“Well?” Connor asked again. “Will you?”
David scratched his nose. “I have no idea. I’m sure we’re going to need some time to recover from . . . from losing Anton.”
Connor nodded. When he spoke, his voice was so soft that David had to strain to hear him over the hooting and yelling from the pool. “You know, in all these years, I’ve never said this. But thank you. Thank you for never resenting the fact that Gerard survived the crash and James did not.” He turned his head toward David, and his eyes were wet. “I can’t tell you how guilty I’ve felt about it over the years, David. It tears at me even now, the randomness of it. And yet . . .”
“Hey, hey.” A shocked David reached for Connor’s hand. “What do you mean, resent it? My God, I’d have to be a monster to do so. On the contrary, we’ve always been so grateful that Gerard survived. It was the only silver lining to that horrible night.”
David watched in wonder as Connor struggled to control his emotions. He had thought that he knew Connor as well as he knew anybody. And yet he hadn’t suspected the burden that Connor had carried all these years. He and Delores had been so devastated by their own loss that they’d never considered how horrible it must’ve been for the Stevenses, feeling as though they were not entitled to the pure, unmitigated joy and relief that comes from a child’s escape from tragedy.
“Connor,” he said urgently. “I can’t believe you’ve been carrying this around. It’s nobody’s fault. It was just dumb luck, pure physics. The oncoming car hit James’s side, that’s all.” He lightened his tone. “Are you listening to me, you crazy Irishman? This is just Catholic guilt, that’s all.”
Connor sighed and nodded. “Thanks.” He reached into the cooler beside him and pulled out two bottles of Coors. He opened them and handed one to David, who fisted a few peanuts into his mouth before he took a swig. A light breeze blew into the porch, carrying with it the scent of the Heritage roses that Jan had planted along the side of the house. “Nothing like a cold beer on a late summer’s day,” David said. He glanced at his friend. “Are we okay? You need to talk more about this?”
“We’re okay.” Connor looked straight ahead. After a moment he asked, “So how’s work?”
David exhaled heavily and rubbed his eyes. “The pace is just relentless.”
“That’s the life of an appellate judge,” Connor said teasingly but with unmistakable pride.
“Yeah. Most days I feel like killing Smithie and the governor for making this happen. Not necessarily in that order, either.”
“You know what they say about paying your dues. Besides, it’s a good stepping stone,” Connor said.
“For what?”
Connor shot him a look. “Don’t play dumb. You know you’re gonna run for public office one of these days.”
David gave a short laugh. “Everybody seems to know this but me. What am I running for? Dog catcher? The school board?”
“One of these days there’s going to be an open senate seat. Or the governorship. They’d be yours for the taking.”
“Oh, really? And what exactly are my qualifications? Hell, I didn’t even run for class president in high school. You’re the one who should run.”
“And if I had your good looks and family name, I would.” Connor shifted in his chair and fixed his gaze on David. “Any race you enter, you’ll be in the top tier based on name recognition alone. That means something, David.”
David felt the faint but familiar stirring of anger. “Yeah, what it means is that I would be elected for all the wrong reasons.” He pointed toward the laughing boys in the pool. “You’re wrong, Connor. What our country needs is not people like you and me running shit for another hundred years. What it needs is a meritocracy—and that means people like Anton, who come from nothing but become something.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Anton’s twelve years old. A little too young to run for political office. So you may have to serve as a placeholder while we wait for him.”
“Touché.” David grinned appreciatively as he pushed himself off the chair. “I’m hungry,” he announced. “You coming in, or are you gonna sit here all afternoon hatching Machiavellian plots about my future?”
They went into the kitchen to where Jan and Delores were baking appetizers and assembling a fruit salad. “There you are,” Jan said. “Can you guys grill some hot dogs for the kids?”
David popped a mini quiche into his mouth. “What about the rest of us?” he asked. “Why do we have to eat cucumber sandwiches while the kids eat real food?”
Delores smacked his hand. “Because you’re watching your cholesterol, remember? Now go get the grill going.”
The men carried the platter of hot dogs to the deck. “These will be done in no time,” Connor muttered as he lit the grill. He stepped onto the lawn and yelled, “Food’s almost ready. Time to get out of the pool.”
Like wet puppies, Bradley and his friends spilled out of the pool and headed for the deck. “Hey, hey,” Connor shouted. “Use those towels to dry yourselves off.”
“Why?” Anton said, his eyes flashing gold as he looked up at Connor with an impish grin. “We’re only going to get wet again.”
Connor held up the spatula with mock menace. “Because I said so,” he said, lunging to grab Anton by the waist.
“Okay, okay,” the boy squealed, trying to escape Connor’s grip.
Watching Anton and Connor horse around, David felt a stab of happiness so sharp that it registered as pain. He loved that Anton was comfortable around Connor’s family; it mitigated the fact that after two years, Anton persisted in calling him David. Always he pretended not to notice, even while wondering who else did.
The children went off to dry themselves, and it was from this feeling of pleasure-pain that David spoke. “Man, if I were his mother, I’d give him up. If I saw the change in him, what progress he’s made, I’d never block his way. Only a selfish woman would do otherwise.”
“What are you saying?” Connor asked.
“Nothing.” David shook his head sharply to dismiss the thought forming there. “Forget it.”
There was a long, awkward silence. Then Connor said, “You want me to see if I can talk to her?” His face was red from the heat and the beers.
David looked up with a start. “No. I mean, how can you?”
Connor shrugged. “I don’t know. But anything’s possible.”
Hope, thin as a thread, sharp as a fishing line, cut into David’s heart. “But what could you say? And why would she? I mean, she obviously didn’t care enough about him to . . .”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Connor said slowly. “She was pretty distraught about losing her kid. I think she loves him very much.”