There was a soft knock on the door. "Thomas?"
"Yes, dear."
"Dinner in fi ve minutes."
"Thank you, love."
Ellen Coughlin's footfalls receded as Eddie took his coat from the stand. "Looks to be a hell of a New Year, gents."
"Buck up, Eddie," Thomas said. "We are the wards and the wards control this city. Don't forget it."
"I won't, Tom, thanks. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas."
"To you as well, Dan."
"Merry Christmas, Eddie. Our best to Mary Pat."
"Sure, she'll be glad to hear that, she will."
He let himself out of the office and Danny found his father's gaze on him again as he took another pull from his drink.
"Curtis really took the wind out of you, didn't he, boy?"
"I'll get it back."
Neither said anything for a moment. They could hear the scrape of chairs and the bump of heavy bowls and plates on the dining room table.
"Von Clausewitz said that war is politics by other means." Thomas smiled softly and took a drink. "I've always felt he got it backward."
Connor had returned from work less than an hour ago. He'd been detached to a suspected arson and still smelled of soot and smoke.
A four-alarm fire, he said, passing the potatoes to Joe, two dead. And obviously for the insurance which added up to a few hundred more than the owners could have gotten in a legitimate sale. The Polish, he said with a roll of his eyes.
"You have to be more careful," his mother said. "You're not just living for yourself anymore."
Danny saw Nora blush at that, saw Connor throw her a wink and a smile.
"I know, Ma. I know. I will. I promise."
Danny looked at his father, sitting to his right at the head of the table. His father met his eyes and his were flat.
"Did I miss an announcement?" Danny said.
"Oh, sh--" Connor looked at their mother. "Shoot," he said and looked at Nora, then back at Danny. "She said yes, Dan. Nora. She said yes."
Nora lifted her head and her eyes met Danny's. They were charged with a pride and vanity that he found repulsive.
It was her smile that was weak.
Danny took a sip of the drink he'd carried with him out of his father's offi ce. He cut into his slice of ham. He felt the eyes of the whole table on him. He was expected to say something. Connor watched him, waiting with an open mouth. His mother looked at him curiously. Joe's fork froze above his plate.
Danny put down his fork and knife. He plastered a smile on his face that felt big and bright. Hell, it felt huge. He saw Joe relax and his mother's eyes lose their confusion. He willed the smile into his eyes, felt them widen in their sockets. He raised his glass.
"That's just great!" He raised his glass higher. "Congratulations to the both of you. I'm so happy for you."
Connor laughed and raised his own glass.
"To Connor and Nora!" Danny boomed.
"To Connor and Nora!" The rest of the family raised their glasses and met them in the center of the table.
It was between dinner and dessert that Nora found him as he was coming back out of his father's study with another refill of scotch.
"I tried to tell you," she said. "I called the rooming house three times yesterday."
"I didn't get home till after six."
"Oh."
He clapped one hand on her shoulder. "No, it's great. It's terrifi c. I couldn't be more pleased."
She rubbed her shoulder. "I'm glad."
"When's the date?"
"We thought March seventeenth."
"Saint Patrick's Day. Perfect. This time next year? Heck, you might have a child for Christmas."
"I might."
"Hey--twins!" he said. "Wouldn't that be something?"
He drained his glass. She stared up into his face as if searching. Searching for what, he had no idea. What was left to search for? Decisions, clearly, had been made.
"Do you--"
"What?"
"Want to, I don't know what to say . . ."
"So, don't."
"Ask anything? Know anything?"
"Nope," he said. "I'm going to get another drink. You?"
He walked into the study and found the decanter and noticed how much less was in it than when he'd arrived earlier in the afternoon. "Danny."
"Don't." He turned to her with a smile.
"Don't what?"
"Say my name."
"Why can't I--?"
"Like it means anything," he said. "Change the tone. All right? Just do that. When you say it."
She twisted her wrist in one hand and then dropped both hands to her sides. "I . . ."
"What?" He took a strong pull from his glass.
"I can't abide a man feels sorry for himself."
He shrugged. "Heavens. How Irish of you."
"You're drunk."
"Just getting started."
"I'm sorry."
He laughed.
"I am."
"Let me ask you something--you know the old man is looking into things back in the Old Sod. I told you that."
She nodded, her eyes on the carpet.
"Is that why you're rushing the wedding?"
She raised her head, met his eyes, said nothing.
"You really think it'll save you if the family finds out you're already married?"
"I think . . ." Her voice was so soft he could barely hear it. "I think if I'm wed to Connor, your father will never disown me. He'll do what he does best--whatever is necessary."
"You're that afraid of being disowned."
"I'm that afraid of being alone," she said. "Of going hungry again. Of being . . ." She shook her head.
"What?"
Her eyes found the rug again. "Helpless."
"My, my, Nora, quite the survivor, eh?" He chuckled. "You make me want to puke."
She said, "I what?"
"All over the carpet," he said.
Her petticoat swished as she crossed the study and poured herself an Irish whiskey. She threw back half of it and turned to him. "Who the fuck are you, then, boy?"
"Pretty mouth," he said. "Gorgeous."
"I make you want to vomit, Danny?"
"At the moment."
"And why's that, then?"
He crossed to her. He thought of lifting her up by her smooth white throat. He thought of eating her heart so it could never look back through her eyes at him.
"You don't love him," he said.