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Liam fingered the raised V on the back of the dull old coin that Mitch, the bartender, had given him to watch over the back room of the pub. He was still surprised his mother was going to let him keep it.
“As long as you keep quiet back here,” she warned him. “Otherwise we’ll give it to the nuns.” His mother was wearing her soft green dress, the only ready-made she owned, and the beaded shoes she kept wrapped in paper in her room. Liam could hear the fiddlers warming up in the main room, and she kept glancing toward the open door as if looking for someone.
“I will be,” Liam said, tracing a line in the sawdust floor with the toe of his shoe.
“The dance is going to start soon. If any ladies come in once it does, you’ll have to send them around to the front,” she told him. “Mitch doesn’t want anyone back here when he can’t keep an eye on them.”
“I’m going to be back here,” Liam said. She ran her hand over his head, smoothing the dark brown hair that spilled down onto his forehead.
“I know. I’m sorry you had to come tonight,” she said. “Without Mrs. Holner, God rest her, there’s not much else I can do with you.” Liam shrugged. Liam could hear the fiddlers strike up a fast reel to warm up before the dancers came.
A cold wind rushed into the back room as someone pushed open the door that led in from the street.
“Aw, God,” said the girl who came in, coughing. His mother went over to shut the door against the cold. Liam shivered even though his mother, ignoring the fact that it was only October, had made him wear the heavy overcoat that had once been his father’s and was easily four times too big for him.
“You all right, honey?” his mother asked the girl, who nodded through her coughs. Liam thought that if he was cold, she must be freezing. He noticed she wore several shawls and wraps, although none of them seemed to cover much of her pale flesh. As she caught her breath, she saw him looking and pulled them tighter across her chest. Liam glanced down at his shoes.
“Hello, Lily,” the girl said, smiling at his mother.
“Mary Denise, I haven’t seen you in months, honey. How are you?” his mother asked.
“I do okay,” Mary Denise told her. “This yer kid?”
“Liam,” his mother told the girl. “I think you’ve met before.” Liam thought he’d remember meeting this girl, but he kept this to himself.
“Oh yeah,” Mary Denise said. “I used to talk to ya when I was a kid, at those church dinners. Ya still go to those?” Liam nodded.
“After school on Mondays,” Liam told her.
“Church mouse,” she said and stuck her tongue out, but then she smiled. “Anyway, ya probably don’t remember. You were just a little thing.” She went behind the small bar that lined the back wall of the women’s section and brought two glasses and a bottle of whiskey up from beneath it.
“Have a glass to beat the cold, Lily?” Mary Denise asked. Liam saw his mother glance at him then look away before she nodded to the girl and went to sit at the bar.
“Won’t Mitch mind?” his mother asked. Mary Denise shook her head. “Nah, he likes me,” she told Liam’s mother. “Cheers,” she said, and they both drank. Mary Denise finished her glass quickly, made a face, and poured another.
“Hate the stuff,” Mary Denise said, and the sour look stayed on her face. “Beats frostbite, though.” She glanced toward the main room. “Yeah, Mitch is all right,” she said softly. “He don’t mind the drink, or me ducking in here to work when it’s too damn cold on Lombard. When the wind blows down there, it’s something god-awful.” Liam’s mother was nodding as the girl spoke. “Ever since Miles started playing regular here, though, he’s been pulling in loads of people. I think I owe yer man for my warm place to work on Friday nights,” she said, smiling. Liam’s mother laughed.
“Well, he’s doing us all a bit of good then, isn’t he?” his mother said. “Lots of things have gotten better since he’s come around.”
“I’m happy for ya, Lily,” Mary Denise said, running her fingernail along the rim of her glass. “Time ya had a man again.” Liam looked up from the stick figure he’d been carving into the soft floor with his foot and stared at her. The girl noticed. “Don’t he know?’ she asked, pointing toward Liam with her glass. His mother glanced over at him.
