Read Online The Assembler of Parts: A Novel by Raoul Wientzen - Free Book Online
Authors: Raoul Wientzen
Ads: Link
footfall too heavy for the spring.
As we came through the gate, Mother said, “I’d like it if you’d come to the doctor’s with me for her checkup. It might help you see her differently.”
“I’ll go. But I don’t see what it could change.” Mother took me up out of the carriage and carried me up the stairs. “Ned should come, too,” Nana said to her back.
On the fifth day of strolling, Nana mentioned Joe Cassidy. She had been close friends with Carina, his mother, had watched her raise him alone after her husband had run off. Nana had attended Cassidy’s First Communion, his confirmation, his high school graduation, his leaving by train for a stint in the army, his marriage to Rose Mary, the baptism of their son Joey, and, sadly, the wakes and funerals of mother and baby. And in the years following that terrible event, she had gone with Ned and Carina to retrieve Cassidy from police stations, saloons, alleys, emergency departments, and, once at midnight, in the midst of a blizzard, the deserted St. Anthony Church where, drunk again, he had taken a baseball bat to the stands of votive candles flanking the sanctuary. The three of them, Nana, Ned, and Carina, had used all their connections with the county police to keep Joe Cassidy out of court so he could keep his job in the post office. Then, five years into it, Carina died of stroke, and he lost his taste for violent behavior but not for his drinks. To the world, he became a happy drunk, backslapping and singing and pawing his way through crowds at bars and parties and family gatherings. But to Nana, he was a heartbroken man who never missed a day of work, or a night of loss.
“How’s Joe Cassidy getting along?” she asked Mother as they strolled home along Macomb. None of the trees had leafed out yet, giving the streets a sun-washed look that she always associated with the light at the beach.
“If you mean is he still drinking, the answer would be yes. If you mean do we love him dearly, also yes. But he overdid it at Jess’s christening party. Ford had to drive him home. Joe had him pull over twice on the way.”
“Cassidy, alright,” Nana said with sad eyes. “All that drink in his system but he’ll not vomit in your car.” They walked in silence, regarding the tulips for a block.
“Would you like him over to supper, Ma?” Mother finally asked. She already knew the answer.
“I could make my beef stew,” Nana replied. “It’s not too hot for that quite yet. And a nice bread pudding for dessert.”
“I’ll call him, then, at the post office.” Her sides were beginning to itch from the rub of her plumpness—her nursing girdle, the OB called it—against her blouse. The last thing she needed was stew and bread pudding. But Cassidy was like an older brother to her, so often had he been at the house while she was growing up. Two drinks, she thought, I’ll limit him to just two drinks.
Two days later on Saturday night Cassidy arrived out of the rain, carrying flowers in one hand and his guitar, wrapped in a green plastic garbage bag, in the other. He didn’t bother to ring the bell. He just opened the front door and walked right to the kitchen, where Nana and Mother were trying to find five unchipped dessert plates from the stack on the counter and Ned was holding me.
Nana hugged and kissed him and held him by his wet shoulders for a few moments to study his face. “I see your mother in your eyes, Joseph,” she said. “You still carry her kind eye.”
He handed her the flowers and cleared his throat. “I know the one who’s kind, Mrs. O’B.” He faced Kate. “Kate, lovely as the sun on the cliffs, as usual.” He kissed the top of her head.
“Thanks for coming, with the rain and all,” Mother answered. She took the flowers from Nana and started searching for a vase.
“Joe,” said Ned, shaking Cassidy’s hand and nodding to the sink.
“Mr. Ned, a pleasure,” Cassidy replied, reaching to lay the dripping wrapped guitar
As we came through the gate, Mother said, “I’d like it if you’d come to the doctor’s with me for her checkup. It might help you see her differently.”
“I’ll go. But I don’t see what it could change.” Mother took me up out of the carriage and carried me up the stairs. “Ned should come, too,” Nana said to her back.
On the fifth day of strolling, Nana mentioned Joe Cassidy. She had been close friends with Carina, his mother, had watched her raise him alone after her husband had run off. Nana had attended Cassidy’s First Communion, his confirmation, his high school graduation, his leaving by train for a stint in the army, his marriage to Rose Mary, the baptism of their son Joey, and, sadly, the wakes and funerals of mother and baby. And in the years following that terrible event, she had gone with Ned and Carina to retrieve Cassidy from police stations, saloons, alleys, emergency departments, and, once at midnight, in the midst of a blizzard, the deserted St. Anthony Church where, drunk again, he had taken a baseball bat to the stands of votive candles flanking the sanctuary. The three of them, Nana, Ned, and Carina, had used all their connections with the county police to keep Joe Cassidy out of court so he could keep his job in the post office. Then, five years into it, Carina died of stroke, and he lost his taste for violent behavior but not for his drinks. To the world, he became a happy drunk, backslapping and singing and pawing his way through crowds at bars and parties and family gatherings. But to Nana, he was a heartbroken man who never missed a day of work, or a night of loss.
“How’s Joe Cassidy getting along?” she asked Mother as they strolled home along Macomb. None of the trees had leafed out yet, giving the streets a sun-washed look that she always associated with the light at the beach.
“If you mean is he still drinking, the answer would be yes. If you mean do we love him dearly, also yes. But he overdid it at Jess’s christening party. Ford had to drive him home. Joe had him pull over twice on the way.”
“Cassidy, alright,” Nana said with sad eyes. “All that drink in his system but he’ll not vomit in your car.” They walked in silence, regarding the tulips for a block.
“Would you like him over to supper, Ma?” Mother finally asked. She already knew the answer.
“I could make my beef stew,” Nana replied. “It’s not too hot for that quite yet. And a nice bread pudding for dessert.”
“I’ll call him, then, at the post office.” Her sides were beginning to itch from the rub of her plumpness—her nursing girdle, the OB called it—against her blouse. The last thing she needed was stew and bread pudding. But Cassidy was like an older brother to her, so often had he been at the house while she was growing up. Two drinks, she thought, I’ll limit him to just two drinks.
Two days later on Saturday night Cassidy arrived out of the rain, carrying flowers in one hand and his guitar, wrapped in a green plastic garbage bag, in the other. He didn’t bother to ring the bell. He just opened the front door and walked right to the kitchen, where Nana and Mother were trying to find five unchipped dessert plates from the stack on the counter and Ned was holding me.
Nana hugged and kissed him and held him by his wet shoulders for a few moments to study his face. “I see your mother in your eyes, Joseph,” she said. “You still carry her kind eye.”
He handed her the flowers and cleared his throat. “I know the one who’s kind, Mrs. O’B.” He faced Kate. “Kate, lovely as the sun on the cliffs, as usual.” He kissed the top of her head.
“Thanks for coming, with the rain and all,” Mother answered. She took the flowers from Nana and started searching for a vase.
“Joe,” said Ned, shaking Cassidy’s hand and nodding to the sink.
“Mr. Ned, a pleasure,” Cassidy replied, reaching to lay the dripping wrapped guitar
Similar Books
