Billy could not come to grips with having to go through the shock and horror a second time.
The TV screen shifted back to the familiar face of the reporter. He was especially somber, saying suicide was now the leading cause of death of young people in the country, and young men in particular, even surpassing the record numbers of those killed in road accidents nationwide.
Billy and Tricia looked at each other, fresh waves of alarm coming off them. The number one killer went off in Billy’s head like a firecracker. Tricia powered off the TV. “Everyone, go wash your hands before dinner.”
That’s it? he wanted to shout. Go wash your hands? He rushed out of the house and into the garage, where he paced back and forth, fighting a frantic, sick feeling. He stopped, his hands squeezing the back of his head and his eyes fastening on the tiny world he was struggling to keep wonderful. Tricia, his parents, everyone, had better pay attention now. Had better completely and utterly support him in his takedown of the nation’s number one killer.
Twenty-four
A mess of nerves and hope, Billy laid the army uniform out on the bed, readying for his grand appearance on national television. He had a huge opportunity tonight to make people wake up and take a historic stand against suicide, a national killer and crisis. And he had to give it everything he could. He scanned the army gear again, drawing a deep breath. He’d found the uniform after a frenzied search of the garage, a Halloween costume from years back that he’d never worn because it hadn’t fit. It looked like it might now.
Before he could change his mind, he stepped into the camouflage pants. His stomach sucked in, he tugged the waistband and managed to make the button close. He pulled on the matching jacket and moved to the wardrobe mirror. He fussed with the front of the jacket, trying to let as much of his T-shirt show as possible, with its photograph of him and Michael and its slogan, Suicide Is Not the Answer! He rubbed his hand over the harsh feel of his fresh buzz cut and pushed his army cap down onto his shorn head.
A wave of grief came over him. Not only for Michael, and the brother and sister in Cork, and everyone like them. But for himself, too. He would never be able to explain to anyone how a part of him missed his ever-diminishing massiveness and its protective padding. Its hiding space. His shedding that cushion was like losing a childhood friend, a faithful shield that had wrapped itself around him for decades. It was terrifying to let all that go. To unbury himself and let himself be seen. It was the second-hardest thing he had ever done. Yet he was somehow surviving without Michael. He would survive this strange loss, too. Trembling with fresh determination, he drew himself up tall and saluted his reflection.
When he entered the kitchen, Tricia shook her head, her look of horror bringing back the evening of the march. “You can’t go dressed like that.”
“I’m sorry, I have to do this my way. If that news story last night hasn’t persuaded you—”
Her expression hardened. “It persuaded me, all right. Of the importance of keeping everything as normal as possible around here. Of not going on about suicide and copycats and mental illness, making all of us think on it all the time.”
He started to speak, but she pushed past him. “The children are waiting. I’ll let you decide if you really want them to see you like this.” She marched up the hall, her shoulder blades two sharp points in the back of her black coat.
He followed her into the living room. The children were sitting on the couch, also dressed in their best.
John shot to standing. “You’re not seriously going on TV like that?”
“Are you, Dad?” Ivor asked.
Anna looked miserable. “Please change, Daddy.”
Billy didn’t say that he already had.
In the kitchen, John, Anna, and Ivor trooped out to the car. “Last chance,” Tricia said. “Are you going to get out of that rig-out or do you want the whole country to think you’re an absolute head case?”
He strode out past her. The children stood waiting at the locked car. He continued across the yard, telling them to follow.
“What are you at now?” Tricia asked, furious.
He led them down the back of the garage and lifted the covers off the miniature village and its inhabitants.
“Wow,” Anna said. “It’s beautiful.”
“So this is what you’ve been at all this time,” Tricia said, a note of wonder in her voice.
Billy asked Anna to put the toys into the vinyl carrier and bring them out to the car. Ivor helped him to lift the village by its base and they carried the tiny world outside.
“Where are you bringing all that?” Tricia asked.
“It’s going on the telly with me,” Billy said.
“You’ve lost your fucking mind,” John said.
“John!” Tricia said.
Billy faced John. “I’m trying to do some good in the world, in your brother’s memory. For Christ’s sake, if you can’t get that by now—”