“No, they haven’t met yet,” she told Mary Denise. “I thought tonight, after the dance…”
“Sure,” Mary Denise said, and then laughed as her stomach loudly growled. “Don’t mind me,” she said, putting the stopper back in the whiskey and replacing it behind the bar. “I sound like a damn goat. Hope it don’t scare off customers.”
“When was the last time you ate, Mary?” his mother asked. The girl shrugged.
“What’s it matter?” Mary Denise asked. “Cold night like this, the last thing you want is a bellyful of heavy food.” Liam’s mother shook her head and started rifling through her battered purse.
“No, a cold night like this is when you get consumption from standing out all night,” his mother said, “and being hungry will just leave you too weak to fight it off.” “Sure, Mitch is a fine one for keeping you in drink, but does he ever think to feed you?” she asked. It had been a long time since Liam had heard his mother sound so angry. Mary Denise glanced nervously out at the main room where Mitch was washing glasses.
“Don’t worry about it, Lily,” Mary Denise said as Liam’s mother started counting out coins on the bar. “I don’t want to take yer money,” she said, pushing the coins back toward Liam’s mother.
“Twenty…twenty five,” his mother counted, ignoring Mary Denise. She turned on her seat to face Liam, who’d been dumbly watching his mother hand away money for the first time in his life. “Give me your nickel, Liam,” she said, her stern tone anticipating the pained look he gave her.”
“Mom,” Liam started, but Mary Denise interrupted.
“Lily, it’s all right,” she said. “This’ll do to get me by. Let the kid keep his nickel.”
“No,” Liam’s mother said, speaking to Mary Denise but staring at Liam. “He eats every day,” she said. “You’re cold and you’re hungry, and he knows he can help you.” Liam kept his hand wrapped around the coin in his pocket. “And he knows we help people when we can because good people have helped us,” she added. Liam scowled but brought the nickel over and laid it on top of the bar. Mary Denise smiled faintly.
“Thanks, kid,” Mary Denise said after a moment. “I’ll make it up to ya some time. Both of yeh,” she added, turning toward his mother.
“When you can,” his mother said lightly. Liam realized then that his mother knew exactly what she was doing, that she was sure of what he had only started to suspect: that this girl would never give back the money, and that she’d likely need more before too long. The thought that perhaps his mother had given away money to Mary Denise before intruded even beyond his anger over the loss of his nickel. What else did she do here in this dark pub that she would have never let him see her do at home?
Liam’s mother gave Mary Denise a sad smile. Mary Denise put her coins away in some hidden pocket as a lively piano tune began to play in earnest from the main room. Liam’s mother turned to look, and this time he saw a truly happy smile spread across her face.
“Miles’ll be waiting for ya, Lily,” Mary Denise said. “Go on ahead. I’m gonna set back here a bit, then I’ll be in.”
“I can stay here with you, keep you company,” his mother said, but Mary Denise shook her head.
“And I can think of lots of things Miles would like better than the sight of ya walking into that bar along with the likes of me,” Mary Denise said. Liam’s mother blushed.
“Miles ought to know better,” she said, although she stood up quickly and smoothed down her dress. “Maybe I should get out there so he knows I’m here,” she added.
“Yeah,” Mary Denise said. “Have a good time.”
“Take care of yourself,” his mother answered. “Stay warm, and get something to eat.”
“Yes ma,” Mary Denise said, grinning at Liam. He slowly smiled back at her. “I will, Lily,” she said, her voice serious again. “Thank ya.”
“Liam, you be a gentleman,” his mother said. “Keep Mary Denise company and don’t be shy.” She smiled at Mary Denise. “He’s a quiet boy. Always thinking.” She leaned down to kiss him, and although he tried to duck out of her range she was able to land a kiss on the top of his head.
“Mom,” Liam protested. She smirked at him.
“I’ll come find you after the dance,” his mother told him. “Mind you don’t go anywhere else,” she added as she left.
