“Think about your school and everyone who sponsored you, you can’t let them down.” Billy pulled harder on Ivor’s wrist.
Ivor pushed at Billy’s hand, trying to free himself. “I need to stop.”
“Come on, you’re letting everyone get away.”
Ivor cried harder. “Let me go, you’re hurting me.”
Billy picked up the pace, pushing through the pain in his right ankle and towing Ivor faster. The boy had several more laps in him, if he would only try.
“I need water,” Ivor said, panting.
“You can get water when you’re finished.”
They cleared another hundred yards. Just as Billy was starting to taste success, he heard Ivor yelp and felt a hard tug on his arm. When he looked around, Ivor lay on the grass, pale and unmoving. Billy dropped next to the boy, his kneecaps hitting the dirt hard.
Tricia appeared and also knelt over Ivor. She touched her palm to Ivor’s cheek. “He’s out cold.”
From behind them, Nancy Burke shouted, “Someone get some water quick.”
Tricia glared at Billy, her expression crazed. “What have you done?” She lifted Ivor’s right eyelid, and his left.
“Is he okay?” Billy croaked. He shook Ivor’s shoulder. “Wake up, son. Come on, you’re all right.” He held the back of his hand to Ivor’s nostrils.
Tricia slapped his hand away. “What are you doing?” She checked the pulse at Ivor’s neck and his wrist.
An anguished cry gathered in Billy’s chest, fighting to get out.
Thumbs Tom also appeared, his deformed hand reaching between Billy and Tricia, offering a dripping bottle of water. He waved his free hand, beckoning the first aid crew.
Tricia eased Ivor’s head onto her lap and brought the water bottle to his pale lips. “Come on, son, wake up. You’re all right. Take a little drink for me, now, good boy. Ivor?” Her voice climbed. “Ivor?”
Wake up, Billy silently screamed.
The crowd pressed closer, sending up anxious whispers. “Is he all right? What’s going on?”
“Give us a sec,” Billy growled. When he looked back down, Ivor’s hand covered Tricia’s on the water bottle, the boy drinking in deep gulps. The sense of relief almost knocked Billy off his knees, as did the sudden memory.
When Michael was a baby, he would clasp Billy’s hand on his bottle of formula during feeds. The memory was so strong, Billy could almost feel Michael’s fierce baby grasp and the sticky warmth of his tiny hand. Michael’s eyes would also fasten on Billy, wide and inky blue then, and full of trust.
Ivor remained sprawled on the grass, his color returning. Billy reached to stroke the boy’s head, but Ivor pulled away. Billy reached again, frowning. Ivor scrabbled backward on all fours, like a crab from a net.
“Come on, Ivor,” Tricia said, hooking him under his arms and helping him to stand up. “Let’s get you home.”
After several sad attempts, Billy succeeded in getting up off his knees and onto his feet. Tricia held on to Ivor’s arm, the boy still woozy. “Here, let me,” Billy said, reaching again for Ivor.
“Don’t,” Tricia said through gritted teeth.
Billy scanned the onlookers, his shame mounting. “I was trying to help.”
“Help?” she said, incredulous. “This is all your fault.” Everyone started to move off, pretending at discretion and a return to the business of the walkathon. “Couldn’t you have let the child alone and not always be pressuring him?”
“Me?” Billy said. When did he ever pressure Ivor? She was the one always nagging the boy about his weight. She pressured all the children, except John, her favorite. He wondered if she’d even admitted to herself how much she’d drilled Michael about going to UCD and getting that ag science degree. As for him? He hadn’t wanted Ivor to look bad in front of everyone, that was all. Hadn’t wanted the other children sneering and teasing.
Tricia’s eyes cut to the parents and children still looking on while pretending not to. “There, you’ve made a show of us again, are you satisfied now?”
He whirled around and plodded toward his car, his knuckle in his mouth, his teeth biting hard. In his periphery, he spotted Aidan Burke, the boy bent over, his hands on his knees. Billy charged, hobbling on his right foot. “You!”
He wagged his finger in Aidan’s face. “It was your fault. I saw that knock you gave Ivor.” He looked around the field for Cormac Cullen. He had a few choice words for that lad as well. For his father, too, if he was here. Aidan started to walk away. Billy followed him. “You better say sorry to Ivor, you hear me?”
“For what?”
“Don’t give me that.”
Nancy Burke reached them, out of breath. “What’s going on?”
“That lad needs to learn some manners,” Billy said.
“I beg your pardon—”
Billy moved off, leaving her mouth hanging.
*
Billy couldn’t shake the scene inside Flynn’s Field. How the army of spectators had stared. He could imagine the talk.
Did you see him dragging the boy? Sure, you wouldn’t do that to a donkey.
I’d say there’s a lot more goes on there behind closed doors than any of us know.