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I rolled to a stop and hopped out, knowing the best defense is a good offense. Whatever Sister Sheilah was asking, I was prepared to answer.
I was shocked when she smiled at me. I wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing at first, because I’d seen her smile so rarely. I stammered, “S-sorry I’m a little late.”
She said, “Ten minutes is a little late. Forty-five makes me worried you’d forgotten you had kids.”
Was that a joke? I was too terrified to ask.
The sister said, “It’s no problem, Mr. Bennett. Bridget and I were discussing the fine points of bedazzling and other crafts.” She stepped toward me and led me by the arm away from the children as they started to file into the van. In a low voice she said, “We’ve been so worried about Brian. Anything new?”
“No, Sister. Not yet. There’s a long way to go.”
“We’ll pray for him and for you.”
“Thank you, Sister. I need prayers right about now.”
Once we were back home, I opened the door to a smell that made me smile. It was one of Mary Catherine’s standards. It took me a minute to pinpoint the aroma. Irish pot roast with brown gravy. I caught the look on each kid’s face as he or she crossed the threshold. Sometimes it’s the little things that can perk you up.
Mary Catherine came out of the kitchen looking like a young housewife from the fifties. A white apron, a smile, and a twinkle in her eyes.
She said, “Dinner in two hours. Two hours of hard labor. Homework first. The chores next. Cleanup last, and in that order.” She looked across the room, and for the first time I noticed my grandfather Seamus standing in the corner, looking out at the street below. She said to him, “You’re in charge of homework. Make yourself useful if you want to be fed.”
I doubted she had ever spoken that way to a priest when she lived in Tipperary or Dublin. But it was hard to think of my grandfather as a priest unless he was wearing his clerical collar. And sometimes even then it was hard to believe. But despite his impish and mischievous nature, he had been a blessing to me since my childhood. And now he was here for my children.
Chapter 8
I watched the miracle of dinner at the Bennett house unfold. Mary Catherine was the author of this blessed event, and I couldn’t express how much I appreciated her efforts to keep the kids’ lives normal. She awed me. By dinnertime, the kids had their homework done, their chores completed, and the table set.
Once again the crowd was quiet. The empty chair where Brian normally sat didn’t help matters.
Seamus, sitting at the far end of the table from me, bowed his head, as he did before each meal. The kids followed his lead. He said in a low, comforting voice, “Lord, thank you for our many blessings. Thank you for our time together. Thank you for allowing us to realize how fleeting it can be. Please bless this family and protect our precious Brian. Amen.”
A quiet chorus of “Amen” followed.
Dinner proceeded with the clank of silverware and the occasional comment just to break the silence. Mary Catherine engaged Chrissy. She was our best chance if we wanted to hear a quirky, funny story from the day.
Mary Catherine said, “What did you learn in history today, Chrissy?”
Usually the little girl would light up at a chance to tell a story in front of the whole family. Instead she mumbled, “We talked about the men in Boston who decided we shouldn’t be part of England anymore.”
Mary Catherine took a moment and managed to gather everyone’s attention without saying a word. Then she said, “Listen, everyone. I know we’re worried about Brian. You can believe your father is doing everything he can to help him. But sometimes things don’t work out the way we expect them to. Not better, not worse—just not like we expect.”
Now she was playing to the crowd’s full attention.
“My brother Ken wanted to come to America. He’s a big, burly lad and a great fan of the Kennedys. All he talked about was coming to Boston. But he got in trouble.”
Shawna said, “What kind of trouble?” We were all hooked.
“It was a bar fight, and Ken punched a man who hit his head when he fell on the floor. My brother was charged with assault and later convicted. He didn’t have to go to jail, but he had a conviction on his record, and that kept him from doing what he expected to do. That conviction kept him from coming to America. But you know what?”
Chrissy and Bridget both said, “What?”
“Things turned out differently for him. He met a lovely girl. And now he lives right there in Dublin with two beautiful kids. He has a good job and is happier than he could ever think of being. It’s different from what he expected, but certainly not worse. Sometimes things happen in life, and we just have to accept them.”
I could almost see the kids understanding what she was saying and feeling better. It felt like the pace of eating even picked up. But Seamus was still quiet. None of his usual silly quips or semi-risqué jokes. When I looked at him, I could see why. He was silently crying, trying to hide it from the kids.
Chapter 9
The Manhattan North Homicide Squad sat in a clean six-story office building off Broadway near 133rd Street. It was lush by NYPD standards but pretty average by business standards. The building housed borough-wide units such as gang enforcement, intelligence, and even the occasional terrorism task force. The main difference between officers in those units and the homicide detectives was that we usually dressed better than everyone else.