When Liam’s mother was safely out of earshot, Mary Denise leaned across the bar.
“Want yer nickel back?” she asked. Liam thought about it, but shook his head.
“She’d kill me,” Liam told her, and Mary Denise laughed.
“Yeah, all right,” Mary Denise said. “I’ll buy that.” They were both quiet for a long moment. “So she’s keeping you in school?” she asked, and Liam nodded. “But ya must be nearly twelve,” she said. “That’s old for around here. Most kids I know go to work.” Liam crossed one foot over the other and stuck his hands in his pockets. He was one of the oldest boys in the school, and it was embarrassing because everyone wondered what he was still doing there.
“I like school,” Liam told her. “I’m good at it. I like to read. My mom says she works too hard for me to go to work too,” he said. “And Father Vinner helps her with the money,” he added. “He says I should stay.” His mother had always explained it to him as the understanding priest’s quiet way of making up for the way she and were treated after Liam’s father left. She’d often told Liam about the nuns who’d tried to keep him from the parish school because she had no husband, and the general policy of ignoring her that the entire tiny parish of St. Brendan’s had adopted toward her. Father Vinner understood her side of things, she often said, and crossed herself with thanks
“Sounds good to me,” Mary Denise told him, hiding the dirty glasses behind the bar. “Good luck, I guess.” She walked toward the door, and he backed away as she came close. She was very pretty, he thought suddenly, but she ought to take off all those ugly scarves.
“I don’t bite,” Mary Denise said, then glanced down at him again. “Ya stay quiet back here, Mr. Liam, and don’t get into the drink. Ya won’t like it much.” He nodded.
“Wait,” Liam said, catching her wrist. She took a step back into the room and gave him a quick up-and-down glance. This close, he could smell the heavy perfume she was wearing. After a moment, she shook his hand off of her wrist.
“What is it?” Mary Denise asked impatiently. Her voice sounded thicker, more tired than it had a moment before. Through the open door he could hear fiddles joining the piano, accompanied by the sounds of stamping feet and clapping hands.
“Who’s the man you talked about?” Liam asked. “Who’s Miles?” She gave him a strange look.
“I guess it’s yer mother’s business,” Mary Denise finally said, “but if I had a kid, I’d tell him things like that.”
“She works a lot, I don’t see her much,” Liam said defensively. “What kinds of things?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mary Denise told him. “As to who he is, he’s Miles Conner. He comes by here a lot, and other pubs. He plays to make a bit of money. He’s been yer mother’s man for some weeks now. They’re always together,” she said. “Drinking and dancing. I wonder if she’s told him she’s got a kid,” Mary Denise said. “At any rate, I guess ya’d better get used to him.” With that, she stepped clear of Liam and let the door shut behind her. The sounds of glasses clinking and the dancers’ ringing laughter were abruptly muted, and Liam sat alone tracing designs in the sawdust for the rest of the dance.
When Liam left the tavern with his mother, it was nearly one in the morning. She kept her arm tight around his shoulders, even so, she lost her balance twice on the short journey home. Liam thought he ought to be upset with her, but the memory of smelling the perfume from Mary Denise’s wrist, then seeing Miles Conner kiss his mother good night at the door of the pub were dueling for his attention.
“This is Liam,” his mother had told Miles in the back room of the pub. “He’s my son,” she added. Liam had looked up from his seat on the floor at the tall man, who wore little to protect himself against the cold except a heavy sweater and a felt cap, and understood right away that his mother hadn’t already told Miles about him after all. A moment passed, and Liam could tell that something important hinged on Miles’ reaction. Miles slowly knelt down next to Liam and extended his hand.
“Liam, good to meet ya,” he said in a heavy Irish brogue. “I’m Miles. If I’da known there was an extra audience tonight, I’da played something special for ya.”
