“That’s right,” Billy said, knowing they had to talk the thing through. “People who take their lives, it’s because they’re suffering so much in their heads.”
“How did he suffer?” John asked, anger and unshed tears in his eyes. “He was the favorite, always got everything he ever wanted.”
“That’s not true,” Billy said. “Your mother and I don’t have favorites.”
“No, we do not,” Tricia said. “And if any of you so much as think you might be going through anything even close to what Michael must have gone through, you’re to tell your dad and me, or someone, anyone, do you hear me?”
“Yeah,” Anna and Ivor said in unison.
Billy looked at John. “Did you hear what your mother said?” John refused to look at him. Billy struggled to keep his cool. “I need you to answer me, son.”
“Yeah, I heard her,” John said, harsh.
Popping sounds from Ivor’s PlayStation broke the silence. “Put that away, pet,” Tricia said. “You know there’s none of that allowed at the table.” Even before Michael, she’d worried about technology and how the young nowadays thought more of gadgets than they did of people.
Billy pushed away his empty soup bowl and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. John made to get up from the table. Billy hesitated. The dinner had taken a wrong turn, but he needed to make his intentions known. The sooner he started to raise donations and awareness, the sooner he would start saving lives. “Just a minute, son, I’ve something to tell everyone.”
“I’m going to be late for training,” John said.
“This will only take a minute.”
John dropped onto his chair, sounding an exaggerated sigh. Billy’s stomach bubbled and spit, as if boiling something. He placed his hand on his thigh, bunching fabric and the solid feel of the seconds soldier in his fist. Ever since he’d pocketed the soldier, he’d taken to carrying it everywhere. He began, his insides thrumming with a mix of excitement and fear. “I’ve decided to go public with my diet and make a fund-raiser out of it.”
“You’ve what?” John asked, appalled.
“What do you mean, Dad?” Anna asked.
“I’m going to ask people to sponsor my weight loss. You know, the way people sponsor your walkathon. I plan to drop two hundred pounds and to donate whatever money I make to the Samaritans, in Michael’s memory.”
Tricia’s face knitted. “Who ever heard of such a thing?”
“Exactly,” he said. “That’s why I think it’ll be so successful.”
“What’s the Samaritans?” Ivor asked.
“They’re named after the man in the Bible. They pick people up when they’re down,” Tricia said, her voice seeming to come from far off.
“Do we get to keep any of the money?” Ivor asked.
Billy laughed. “No, son, afraid not.”
“Not fair.”
“Of course that’s fair,” Anna said. She looked at Billy, her eyes shining. “I think it’s a great idea, Daddy.”
“Thanks, love.” He drew a breath, deciding to go all the way. “I also plan to lead a march through the village, to call attention to the suicide crisis and to demand more be done to stop it. The march would be an appeal to people in trouble, as well, urging them to seek help before it’s too late.” He could see it all in his head and it was terrible-beautiful.
He pressed on, even though it was clear from Tricia’s dark look she didn’t approve. “I thought July twenty-first would be a good date, Michael’s six-month anniversary. That gives us over four months. More than enough time. The weather should be nice, and there’ll be a great stretch in the evenings. We’ll walk through the village and out the main road to the roundabout and back, stop the traffic on all four motorways, make a right statement.”
Tricia’s fingers pinched the skin at the base of her throat, turning it an angry red. “Marches take place up in Dublin and in other cities, not anywhere like here.”
“My point exactly,” he said. “Something different, so people will take notice.”
“It would never work,” Tricia said. “People would be mortified.”
“She’s right,” John said with relish.
Billy quaked with hurt and disappointment. “People will get behind this, wait till you see.”
Tricia cleared the table with quick, angry movements. Anna and Ivor looked nervously at her and Billy. John lifted his plate and carried it to the sink. In addition to his grandfather’s square jaw and temper, he had his stiff-backed walk, too. Aside from that, though, it could be Michael crossing the room. John walked to the door.
“Have you nothing more to say?” Billy asked.
John swung around. “Like what?”
“Let him go,” Tricia said. “He’ll be late to training.”
Billy held John’s furious gaze. “I don’t know, congratulations, maybe? Fair play?”
“You want me to get excited, is that it? You wouldn’t be doing any of this if Michael hadn’t checked out and if you weren’t as fat as fuck.”
“John!” Tricia said.
Billy sat stunned, his lips parted and his eyes unblinking. John slammed the kitchen door closed. Tricia followed him, calling.