“Ashley who?” asks Rosie, her words overly controlled, her eyes closed. Joe guesses she’s praying to God for patience and the strength not to kill her son.
“Donahue.”
“Kathleen’s daughter?” asks Rosie.
“Niece,” says JJ.
“And why haven’t we met her?” asks Rosie.
Patrick shrugs. “We were just messin’ around. It wasn’t anything serious.”
“Well it’s fuckin’ serious now,” yells Joe, hot rage licking each word. “How can you be this totally fuckin’ irresponsible? Your mother gives you the goddamn rubbers, for Chrissake, and you still get this girl pregnant.”
“You got Ma pregnant, and you guys were only eighteen.”
“And I did the right thing and married her. What if you have HD? Did you ever think of that? You might’ve just passed it on to some innocent baby.”
“No one yelled at JJ for maybe passing it on to his baby.”
“You shut your stupid fuckin’ mouth right now,” warns JJ. “I’m married, and I didn’t know about HD before my wife got pregnant.”
“Have you told her you’re at risk for HD?” asks Rosie.
“No.”
“You’re taking that test and finding out,” says Joe, pointing his fork at Pat’s head.
“No, I’m not.”
“That girl deserves to know,” says Joe.
“I don’t want to know. I’m not takin’ it.”
“You’re taking it, and you’re marrying her,” threatens Joe.
“I’m not. I’m not takin’ the stupid test, and I’m not marryin’ Ashley.”
“You have a responsibility to that young woman and your unborn child.”
“I can be the kid’s father without getting married. I don’t love her.”
Rosie stands. “I can’t take this anymore. I can’t do this,” she says, looking at Joe, avoiding Patrick, her voice vibrating high and hollow. She throws her napkin on the table and leaves. The bedroom door slams, and another piece of petrified potato falls from the ceiling, landing with a clunky thud on the table next to the Mary candle. Baby Joseph whimpers. Colleen picks him up and tries to soothe him with the pacifier, but he won’t keep it in his mouth. Meghan hugs her thick, gray scarf to her ears as if she’s trying to hide inside it.
“Goddamn it, Pat. How could you do this?” asks Joe above baby Joseph’s wailing. “How?”
Patrick says nothing. The hot rage swimming through Joe cools and coalesces into a dense helplessness that settles in his center. This disease is a fuckin’ plague, spreading, wreaking evil havoc however it pleases, and there’s not a damn thing Joe can do about it but witness the devastation. Pat is sitting there, arrogant and ignorant, making a bad situation worse, and Joe can’t stomach the sight of him.
Joe dumps his fork onto his plate and fumbles clumsily out of his seat, hurrying out of the dining room before his four grown children can see him cry.