Liam shook his hand shyly, but hadn’t known what to say. His mother had laughed and called him ‘a quiet one’ for the second time that night. As they left the bar Liam noticed his mother wasn’t right behind him and turned back, only to see her kissing Miles in the doorway.
“Mom,” he said insistently after a few moments had gone by. Miles had looked up and laughed.
“Yer escort’s wanting to be getting ya home, Lily,” Miles said.
“You could walk with us,” Liam’s mother said, pulling on his hand. Miles looked over at Liam.
“No, I’d best be getting’ back meself,” Miles told her.
So they set off in different directions, and Liam and his mother took the familiar route back to their apartment, walking slowly past the church and under the sharp rectangular shadow of the stove factory.
“Sorry honey,” his mother said, turning her ankle and falling against him yet again. The heavy scent of whiskey that had filled the tavern now crept into his nostrils each time she spoke. “You were very good tonight. Were you bored?”
“A little bit,” Liam admitted. “Mom, who’s Miles?” he asked. He knew Mary Denise had called him ‘your mother’s man’, but what would his mother say?
“Miles is a good friend of mine,” his mother told him. “He’s sweet. He makes me laugh like nobody else ever has. My mother used to grow cornflowers, and that’s just the shade of his eyes. Didn’t you like him?” she asked.
“All he did was say hello,” Liam told her. “I guess he was okay.”
“We’ll have to have some time together soon, the three of us, so you get to know him. You’ll like him, I’m sure.” Liam wondered how much it would matter. So Miles was his mother’s man. But where was he now? Miles should be the one helping her down the road. Liam knew his father would have been there for her if only he hadn’t been…where? Liam had read a story in the newspaper about a man who found he had amnesia after a factory fire, and lately he’d been thinking his father was probably still right there in Philly and just couldn’t remember who he was or where he lived.
“What about Dad?” Liam asked her. She sighed and leaned against the rough brick wall of the factory.
“Oh, Liam, you’re old enough to know the truth by now,” his mother said, her words slurring. “Your dad left when you were a baby. I don’t know why, and I don’t know where he went. I’ve never heard from him since.” Liam didn’t say anything, and she hugged him to her. “Okay?” she asked. “I thought you’d know on your own. He’s gone for good.”
“He’ll come back,” Liam said into her sleeve.
“No,” his mother said. She let him go and started walking shakily forward again. “He left us without a word of warning, Liam, and with no money. We’re better off without him.” As they walked, Liam tried to blink away his sudden tears and was grateful that, with the drink, she was too distracted to notice them. He knew his father would come back, one day. After half a block she was laughing again, “He was a great one for a dance too, wasn’t he?” she said. “I was so in love with that Irishman. He swept me away, back into this old city. My mother hated him, didn’t want him near me. He swept me away,” she told Liam. He made a face. This was familiar territory for them. When he was younger, every night before he’d gone to bed she would sit by him, whispering the same words again and again, a litany about his father. Handsome. Irish. Strong and bold. “He swept me off into the city,” she said dreamily, one more time.
They reached their building, and Liam guided his mother through the dark to the stairwell. He took her shoes so she could hold the railing, and helped her noisily up the four flights to their cold-water flat.
“Don’t worry about that,” Liam said when she tried to light the candles on the kitchen table. “Just go to bed, Mom,” he said, steering her toward the smaller of the two rooms in their apartment. She lay down and Liam pulled her quilt tightly over her. “Good night, Mom,” he said, and kissed her cheek.
“Love you too,” she mumbled, and turned over. Liam went back out to the main room and took his blankets out of their drawer. He put his pajamas on, arranged his bedding on the worn couch and curled up to stay as warm as he could.
