a few years back to recover Jessie, and thus most of the worst scenarios, he hoped, had played out for the Barlowes. And thank God, there had been healing in Pauline’s new life as a believer—she had married Buck Leeper, also a recovering alcoholic, and they seemed to be coming along better than expected, with Jessie and Pooh doing well in Mitford School. Dooley would see his mother on occasion, but was reserved; Kenny and Sammy refused to see her at all.
‘Father!’ she said, standing from her desk in the small office. The tears began. There were nearly always tears when they met. He gave her a hug and handed over his handkerchief.
‘How are you?’ he said.
She smiled a little, nodded. ‘God is good.’
‘I’ve noticed that myself. And Buck?’
‘The best. He’s doing well.’
‘Any work?’
‘Comes and goes.’
‘Feast or famine,’ he said of the construction business in general.
‘How is Sammy?’
‘Hurting.’ He never veiled the truth with her if he could help it.
She nodded, wiped her eyes with the handkerchief.
‘And Kenny is a wonderful young man. The couple he ended up with—it was a blessing, as you know.’
‘So thankful.’
‘Dooley will be home toward the end of October, I’m hoping we can arrange something, break bread together.’
‘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.
• • •
T HEY 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
A t 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.
• • •
‘H EY , D AD .’
‘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
‘Father!’ she said, standing from her desk in the small office. The tears began. There were nearly always tears when they met. He gave her a hug and handed over his handkerchief.
‘How are you?’ he said.
She smiled a little, nodded. ‘God is good.’
‘I’ve noticed that myself. And Buck?’
‘The best. He’s doing well.’
‘Any work?’
‘Comes and goes.’
‘Feast or famine,’ he said of the construction business in general.
‘How is Sammy?’
‘Hurting.’ He never veiled the truth with her if he could help it.
She nodded, wiped her eyes with the handkerchief.
‘And Kenny is a wonderful young man. The couple he ended up with—it was a blessing, as you know.’
‘So thankful.’
‘Dooley will be home toward the end of October, I’m hoping we can arrange something, break bread together.’
‘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.
• • •
T HEY 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
A t 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.
• • •
‘H EY , D AD .’
‘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
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