Cathleen hit all the down buttons in front of each bay of doors and began to pace, shaking her head and contemplating taking the stairs, but she feared it might take too long to run down seven flights. After several long minutes, an elevator finally arrived. While she rode the elevator down to the lobby she called work and said she would not be making it in for the rest of the day because something had come up with Colm. Her supervisor hung up before she even finished her explanation. Everyone was tired of her excuses. If her son had some known, popular disease, she sometimes thought, maybe she would have garnered some sympathy, but she knew people tended to grow weary of other people’s pain. She couldn’t blame her boss for being angry with her.
As soon as the elevator doors opened on the first floor, Cathleen burst through them. She checked the lobby and then the gift shop where Colm liked to look at the toys. She ran to the bus stop, and as the bus pulled away, she saw Colm glaring at her from the backseat. She looked for a cab to hail. Where the hell was a cab when you needed one in this city?
She comforted herself with the knowledge that he had his bus card with him, along with the twenty-dollar bill she had sewn into his coat in case of emergencies. Maybe he would just go home. She waited for the next bus, transferred to the subway, and after arriving at her stop, ran to her apartment, hoping to find him there. She opened the door, calling his name and looking for him in every room.
For ten minutes, she paced back and forth in the living room, berating herself for letting him go. She tried to reassure herself: he was more than capable of taking the bus and subway home. He had done it for years. But then she panicked, thinking of that day on the subway platform. What if he collapsed and he was all alone? What if he went down again and this time fell onto the tracks? What if he fell while crossing the street or was hit by a car? She didn’t want to do it, but she called Sean and got no answer. He had given Colm a copy of his shift schedule to keep posted on his bulletin board, and when she checked, she saw Sean was on duty and headed back to his engine company in Midtown.
When she arrived at the station, all the engines were gone. She panicked and buzzed to get inside. “It’s Cathleen Magee!” she screamed into the intercom.
The first-year probie who was forced to stay behind didn’t know who she was. It shocked her for a second. She thought everyone on Sean’s crew knew her, especially the older guys, but then she remembered the younger, newer ones would not have recognized her name. There were so many other widow’s children to remember now.
“I need to get ahold of my brother, Sean Magee,” Cathleen shouted again.
The probie couldn’t make out what she was saying, so he went downstairs and opened the engine garage doors. She was in the truck bay before the doors were fully open.
“I have to find my brother, Sean Magee. Do you know where he is?”
“He’s at a call.”
“I need him.”
“I can call his lieutenant and see if he can get ahold of him if it’s a family emergency.”
“It is. Can you do that?”
“Absolutely.”
Cathleen thought of all the times she was pulled out of work by his crew. Have you seen him? He was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. He’s gonna be put on probation if he doesn’t show today. The older guys, who had known their dad, were always looking out for him and covering for him—never wanting to see him fail. They were brothers, they said, and they went to the wall time and time again for each other. She’d have to leave work, vowing to help them find their brother. Ripping her heels off while running down the street, she’d scream into her phone: “So help you God, Sean! I will kick your ass myself if you’re not in the shower by the time I get to your apartment.”
And if she found him sober, albeit hungover, she would drag him down the street to the door of the fire station. She thought of the time he was off duty and a bartender, who said he was wearing Sean’s vomit all over his shirt, called her at two in the afternoon screaming obscenities at her and telling her to get her sorry-ass excuse of a husband. She corrected the bartender, who said he didn’t care if Cathleen was his wife, sister, or undertaker, he just wanted Sean out of his bar. She asked him how he knew to call her if Sean was passed out, and he explained that he got Cathleen’s number off Sean’s phone. It was, he said, the only number he ever seemed to call on it.
“I checked the call log. I figured by the number of times he called you and you called him you were his old lady,” the bartender said.
The only one, Cathleen thought. The only freakin’ one. Really?
Cathleen wanted to feel badly for interrupting Sean at work, but she knew he owed her big-time. She waited impatiently, and finally the probie gave her the phone to talk to Sean.
“This better be good, Sis.”
“Are you at a real fire?”
“False alarm, but having a probie call my lieutenant is not cool. Not cool. We’re on our way back to the station.”
“Colm took off.”
“He’s seven. Where could he possibly go?”
Cathleen tried to explain everything, knowing every minute counted. She knew New York City was not Assisi and that there was little likelihood of Colm holding court with friars.
“I have no idea, Sean. Dr. Basu told him Pierce was in L.A.—I don’t have time to go into it. He took off from the doctor’s office. I checked the apartment. I checked everywhere. Should we get an Amber Alert? Should I call the police? Sean, what the hell should I do?”