Liam could feel a draft from the small windows and under the door, but he was used to that. It wasn’t the cold that kept him awake despite the late hour. He’d never had to take care of his mother before. Having to hold her upright as they walked down the street, putting her to bed like she was a small child, these were new things to him. He remembered a time when he was in fourth grade when she’d gotten so sick she couldn’t work for two weeks. He’d had to go down to the chocolate factory and ask the foreman for the wages she’d been owed after they’d fired her. Mrs. Holner had been alive then, though, and had taken care of feeding his mother and getting the charity doctor to come look at her for free. His mother had gotten better and found a new job in the rope factory that was only a few blocks away.
But now Mrs. Holner was gone, and Liam was frightened. He didn’t know anyone else in the building well enough to ask for help. His mother had always discouraged him from talking to the other tenants much, just as she had told him not to answer the nuns’ questions in school about his father. It meant, though, that now he had no one to go to. Liam spent most of the night staring at the water stains on the ceiling, and didn’t drop into sleep until he saw through the small window that the sky had already begun to lighten with the dawn.
A few days later, Liam found himself staring at Miles in the close confines of the apartment. Liam’s mother, despite hazy memories of the walk back from the dance and a profusion of apologies for letting him see her that way, had managed to remember her promise to bring Liam and Miles together. Liam, who was let out of school hours before his mother’s shift at the factory ended, found Miles sitting at the table waiting for him.
“Cheers,” Miles said, and stood up to greet Liam. Miles, who looked far too tall for the room he stood in, seemed to Liam to take up more than a reasonable amount of space. “Yer ma asked me ta come by if I had some time today,” he told Liam. “She wants us getting ta know each other.” Liam laid his books on the table and sat down.
“Okay,” Liam said. “But I have homework now.”
“Right you do,” Miles said. “Mind if I set with you? A’ve bin standin’ all mornin’, down the shop.” Liam shrugged, and Miles sat down opposite him. He had a narrow frame and long, skinny arms with long fingers. Liam could see the faint blue of his veins in his arms and forehead, as if his skin had been made too thin for his tall body. Miles stooped when he sat and Liam thought he looked older than he probably was.
“That’s a fine piano ya got in the corner,” Miles said, ignoring Liam’s stare. When he spoke, Liam noticed how his nose bulged from his narrow face, and how sharp the point of his chin was. His thin hair was light brown and looked like it spent most of its time nestled under his felt cap. Despite what she’d said about his eyes, Liam wondered what his mother could possibly see in this misshapen man. “I’ll have to have a go on it sometime, show ya how it’s done.” Liam shook his head.
“No, my mom wouldn’t like that,” Liam said.
“Oh, I think she would, lad,” Miles told him, grinning. “She likes my playin’.”
“It’s my dad’s,” Liam said, louder than he meant to. Miles nodded.
“Sure, it’s yer da’s,” Miles said. “I understand. She hasn’t told me too much about him, yer ma,” he added. When Liam said nothing, Miles took his pipe out of his pocket and rapped it sharply on the table top to shake loose the last bits of tobacco. “How do ya like school?” he asked, nodding toward the books Liam had spread across the table.
“It’s all right,” Liam said. He watched Miles brush the tobacco flakes to the floor.
“Hope yer ma don’t mind that,” Miles said a moment later.
“I think it depends,” Liam told him. “She cleans a lot. If I did that I wouldn’t get dinner.” Miles smirked.
“Sure, I think the odds a’ her sending me to bed without my supper are pretty low,” Miles said. As he spoke, the Irishman took out a jackknife and a block of tobacco about half the size of his hand from a pouch he kept on his belt. He cut several flakes off of one end of the block, held them together tightly, and, careful not to lose any, folded them once so they fit into his pipe. He pressed it down lightly with his thumb and brought out a match, which he struck against the bench to light. He moved it in a circle around the bowl and puffed on the pipe until he seemed satisfied.
Liam watched this process carefully. He wondered if his father had smoked a pipe, and thought that he probably had. He liked adding to what little he knew this way.
As if to keep Liam’s attention on him, Miles thrust his nearly burnt-out match out to the center of the table and put it out with his fingertips.
