Read Online World Gone By: A Novel by Dennis Lehane - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dennis Lehane
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contact my girl,” he said eventually.
“Is that a yes?” Vanessa asked.
“It’s close enough, dear.” Her husband smiled at Joe. “We’re still working on the part where she realizes the absence of a negative is always a positive.”
Vanessa smiled. “Actually, we’re just working on the part where I like to hear ‘yes.’”
Joe held out his hand. She shook it.
“Have someone call my girl in the morning. We’ll give it our due attention.”
Her grip tightened around his and he wouldn’t have been surprised if his bones or her teeth cracked with a loud splintering.
“I will,” she said. “And thank you for your consideration.”
“My pleasure, Mrs. Belgrave.”
C HAPTER S IX
Names on the Wind
FREDDY DIGIACOMO caught up with Wyatt Pettigrue in the maternity ward of St. Joseph’s Hospital, Wyatt holding his newborn daughter in both hands while his cigarette smoldered in the ashtray by his knee. His daughter’s name was still undecided, although his wife, Mae, was leaning toward Velma, which had been her grandmother’s name. Wyatt had lobbied for Greta, but Mae had cooled to it ever since she’d found Wyatt leafing too slowly through a copy of Photoplay that had Greta Garbo on the cover.
When Sister Mary Theodore came and took his daughter back from him, Wyatt watched them go, his pride at having brought life into the world doing battle with his relief that he didn’t have to hold her anymore while she squealed like a piglet that had fallen down a well. The whole time she’d been in his hands he’d been sure he’d drop her. He also got the feeling she didn’t like him; she didn’t lookat him—she didn’t look at anything really—but he sensed she could smell him and wasn’t fond of his odor. He had no idea what he was supposed to do now, how he was supposed to reorder his life and his expectations to accommodate this tiny, unreasonable creature’s existence. Her arrival, he was certain, meant Mae would have even less room in her heart for him.
Christ, he thought, and she wants three more.
Freddy DiGiacomo said, “She’s a beautiful girl, Wyatt. A heartbreaker, that one. You can see it.”
“Thanks.”
“You must be very proud.”
“I am.”
Freddy clapped his back. “Where are the cigars? Huh?”
Wyatt found them in the pocket of his sport coat. He snipped off the end of one and lit it for Freddy, who puffed until the coal glowed red.
“I need you to do that thing for me now, Wyatt.”
“Now?”
“By tonight’ll be fine.”
Mae’s entire family was either crammed into the hospital room with her or waiting for him back home. The ones back home would expect him to fill the icebox they’d cleaned out last night. The ones in the hospital room would expect him to tend to his wife, who’d had a difficult labor, or at least stand around while they tended to her. There was no winning to it. The whole family—five brothers, four sisters, the angry-silent mother, and the angry-loud father—had judged Wyatt inferior a long time ago. Now, on the rare occasions they did pay him attention, they did so only long enough to reconfirm their initial impression.
Wyatt said to Freddy, “I have no idea how I’d tell her I’ve got to go to work.”
Freddy smiled, his eyes kind. “Know what I’ve discovered? It’s a lot easier to ask a woman’s forgiveness than her permission.” He took his raincoat off the back of his chair. “You coming?”
WYATT PETTIGRUE HAD SPENT the last few weeks shadowing Montooth Dix around the Negro section of Ybor City. Most days, this would have been an impossible task for a white man, but Wyatt’s only distinguishing characteristic, since he was a child, was his ability to go unnoticed. In school, teachers had not only never called on him, on two occasions they’d forgotten to give him grades. Team buses left without him, coworkers usually called him by the wrong name (“William,” “Wesley,” or, for some reason, “Lloyd”), even his
“Is that a yes?” Vanessa asked.
“It’s close enough, dear.” Her husband smiled at Joe. “We’re still working on the part where she realizes the absence of a negative is always a positive.”
Vanessa smiled. “Actually, we’re just working on the part where I like to hear ‘yes.’”
Joe held out his hand. She shook it.
“Have someone call my girl in the morning. We’ll give it our due attention.”
Her grip tightened around his and he wouldn’t have been surprised if his bones or her teeth cracked with a loud splintering.
“I will,” she said. “And thank you for your consideration.”
“My pleasure, Mrs. Belgrave.”
C HAPTER S IX
Names on the Wind
FREDDY DIGIACOMO caught up with Wyatt Pettigrue in the maternity ward of St. Joseph’s Hospital, Wyatt holding his newborn daughter in both hands while his cigarette smoldered in the ashtray by his knee. His daughter’s name was still undecided, although his wife, Mae, was leaning toward Velma, which had been her grandmother’s name. Wyatt had lobbied for Greta, but Mae had cooled to it ever since she’d found Wyatt leafing too slowly through a copy of Photoplay that had Greta Garbo on the cover.
When Sister Mary Theodore came and took his daughter back from him, Wyatt watched them go, his pride at having brought life into the world doing battle with his relief that he didn’t have to hold her anymore while she squealed like a piglet that had fallen down a well. The whole time she’d been in his hands he’d been sure he’d drop her. He also got the feeling she didn’t like him; she didn’t lookat him—she didn’t look at anything really—but he sensed she could smell him and wasn’t fond of his odor. He had no idea what he was supposed to do now, how he was supposed to reorder his life and his expectations to accommodate this tiny, unreasonable creature’s existence. Her arrival, he was certain, meant Mae would have even less room in her heart for him.
Christ, he thought, and she wants three more.
Freddy DiGiacomo said, “She’s a beautiful girl, Wyatt. A heartbreaker, that one. You can see it.”
“Thanks.”
“You must be very proud.”
“I am.”
Freddy clapped his back. “Where are the cigars? Huh?”
Wyatt found them in the pocket of his sport coat. He snipped off the end of one and lit it for Freddy, who puffed until the coal glowed red.
“I need you to do that thing for me now, Wyatt.”
“Now?”
“By tonight’ll be fine.”
Mae’s entire family was either crammed into the hospital room with her or waiting for him back home. The ones back home would expect him to fill the icebox they’d cleaned out last night. The ones in the hospital room would expect him to tend to his wife, who’d had a difficult labor, or at least stand around while they tended to her. There was no winning to it. The whole family—five brothers, four sisters, the angry-silent mother, and the angry-loud father—had judged Wyatt inferior a long time ago. Now, on the rare occasions they did pay him attention, they did so only long enough to reconfirm their initial impression.
Wyatt said to Freddy, “I have no idea how I’d tell her I’ve got to go to work.”
Freddy smiled, his eyes kind. “Know what I’ve discovered? It’s a lot easier to ask a woman’s forgiveness than her permission.” He took his raincoat off the back of his chair. “You coming?”
WYATT PETTIGRUE HAD SPENT the last few weeks shadowing Montooth Dix around the Negro section of Ybor City. Most days, this would have been an impossible task for a white man, but Wyatt’s only distinguishing characteristic, since he was a child, was his ability to go unnoticed. In school, teachers had not only never called on him, on two occasions they’d forgotten to give him grades. Team buses left without him, coworkers usually called him by the wrong name (“William,” “Wesley,” or, for some reason, “Lloyd”), even his
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