“Give me an hour. You go back to the apartment, in case he turns up. I think I have an idea where he is. I’ll see if I can take off early.”
When Sean told his lieutenant about his sister’s call—and that there was an emergency with his nephew again—the lieutenant didn’t think twice about it. “We’re family, Sean. We take care of family. You go take care of yours.”
Sean couldn’t believe what he heard at first. His first inclination was to correct his lieutenant. The kid’s not mine. It’s just my sister’s kid. Then he stopped himself. Colm is . . . Yes, Colm is . . . He is my own. Sean peeled off his gear and leaped out the door at the stoplight, heading toward the subway.
As Sean descended the fire truck’s steps, his lieutenant shouted, “Hang in there, Magee. I’m sure the kid’s gonna be OK.”
Sean jumped on the B train. He hadn’t taken him there in weeks, but he knew Colm loved the Natural History Museum. When he arrived, he bought a ticket for the Planets and Stars show and ran toward the planetarium.
When he got there, the show was about to end. Sean stood by door and scanned the theater looking for Colm’s hat and long hair. The large-domed room seemed to turn, and the giant planets spun over his head. Surprised by the realism, Sean held his arm over his face as if to shield himself from the planets that were crashing toward him. Embarrassed by his own confusion and his startle reflex, he stood upright and looked around to see if anyone noticed. He knew he shouldn’t have reacted that way. He and Colm had seen the show countless times, but every time the room began to spin and the universe revealed itself in all its infinite parts, Sean’s entire body shuddered, and he seemed to forget for a moment where he was.
When the lights came on, Sean spotted the tip of Colm’s hat. Colm wasn’t getting up, wasn’t planning on moving. Sean guessed he was going to try to catch the last show—he had probably been there all afternoon. Like mother like son, Sean thought. He had found his sister in almost the exact same spot a little over seven years ago. She had stayed there all day, too, watching the star shows, holding her swollen belly. She had no idea what she was going to do, she told him. When Sean sat down next to her, she handed him a note that she had found earlier that day. “The dumbass,” he had said aloud to her, “left a note. That’s rich.” The note from Pierce said how much he loved her and how he knew her better than she knew herself or saw her more clearly than she saw herself or some other bullshit nonsense, he thought. Sean couldn’t care less what Pierce had written or thought. All he knew was the guy was a bastard who took off and left his big sister all alone. He crumpled the note and threw it on the floor, but Cathleen picked it up and stashed it in her coat pocket. The bastard left her crying with a broken heart and a baby to take care of all on her own and she’s holding on to his goddamn note, Sean thought. Then he sat down and put his arm around Cathleen, and for the first time in his life, he saw his sister crumble in his arms and sob.
As Sean looked at Colm, he remembered something Dr. Basu had once said to him in one of their long chats on Sunday afternoons while Cathleen made them dinner—Grief never ceases to transform. Cathleen had never stopped wondering, never stopped worrying, never stopped loving Pierce. Neither had Colm. And for the first time, he could see it all so clearly. Sean got angry even thinking of Pierce, the bastard who left her, and the boy, Cathleen’s very own bastard who looked just like his father. The very same boy who was breaking her heart all over again by choosing his deadbeat father over her. Sean couldn’t believe it. He tried not to be upset, but he wasn’t Colm’s uncle today, he decided. He was his sister’s little brother.
“What’s up, Bud? You too cool for school now?”
Colm stared straight ahead. “Did you know about my father?”
“Come on. Let’s get out of here. Let’s go have a bite.”
“I’m not going anywhere—not with you, not with Mama. You’re both liars! You’re all liars!” Colm screamed.
Sean could barely contain his rage. He knew the boy was only seven, but somehow he didn’t care. His anger seeped up slowly through the veins in his neck, moving up through his cheeks and settling in the protruding veins in his forehead. “You gonna call me a liar to my face?”
“You gotta problem with that?” Colm said, like he was born to fight. Like he was cut from the same cloth as Sean himself. Sean had never been so proud—and so mad at the same time.
“As a matter of fact I do.” Sean walked toward the boy. He grabbed Colm by the neck, pulling his hair along with the folds of his jacket and dragging him out of the chair.
“You’re hurting me. Let me go, Uncle Sean. Let m-m-m-me go!”
“Come on, tough guy. Let’s go put your money where your mouth is. You think you can take me? You think you got what it takes to take on your old uncle? Call me a liar. Go ahead, I dare ya!” Sean was holding Colm up by his shirt, and Colm’s legs were dangling as he tried with all his might to wrestle free.