“Nothin’ to it,” Miles said. Liam leaned forward to watch this, and Miles grinned at his interest. “Do it offen’ enough, gets so you can’t feel it no more.” He eyed Liam. “Want to give it a go?”
Liam took the match Miles offered. He raked it across his own bench and fought back the urge to blow it out as it rapidly ate toward his fingers. Instead he let the tiny flame touch his skin and he smothered it between his fingers.
“Ow!” he said. He stuck his finger in his mouth until the pain ebbed. It wasn’t until his took his wet finger out that he thought of how stupid and babyish his reaction had been.
“Not bad fer a first try,” Miles told him anyway. Liam found his accent even harder to follow as he spoke with his pipe between his teeth. Miles handed him two more matches. “You practice, now, and next time I come you show me if you can do it.” His tone became more serious. “Mind you don’t burn the place down now,” he said.
“I won’t,” Liam said. “You think my mom’s going to want you to come back for a next time?”
“Do yeh think she’d have asked me over here if she hadn’t already decided?” Miles asked, grinning. “She wanted yeh to get to know me. I think that means she wants me ta keep comin’ back.”
“She doesn’t know what she wants,” Liam said. He pushed his chair back and propped it on two legs against the wall. “I don’t like you, or your match tricks,” he added, feeling reckless. Miles puffed at his pipe and nodded.
“Well, we’ll see,” he said. “Time tells all.” He pulled a battered pocket watch from his vest. “Speakin’ of which,” he said, “I’d best be on my way.”
“You’re not going to wait for my mom?” Liam asked.
“Sure I wish that I could,” Miles said. “But my boss’ll be lookin’ for me back in the shop.” Miles folded his pipe and the block of tobacco back into their pouch and arranged his felt cap on his head.
“Once more into the breech, dear friend,” Miles said, then grinned. “That’s Shakespeare. Didja read him in yer school yet?” Liam shook his head. “Yeh’ll like him when ya do,” Miles said.
“What’s it mean?” Liam asked. Miles considered.
“Well, today I suppose it means it’s cold out, and I’ve long night of work ahead of me,” Miles said. “As do you,” he said, looking down at Liam’s schoolwork. “So I’ll take my leave of ya, and be sure to tell yer ma I said good night.”
When Miles was gone, sure that he’d never get away with it while his mother was home, Liam pushed away his books and practiced putting out both matches.
“How long’s yer ma usually gone fer groceries?” Miles asked. It was two days after Miles had surprised Liam at home, and the two sat facing each other across the table again. She’d left the two together while she went shopping, and promised a good meal when she returned. Liam shrugged in answer to Miles’ question. He had a feeling she’d be back very soon. Her wages from the factory didn’t stretch much further, week to week, than a small amount of meat and cheese, bread, and the odd fruit and vegetables. Stew made from leftovers rounded out almost all of their meals, although sometimes it was little more than broth. Tonight especially, he was sure, the stew would have to be stretched to its limit, between the extra mouth to feed and the money his mother had given to Mary Denise.
“She probably won’t be long,” Liam said. “All the shops are nearby.” He wondered if Miles had any idea what a meager meal he had in store.
“So yer Ma says yeh like baseball,” Miles said after an awkward moment. “Didja hear about the game t’day?” Liam shook his head.
“I had to go to school,” he reminded Miles. Liam studied the Irishman again. He was gaunt and pale, like his mother, but Miles’ clothes were clean and un-patched. Liam finally identified the strange smell in the room as Miles’ shoe polish. “You don’t work at the rope factory, do you?” Liam asked. Miles laughed.
“No,” Miles said. “A fine sight I’d be, makin’ rope. I work in a furniture store, up in Liberties, where I live. A friend a’ my brother’s owns the place, and he gave us jobs when an Irishman couldn’t find honest work, so.”
“Why do you play the piano in a pub around here, then?” Liam asked. “Here it’s all people who make the stoves and the ropes.”
