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She's dying to ask the names.
I can tell.
Not a solitary word makes it out of her mouth, though, and I must say this for Audrey--she never forces things. She knows I'll tell her nothing if she pushes too hard.
The one thing I do tell her is where I found the names.
"I had a runner, and that's where he went...."
; All Audrey can do now is shake her head. "Whoever this is sure is going to a lot of trouble."
"They also seem to know me unbelievably well--almost as well as I know myself."
"Yeah, but," Audrey begins, "who knows you real well, Ed?"
And that's just it.
"No one," I say.
Not even me? the Doorman walks in and asks.
I look back and reply.
Look, pal--a few cups of coffee don't mean you know me.
Sometimes I don't even think I know myself.
My reflection finds me in the eyes again.
But you know what to do, it says.
I agree with it.
I get to Henry Street the next night after work and make it to the front door, and I must say, Father O'Reilly's house gives new meaning to the word atrocious.
I introduce myself, and without much more, the father invites me in.
Without even thinking, I speak, in the hallway.
"Jesus, it wouldn't kill you to clean the place once in a while, would it?"
Did I just say that?
But I don't need to worry because the father responds immediately.
"Well, what about the state of you? When was the last time you washed that jacket?"
"Good point," I say, thankful for his quick reply.
He's balding, the father, and about forty-five. Not quite as tall as his brother, and he has bottle green eyes and fairly big ears. He's wearing a robe, and I wonder why he lives here and not at the church. I always thought priests lived at the churches so people could go there if they needed help or advice.
He leads me into the kitchen and we sit down at the table.
"Tea or coffee?" The way he says it, it's like I have no choice in the fact that I'm having something. It just depends which.
"Coffee," I reply.
