Marconis’ home, but Mrs. Lynch put on her blinker and turned right, heading out of town. “Look, I know you’re game,” she said after a few moments’ silence, “and I’m sure you’d try your best—”

“Where are we—?”

“—but you’re only seventeen, and you might not have the kind of help your mother needs.”

“Like what?”

“Like someone to talk to. She and I have been good friends since Berman Court. You probably didn’t know that.”

“What good has talking done her?”

“A lot. More than you know. Not just her. Our talks go both ways. We listen to each other.”

Noonan thought again about what he’d seen earlier, or imagined seeing, Dec Lynch’s hand grazing hers.

Suddenly she looked concerned, almost frightened, as if considering something that had until that moment escaped her. “I hope you don’t think there’s a solution to your mother’s problems,” she said, glancing down at his lap, where Noonan’s hands, to his surprise, were balled into fists.

He quickly relaxed them before speaking. “Why shouldn’t there be?” After all, he’d been congratulating himself that the solution had already been found. He’d served notice to his father, hadn’t he? The old man knew he was onto him. Things were already different.

“Because people don’t change. You
do
know that, right?”

Noonan shrugged, not wanting to disagree openly with something she clearly was adamant about. But people
did
change, didn’t they? He himself wasn’t the same person he’d been five years ago, before going to the academy. And a couple of hours in Lucy’s company suggested that he’d changed, too, as much as Noonan or even more.

“Don’t confuse growing up with changing,” Tessa Lynch said, reading his mind again. “I’m talking about what’s inside, not the fact that you shave your chin.”

That seemed to Noonan an uncomfortably personal observation. What was Lucy’s mother doing looking at his chin? Suddenly there was an undercurrent of electricity in the car, and it was amped up a moment later when she turned onto the gravel drive and stopped at the main gate to the old Whitcombe estate, a spot that served, unless things had changed, as a lovers’ lane. It was almost full dark now, and the headlights sliced through the night, illuminating the dark outline of the Hall in the distance. He was relieved when Mrs. Lynch put the wagon in reverse, suggesting she just meant to turn around and head back.

But then she thought better of it, put the car in park and turned to face him. “Tell me what you mean to do,” she said, fixing him.

“Do? What do you mean, in the future?”

“Okay. Start there if you want. We can work backwards.”

“Graduate. After that, maybe move out west. I don’t know.”

“You plan to bring your mother out there with you?”

“No!” he blurted, the word escaping like a hiccup.

Mrs. Lynch smiled, not unkindly. “Right. So when you said there was nothing to worry about because you were home, you meant for the next year.”

“That’s not—”

“What about college?”

“Maybe. I’ll apply.”

“You’ve heard of Vietnam, right? You know what a word like ‘maybe’ means in that context? It could mean finding yourself in the jungle on the other side of the world for no good reason.” When he just shrugged, she forged ahead. “What about Lou?”

Was the woman insane? What
about
Lou? Was this a new subject or the same one? Was Lou going to college? Did he plan on enlisting for Vietnam? How should
he
know? “I don’t—”

“Why did you come to the store today?”

“He invited—”

“Don’t lead him on, Bobby. If you want to be friends, fine. If not, find a way out now. You know how he is.”

“He seems really good,” Noonan told her, a little ashamed that his friend’s mother should talk about him behind his back like this. “Happy, I mean. He’s changed a lot—”

“No, he hasn’t. You weren’t listening before.
People don’t change.
”

“He’s not having those spells anymore,” Noonan said, confident that he had her on this count at least.

“That’s a circumstance,” Tessa Lynch said, “and those change all the time. Today you’re healthy; tomorrow you discover a tumor. But who you
are
stays the same. Lou hasn’t changed any more than you have. You’re still the same boy you were that first time your mother tried to run away, the same boy who went out and gathered up her things off the street and stuffed them in that suitcase and lugged it home, fully expecting to get a whipping for your trouble. You didn’t think I knew about that, right? You thought you’d solved her problem then, too.”

“Actually, I think I’ve changed a lot since then,” Noonan said, feeling suddenly raw and exposed.

“I know you do, but you’re wrong. And now there’s Sarah.”