“Mitch doesn’t pay too well, that’s true,” Miles told him. “Sure, I wasn’t looking for a regular job down here in the Tenderloin, either,” he added. “But after I met yer ma, I couldn’t stop coming, could I?” Liam shook his head reluctantly. “Right so. And yer ma loves my music. Ya ougter let me take a try on that old upright fer ya. Yer ma tells me every time how my playin’ sweeps her away.”
Liam sat up straight as the familiar words came out of this stranger’s mouth. A strange thought occurred to him. “You seem awfully proud of yourself,” Liam said, and he didn’t even hear what Miles said in reply. “Where are you from in Ireland?” he asked Miles suddenly.
“Kilkenny,” Miles told him. “Why?” Liam shrugged.
“No reason,” he said. He crossed his arms and stared back down at the table. Had his mother ever told him what county his father was from? His last name, Murphy, could come from anywhere. Half the Irish kids Liam had grown up with were named Murphy, and their families had come from all over the island.
“Right,” Miles said, sounding perplexed. His mouth worked around the shank of his pipe, and the heady scent of his tobacco filled the small apartment. Several minutes later he asked, “So, do ya mind if I play ya a little tune?”
Liam looked at him, trying to sort through everything his mother had actually told him about his father and everything he’d always assumed about him or had decided for himself.
“Why do you want to play are you so interested in playing for me?” Liam asked. Miles smiled.
“I’m a piano-player,” Miles said. “Sure, it’s what I do, an’ I’m good at it, too. How else am I to impress ya?” Liam laughed, but he was happy when his mother came in with her parcels so that he didn’t have to answer.
After dinner, Miles sent had Liam out to the newsstand to buy him some fresh tobacco (“And be sure to get some candy fer yerself,” he’d added with a wink). As Liam climbed back up the four tall flights with the tobacco and his half-eaten chocolate in hand, he heard music behind their apartment door. He opened it to find Miles playing a slow, sad song with Liam’s mother beside him on the piano bench. She smiled at Liam as he stood in the doorway.
“I would swim over the deepest ocean, the deepest ocean, my love to find,” Miles sang and nodded at him. “But the sea is wide and I can’t swim over, and neither have I wings to fly.” His singing voice was rough and deep and, as he finished the song, Liam’s mother joined in with her higher one. “I wish I could meet a handsome boatman, to ferry me over to my love and die.” As the last note died inside the piano, Miles kissed Liam’s mother and stood, grinning at Liam.
“Sure it’s all right, lad,” Miles said. “Yer ma says I can play anytime fer ya. It’s well out of tune, though,” Miles lamented. Liam wasn’t surprised. Liam’s mother used the top of the upright to stack the preserves she made in the summertime, and sometimes Liam did schoolwork on the closed lid because the afternoon light was strongest through the window beside the piano, but it had been ages since he’d even opened the lid to poke absently at the keys.
“Maybe Miles will show you how to play while I make dinner,” Liam’s mother said, heading toward the stove.
“I don’t want to know how to play,” Liam said, although he was careful to keep his voice too low for her to hear. Instead he slouched onto the couch and glared at Miles, who ignored his look.
“I’ll see if I can think of one I know ya would like,” Miles said. “Ah, sure,” he said, and began playing a lively, wordless tune, sending his thin fingers up and down the length of the piano faster than Liam could follow.
“This usually sounds better,” Miles said apologetically, once he saw Liam looking on. “People like to dance to this, ta see if they can keep up.” Liam’s started swinging feet his feet in rhythm to the music, and he watched the way Miles’ entire body seemed embroiled in the music-making. The Irishman half-stood, half-sat at the piano bench, his elbows bending and straightening as he played, his head nodding in time to the music, and his narrowed eyes were somehow always a half second ahead of his hands on the keys. Liam wanted to try to dance like all the people in the pubs must have, and at the same time he didn’t want to move in case it made Miles stop. This must be, Liam thought, exactly how his mother felt when she remembered being ‘swept away’.