“Let go of m-m-m-me! You’ve lost it, Uncle Sean!”
Not intending to harm the boy, Sean dropped him to the ground. But Colm stumbled as he tried to balance himself, and he fell hard. From the ground, he looked up at his uncle, who looked like a giant.
Sean stood over him and tried to help him up, but Colm recoiled.
“Get away from me! P-p-please! Just leave m-m-me alone.”
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to your mother? Do you? She’s given up her whole goddamn life for you. Anything you want, you get. Any medicine you need, she’s on it. Any goddamn video game, book, sneaker, stupid hat, you got it. She spent the last six months praying to God for you while all you do is shoot your mouth off about there being no God to her because you said you needed to tell the truth. Well, let me tell you somethin’ about the truth. It’s over goddamn rated. The truth hurts people. And all the while you’ve been telling your truth—she’s been praying to God to save you. And you have the nerve to be pissed at her. Pissed ’cause she spent her life trying to protect you—trying to protect that sorry-ass father of yours. Trying to protect you from the sad, horrible truth. So the TRUTH is, yeah, I knew where he was. She did too.
“He walked away from you, Colm. Is that what you want to hear? Because I know your mother never wanted you to know. She wanted to protect you—and she never thought she was lying to you. She loves you, goddammit. And I don’t think I can say the same thing about your father—because he’s not the one worried sick about you right now. Your mother is. I am. Dr. Basu is. All the people who love and care for you are right here in front of you, tough guy. Open your goddamn eyes!”
Colm finally scrambled to his feet and said nothing. His uncle terrified him. He had never seen Sean so angry and had never heard such ugly things come out of his mouth—from anyone’s. Colm’s legs were rigid, and he could barely put one in front of the other. His stance was wide and ungainly. He looked pathetic, broken. Colm stumbled and fell, tried to walk several times, but kept stumbling. By the third time he fell, Sean lunged for him. He could not see Colm in any more pain. Watching Colm about to fall, Sean snapped out of it. He remembered again who he had been yelling at. It was not Pierce. It was not Cathleen. It was Colm. His own Colm, he thought.
“Oh God,” Sean moaned. “I am so sorry, Colm. I am so sorry.” Sean felt an overwhelming need to vomit. He had said things he could not take back, that Colm, no matter how long he lived, would never ever forget. He disgusted himself. He tasted the bile in his mouth, the bitter anger on his tongue. He was ashamed.
“P-p-p-please, let go of m-m-me, Uncle Sean,” Colm whispered softly, ashamed of himself and his failing body. Sean tried to help Colm to his feet. “I c-c-c-can do it, Uncle Sean.” Colm struggled to stand on his own.
Sean’s eyes smarted. He felt awful. Colm, he could tell, was crying. He was shaking. Sean saw the darkening streaks run down Colm’s pants as he wet himself. Sean had broken his heart and had told him the things his mother had spent his entire life trying to prevent him from ever knowing, to spare him from just this one pain in life that was too much for a child to bear.
“Please, Colm. I’m sorry. Let me carry you home. Your mother is going to be so angry with me if she finds out how much I hurt you—if you get sick because of me. Let me carry you. Do me this one favor?”
Colm was silent. He didn’t want Uncle Sean to be in trouble with his mother. He didn’t want another terrible fight between them because of him. He didn’t want to get sick and cause his mother to worry.
Colm put up his arms, and Sean melted. His stomach gave way, thinking of Colm as a baby and how he came to him with open arms. He had ruined it all. He had done what he vowed he would never do—he had crushed someone else’s dream. He took away the one thing a child has that is totally his own, hope.
Sean hoisted him up on his hip. Colm slumped over, resting his head on his uncle’s shoulder, and whispered in his ear, “Why doesn’t he love me? Does he know? Does he know how much I love him—want to know him?” Colm began to cry softly, and Sean felt the boy’s tears mix with his own as they ran down his neck.
Sean squeezed the boy mightily. He held him because he knew better than anyone what it was like to grow up wondering about the father, the invisible father who overshadowed everything he tried to do and tried to be, who was as mysterious as he was wonderful and frightening. He thought how much harder it was for Colm, because his father chose to leave him, while his own was taken, consumed by fire.
“I am sorry, Colm. I don’t know why I said those terrible things. I didn’t have any right. I was just so angry. Not at you, but at the situation. Nothing in this life makes much sense.”
“It’s OK, Uncle Sean. I forgive you,” Colm said, lifting his head up and looking into his uncle’s eyes.
“You don’t have to . . . forgive me, Colm. I don’t deserve it.”
“But, I do . . . because I love you.”