Maeve gestured to the miniature village and its inhabitants arranged on the coffee table between them. “Tell us what you have here.”
“I built everything myself. I really liked the idea of making a tiny world for the damaged dolls and soldiers from the factory—I work in a toy factory, Duffy’s Delights—and we specialize in hand-crafted wooden dolls and soldiers. When Michael was a boy I would bring home the damaged toys, the seconds as we say, and he and I would make up these stories about the soldiers and their various flaws, and how they had turned their lacks into advantages. We made heroes out of them.”
“How lovely. Can you tell us some of those stories?”
He laughed self-consciously. “Yeah, well, we imagined for this one soldier with damaged hands that a grenade had detonated right as he’d unpinned it, and then despite his terrible injuries he went on to become a superstar drummer.”
“I like that so much,” Maeve said. “The idea of the broken living bigger and better lives than they might have otherwise.”
“That’s it exactly.” Billy then plugged his plan to make the seconds a featured product in the factory shop, right along with the best of the toys, because they had value, too. The audience clapped long and hard. He waxed, also, about the forthcoming dolls and soldiers modeled after heroes from Irish history, culture, and mythology, drawing more applause.
Maeve congratulated him on his weight loss of ninety-one pounds and counting. Almost halfway to his goal. More lively applause.
“Your plan is to lose two hundred pounds, half of yourself, in an effort to save lives?”
“That’s right, yeah.”
“That’s great. You’re great.”
He felt his face and insides warm, until her next question, about his hopes to prevent suicide. “Do you think you’re taking on the impossible?”
He reached for the right words. “I feel I have to at least try. The crisis is so much bigger than Michael and me and my family. In the past decade alone there have been more than five thousand suicides in this country, and that’s just the ones we know about.” The feeling of hands pulling on his heart worsened. He pictured the frantic organ being dragged into his stomach, where it would be eaten. “And of course, just yesterday, there was that terrible tragedy down in Cork.”
“Yes, heartbreaking,” Maeve said.
“Horrific,” Billy said.
“Our thoughts and prayers are with the Halloran family and everyone affected.” She went on to mention Billy’s website, with its detailed information on suicide prevention resources, and also gave out the number for the Samaritans’ hotline. She urged those in trouble to seek help. Then, an apologetic smile on her face, she broached the subject of his army uniform. “Your whole approach to this fight on suicide … you go so far as to say you’re waging a war … some could see it as too incendiary?”
He struggled to come up with a response. The silence ticked. His attention jumped to his family. He could see the anguish in their faces, willing him to end the awful pause, but to not say anything crazy-sounding. He looked straight at Tricia. Her eyes urged him on. Anna, too. You promised, Dad.
He faced Maeve. “I’m just doing my best, you know? Trying to make something good come out of Michael’s great loss. It’s such a senseless waste.” He drew a breath, struggling to keep his voice steady. “In fighting to keep others alive, I’m also trying to keep Michael’s memory alive and to give his too-short life the most meaning possible.”
“This has become your life’s work,” Maeve said.
“Exactly,” he said, struggling not to break down. “In Michael’s name.”
Applause erupted. As soon as the audience quieted, he continued. “I’m wearing this uniform tonight to show people how serious I am and how hard I’m willing to fight to save lives, raise awareness, and bring about positive change. I’m on a mission and I intend to succeed.”
The audience broke into more loud and long applause. In closing, Maeve thanked him for his passion and plugged the making of his documentary. “Best of luck with the film, Billy, and with your sponsored weight loss. With all of it. You’re terrific.” She turned to Tricia and the children and again offered her condolences. They smiled bravely. Billy looked down at the coffee table and the miniature village. There, outside the cottage, stood his tiny family of six, the center of his kingdom.
*
There was high chatter on the drive home. “You were brilliant,” Anna said.
“Yeah, everyone kept clapping and clapping,” Ivor said.
John remained quiet on the backseat. Just as his silence threatened to sour the mood, his hand reached out and curled around the top of Billy’s shoulder, pressing his collarbone. “Well done, Dad.”
“Thanks, son.” Billy put all the feeling in his every fiber into those two words.