A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [121]
“Well, he should. That’s Clancy Meldrin.”
“Who’s he?”
“Our great-grandfather. Mom’s grandfather.”
Gordon was amazed at the resemblance. The man was an elderly version of Dennis. His mother used to brag how Clancy Meldrin had owned hundreds of acres in Ireland until an Englishman cheated him out of it. Gordon asked where he had gotten the painting. It looked old, but he didn’t remember ever seeing it around the house. Dennis said he’d had it painted. From what? Gordon asked. An old photo or something?
“From life!” Dennis laughed. “Pretty good, huh?” He had posed, telling the artist to imagine him as an old man a hundred years ago in Ireland, a man of culture and learning despite having lost everything. Gordon’s eyes moved between the portrait above and the one below, saddened by the ghostly double image. For the first time in his life, he was embarrassed for his brother.
He abbreviated his reasons for coming. He had lost his job at the Market but had found another one. He held up his bandaged hand with a quick mention of the slicing blade, rush hour, Petro’s flaming paddle. Not to worry, though, because he had this other job now, but first the cut had to heal. “They’ll take me back. I just have to get it so it won’t keep splitting open.”
Dennis asked to see it. Gordon peeled back the tape. Recoiling a little, Dennis said it was infected. Yes, Gordon admitted. He’d figured it was, from the redness and the smell these last few days. He needed stitches and antibiotics right away, Dennis said.
But that wasn’t even why he was here, Gordon said quickly. He needed fifty dollars to pay his electric bill. A loan, of course. As soon as the moving company sent his check, he’d pay Dennis back.
“Look,” Dennis said. He bent over the desk, scribbling angrily. “This is ridiculous. When are you going to start listening to me? What makes you think you have all the answers?”
“I don’t think that.”
“You don’t? You could’ve fooled me, Gordo.” He ripped the check from the pad and slapped it onto the desk.
“I can’t cash a check. I had to close out my account. That’s not going to work,” he said, pointing.
“It’s not a check. It’s a prescription for that fucking mess of a hand you’ve got.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. When I saw you writing, I just thought . . . I thought it was a check.”
Dennis shook his head. “You could’ve been at Corcopax! I had it all lined up!”
“They weren’t going to hire me.”
“You don’t know that!”
“Yes! They told me. The lady, she—”
“I could get you on at the brewery. One phone call, that’s all it’ll take. Look, I’m going to call Tom Harrington right now and—”
“No! Don’t. I don’t want you to do that.”
Dennis looked at him. “What do you want? Do you even know? Well, do you?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to upset you. I—”
“Don’t want to upset me?” Dennis threw up his hands and laughed. “You’re the most upsetting thing in my life!”
“I am?” His face was burning.
“Here.” Dennis said, and stretched back to reach into his pocket. He flipped four one-hundred-dollar bills onto the scrip. “And you still don’t have to pay me back.”
“I only need fifty, and I’ll pay you back next week.”
“I’ll be gone all next week, so here, take it.” He held out the money. “And if you don’t need it, fine, just bring it back.”
Gordon hesitated, then took the money. “Where are you going?” he asked sheepishly.
“Bermuda.” Dennis smiled. “Dental conference.”
“With Lisa?”
“No, not this time. Too many seminars. She’d hate it.”
“You’re going with Jilly Cross, aren’t you.”
“What? What’re you talking about?”
“That’s where she’s going—Bermuda. That day at the post office, that’s what she said.” He put the money back on the desk. “Why would you do that? What about Lisa and the kids? You’ve got such