Swampoodle by P. D. St. Claire

Author:P. D. St. Claire
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Virtualbookworm.com Publishing Inc.
Published: 2013-04-11T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Indulgences

Jack Hennessey sat in the visitors reception room on the first floor of Gonzaga College High School. An afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows facing I Street, open at bottom and top, a diesel truck idling in front of the school, traces of its exhaust drifting in the air. Sitting at a small, rectangular table, Jack Hennessey thumbed through the transcripts of Tim Reagan and Martin Barry, his interview with each running through his mind. They were so young, barely his age when he had first come to Washington. He wondered about the world they would live in, and then the changes he’d seen since he was 16 years old. Yes, the lives they will live... Maybe see the twenty-first century, the both of them, the year 2000. Amazing... To have that time, just a tenth of it, to be that young…

A knock at the door turned his head. Bill Murphy’s face quickly appeared as he stepped in, his hand out, motioning to Jack Hennessey to remain seated. “Good afternoon, Jack. Didn’t mean to startle you.” Jack Hennessey took the offered hand, not rising, smiling hello. He was tired, and wondering why.

Bill Murphy sat opposite, settling in the hardwood chair, the room’s bare walls marked only by a crucifix behind Jack Hennessey and a portrait of a praying St. Ignatius Loyola on the wall opposite. Bill Murphy began to speak, his arms and hands resting easily on the surface of he table. “So, Jack, Mrs. Rourke tells me you’ve met with Marty and Tim.” His hands opened as his head leaned forward. “What do you think? Who’s it to be?”

Jack Hennessey forced a smile, pulling the transcripts closer, his eyes fixing on them, though more away from Bill Murphy than anything else. This was going to be more difficult that he had anticipated. He looked up, then quickly away, out the window on I Street. He lowered his head and reached across the table for Fr. Murphy’s hand. “I’m sorry, Bill, but there’ll be no…” He looked across the table, his head shaking in sorrow and regret, a sense of failure rising in him. “I’m dying, Bill…”

Bill Murphy caught his breath, reaching to cover Jack Hennessey’s hand with his own, holding it, stunned, now making the sign of the cross. “Dear God, Jack…”

They sat in silence, each of their own making. After a moment, Jack Hennessey raised his eyes, working to smile, to not tear. The warmth of Bill Murphy’s hands on his own had strengthened him, eased his breathing. He was so glad to have such a good friend nearby. He looked away, then back again, fixing closely on him. “Don’t know, Bill… So many of my friends gone, and now it’s my time…”

“Is there anything I can do, Jack?”

Jack Hennessey studied Bill Murphy’s face, felt the empathy in his eyes, could see the sadness and hurt, the shock it must have been to hear this out of the blue, no warning at all. The better the friend, the closer the friend, the deeper is the hurt.

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