“I’m not interested in Sarah,” Noonan said, pretty sure he knew where all this was heading.

“You will be, when you get to know her.”

“I don’t think so. Besides, she’s Lucy’s girlfriend,” he said, correcting himself quickly when he saw her flinch, her eyes narrowing. “Lou’s girlfriend.”

At that moment there was a loud rap on the driver’s side window, causing both of them to jump just about out of their skins. Lucy’s mother was the first to recover, and she rolled down her window. A tiny black man, vaguely familiar, was grinning in at them. Completely wrapped up in their conversation, neither had heard the man approach.

“Teresa Lupino,” he said. “You come out here to howl wit’ me?” He set a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the edge of the open window.

“No, I didn’t, Gabriel,” Mrs. Lynch told him. Gabriel Mock, Noonan thought, remembering him now. “As I’m sure you know.”

“Why’s that?” he said, peering around her at Noonan.

“You’re way too short for me,” she told him. “I only howl with tall men. Six feet at least.”

How tall was Dec Lynch? Noonan wondered. Not six feet, but close.

At this Gabriel Mock threw back his head and laughed so hard he nearly lost his balance.
“Short?”
he said. “That’s what it is? I’m
short
?”

“Also, I’m married,” she said.

“You married and me short,” he said, wiping his eyes with his shirtsleeve. “Thank the Lord it ain’t nothin’ else. Wouldn’t want there to be no other obstacles. Who’s this here?”

“This is a friend of my son’s. I’m trying to talk some sense into him.”

He studied Noonan with bloodshot eyes. “You smart, you’ll do like this woman says. She’s smarter than you by a mile, and I don’t even know who you are. Don’t
care
who you are. You want a sip of this howlin’ juice? You ever howl?”

“No, thanks.”

The little man returned his attention to Lucy’s mother. “
Po
lite,” he said. “Don’t know who he is, but he’s polite. Give him that much. But stupid, huh?”

“Not completely,” Tessa Lynch said, far from a ringing endorsement, though it pleased Noonan anyway.

Gabriel regarded him again. “NCS. I see you again, that’s what I’ll call you. NCS. Not Completely Stupid. You and me’ll know what it stand for. Call me what you want. Call me Gizzard if that make you happy. I don’t care. I’m a call you NCS, whether you like it or not. Come out here some night, you feel like it. I live right over there.” He waved in the general direction of a small outbuilding, its silhouette just visible in the dark. “Bring a bottle of juice and you be welcome. Bring Junior with you. You know who I mean?”

Noonan nodded.

“Lou Lynch Junior, who I mean. He’s a ama-teur howler, like yourself, I ’spect. Maybe I start callin’ him NCSE. Not Completely Stupid Either.”

“Neither of these boys is going to come out here and get drunk with you, Gabriel, so you can put that right out of your mind.”

“Why not? Maybe they not like you. Maybe they ain’t prejudice against short people.”

“They’re underage. You supply them with alcohol, you go to jail.”

“Supply
them
?” Gabriel Mock seemed to think this was about the funniest idea he’d ever heard. “They supply
me,
the way it gon work. Besides. Who my suppose to howl wit’ out here? Tell me that. Man don’t like to howl by hisself all the time. Gets lonesome.”

“I imagine it does,” Mrs. Lynch conceded. “How’s your boy doing, Gabriel?”

“Don’t know,” he said, straightening up, suddenly sober. “Never say a word to me.”

“It was a terrible thing.”

“World full of terrible things. Maybe you noticed.”

“Oh, I have, Gabriel. I have,” she said. “I still remember the day you and your father appeared on our front porch.” Her eyes, Noonan saw, were glistening.

“Wadn’t your fault, none of it,” Gabriel told her. “’Cept for not likin’ short people, you all right. Always was. Shouldn’t pay that day no mind. All in the past.” He paused, staring off in the dark. He was still holding the bottle, but he’d yet to bring it to his lips. “Guess that teacher lookin’ after him now. Thinks he’s the boy’s father or some such. Talks to him, people say. Converse, the two of ’em. Teacher observe somethin’ and my boy tell him he agree or don’t agree. What you make of that?”

“I think any son of yours would be foolish not to talk to his father.”