swing. People gathered
around the house and watched. Uncle Matty had put on his clown's
outfit--the same every year, an old pair of red-flannel long Johns
with sausage ballons pushed into the upper arms to make him look like
the circus strong man. Brendan saw Jackie on stilts and some of the
others but he didn't take his eyes off the roadway, for long.
At ten he couldn't sit still any longer and walked back to the
house. His legs were trembling. Jackie came running up with a fist in
the air.
"I did it! I blew them all away. Did you see it? Where the
hell were you? I walked on stilts in the surf!"
Annie waited until quarter after ten to start the puppet show.
"Never mind, Brendan," she said. "I'll put a
special show on for your parents when they arrive." Her theater
was set up at the side of the house near the driveway.
But just as the curtain opened and the angel began his quarrel
with the devil, a car turned into the Larkin drive and Brendan's
heart gave a joyful leap, then flagged. It was the wrong car. And
when it stopped, it was Aunt Maeve who got out--his father's favorite
sister--and with her was his father's brother, Malachi. They walked
directly toward the house without a glance at the sideshow,
grave-faced. They weren't supposed to be there.
A few minutes later, Aunt Maeve came out on the porch. She looked
up and down the beach, then studied the group around the puppet
stage. When she saw Brendan, she raised her hand and silently pointed
at him. Her beckoning finger told him everything.
In his kitchen Matty Larkin hurriedly played the host while his
mouth still hung open in shock. He took armsful of books from the
table and chairs and dumped them in his den. Then he got out some
cans of beer and as an afterthought put out a bottle of whiskey on
the table.
These were Jim Davitt's people--sister and brother. Family. He
seated the brother, Malachi, at the kitchen table. Then he looked out
of his kitchen window to see the sister Maeve. There beyond the
festive crowds strolling on the beach and
minin
g around the
World's Worst Sideshow, beyond the fluttering bunting and packaged
mirth, he could see Maeve talking to Brendan.
"Don't look! Don't look!" Malachi Davitt pulled the
curtain over the window. "Thank God I didn't have to tell him.
Thank God."
Matty Larkin pushed a glass of beer into his hand. "Wait,"
Matty said, and he poured a stiff shot of whiskey into it.
Malachi sat in silence, waiting for Maeve to come back.
Matty's wife, Gloria, was making tea. She turned from the stove
tearfully and asked in a trembling voice, "How--did--I--mean--"
She held out two groping hands.
"In a fog," Malachi answered. "On the Connecticut
Turnpike. It was a ten-car pileup."
Gloria Larkin bit her finger to stop the tears. "Were they--I
mean, how long--"
"They were both killed instantly. No suffering, thank God."
Matty Larkin watched Malachi bow his head, showing a half-bald
crown. He had aged since Matty had last seen him, and now his
stricken face looked dreadful. In that large Davitt family the only
one who had ever given Malachi a run for his money was Jim.
When Maeve returned to the house, she walked as if she were
wounded. She stood in the kitchen doorway and stared at the faces
that stared back at her mutely.
"I feel like I just shot him," she said. She looked
through the huge multi-paned kitchen window at the beach. It was
jammed with strollers in bathing suits, a perfect sun-filled day. Far
down the beach she could just see Brendan staring at the waves. She
dared not tell the others what Brendan had said to her. Malachi in
particular would prance around the room like a hanging judge. When
she had beckoned Brendan, the boy had stood at the bottom of the
wooden porch steps and looked up at her and said, "I know. They
were both killed this morning in a car in a fog somewhere."
That afternoon, Brendan went to live
with his aunt Maeve.
----
CHAPTER 3
The Search
Aunt Maeve had been married to a great tun of a
around the house and watched. Uncle Matty had put on his clown's
outfit--the same every year, an old pair of red-flannel long Johns
with sausage ballons pushed into the upper arms to make him look like
the circus strong man. Brendan saw Jackie on stilts and some of the
others but he didn't take his eyes off the roadway, for long.
At ten he couldn't sit still any longer and walked back to the
house. His legs were trembling. Jackie came running up with a fist in
the air.
"I did it! I blew them all away. Did you see it? Where the
hell were you? I walked on stilts in the surf!"
Annie waited until quarter after ten to start the puppet show.
"Never mind, Brendan," she said. "I'll put a
special show on for your parents when they arrive." Her theater
was set up at the side of the house near the driveway.
But just as the curtain opened and the angel began his quarrel
with the devil, a car turned into the Larkin drive and Brendan's
heart gave a joyful leap, then flagged. It was the wrong car. And
when it stopped, it was Aunt Maeve who got out--his father's favorite
sister--and with her was his father's brother, Malachi. They walked
directly toward the house without a glance at the sideshow,
grave-faced. They weren't supposed to be there.
A few minutes later, Aunt Maeve came out on the porch. She looked
up and down the beach, then studied the group around the puppet
stage. When she saw Brendan, she raised her hand and silently pointed
at him. Her beckoning finger told him everything.
In his kitchen Matty Larkin hurriedly played the host while his
mouth still hung open in shock. He took armsful of books from the
table and chairs and dumped them in his den. Then he got out some
cans of beer and as an afterthought put out a bottle of whiskey on
the table.
These were Jim Davitt's people--sister and brother. Family. He
seated the brother, Malachi, at the kitchen table. Then he looked out
of his kitchen window to see the sister Maeve. There beyond the
festive crowds strolling on the beach and
minin
g around the
World's Worst Sideshow, beyond the fluttering bunting and packaged
mirth, he could see Maeve talking to Brendan.
"Don't look! Don't look!" Malachi Davitt pulled the
curtain over the window. "Thank God I didn't have to tell him.
Thank God."
Matty Larkin pushed a glass of beer into his hand. "Wait,"
Matty said, and he poured a stiff shot of whiskey into it.
Malachi sat in silence, waiting for Maeve to come back.
Matty's wife, Gloria, was making tea. She turned from the stove
tearfully and asked in a trembling voice, "How--did--I--mean--"
She held out two groping hands.
"In a fog," Malachi answered. "On the Connecticut
Turnpike. It was a ten-car pileup."
Gloria Larkin bit her finger to stop the tears. "Were they--I
mean, how long--"
"They were both killed instantly. No suffering, thank God."
Matty Larkin watched Malachi bow his head, showing a half-bald
crown. He had aged since Matty had last seen him, and now his
stricken face looked dreadful. In that large Davitt family the only
one who had ever given Malachi a run for his money was Jim.
When Maeve returned to the house, she walked as if she were
wounded. She stood in the kitchen doorway and stared at the faces
that stared back at her mutely.
"I feel like I just shot him," she said. She looked
through the huge multi-paned kitchen window at the beach. It was
jammed with strollers in bathing suits, a perfect sun-filled day. Far
down the beach she could just see Brendan staring at the waves. She
dared not tell the others what Brendan had said to her. Malachi in
particular would prance around the room like a hanging judge. When
she had beckoned Brendan, the boy had stood at the bottom of the
wooden porch steps and looked up at her and said, "I know. They
were both killed this morning in a car in a fog somewhere."
That afternoon, Brendan went to live
with his aunt Maeve.
----
CHAPTER 3
The Search
Aunt Maeve had been married to a great tun of a
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