When it was done Miles sagged back down on to the bench and briefly closed his eyes.
“Wears me out,” Miles told Liam. “I like to put everythin’ into it. I last longer at dances, when I have a drop or two in me to keep me goin’.” He looked over at the boy, his face glistening with sweat. “Are there any songs you like?” he asked. “Sure I could play ‘em for you.” Liam braced himself, stood up, and put his hands in his pockets
“You’re my father, aren’t you?” Liam asked.
Miles blinked at him.
“What?” he said first, sounding astonished. Then, in a lower voice, he asked, “Ya mean, am I gonna marry yer ma, don’t you? I don’ blame yeh for askin’ it, but that’s a big question, lad. I, I mean, I know I’d like to, if she’ll have me,” he stammered, “but she’s had a hard time of it, yer ma, ain’t she? She’s not likely to rush into nothin’ with me.”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” Liam said. “I figured it out. You can stop pretending now. It’s your piano. Mom found you again,” he said, turning to look for his mother’s support, but she had stepped out to the fire escape to bring in the drying clothes. “Where were you? Where did you go?” Miles gave him a peculiar look.
“I couldn’t be yer dad, Liam,” Miles told him slowly.
“Yes, you are,” Liam said. His eyes had become warm and scratchy without warning, and he knew if he kept talking very long he was going to cry. “Where did you go?” he asked. “Why did you leave?” he finally said, and his voice broke. “Why did you go away?” he sobbed. “Why didn’t you want me?”
Miles stood and backed away from the piano. He puffed hard at his pipe.
“Say something,” Liam said. “Why did you go?” Still, Miles stared down at him and said nothing. Liam dropped back onto the couch and lay with his head on his arms. “Why did you come back?” he asked, his voice muffled. “What do you want? Just go away…” His voice grew softer and softer. He wiped his eyes on his sleeves, and sniffled as he tried to breathe.
After a moment of hesitation, Miles crossed over to Liam’s side of the room. Liam felt him kneel down next to him, and he stiffened when Miles laid a hand on his back.
“I couldn’t be yer dad, Liam,” Miles told him. “Sure, I just met yeh. I just met yer ma a few weeks ago,” he said, shaking his head. “I ain’t yer dad,” he said again, insistently. “I’m sorry,” he added.
“Get off me,” Liam said into the crook of his arm.
“What was that, lad?” Miles asked.
“I said, get off me,” Liam told him loudly, and stood. He stared around him at the tiny apartment. “It’s hot in here, I have to go out,” Liam said. Miles frowned.
“No, yer ma will be done supper soon,” Miles told him. “We’re gonna eat. Jus’ calm down, it’ll all be all right.” Liam ignored him and took his coat down from the peg.
“What’s going on?” Liam turned and saw his mother standing near the window with her arm draped in skirts and one of Liam’s shirts, looking from Liam to Miles.
“Ah, we jus’ had a misunderstandin’, that’s all,” Miles said. “Just come back here and set down,” he said to Liam. “It’ll be all right.”
“You’re not my father,” Liam said. “I don’t have to do anything you say.” He left and slammed the door behind him, then ran down the first two stories. He thought Miles might chase him, but the door stayed closed.
Liam made his way down the rest of the stairs and wandered outdoors for a while. The sun was out and warm, but the wind was bracing and felt good on Liam’s flushed face. He had no destination in mind, but he knew that anywhere where Miles was not would work well for him. He was only dimly aware of where he was until he stopped in front of Mitch’s tavern. He wondered if he’d find Mary Denise inside. He stood uncertainly in the wind for a few minutes, then stamped his feet against the growing cold and decided to go in.
Liam cautiously opened the back door into the ladies’ section at the pub. He knew he’d get in trouble if he tried going to the main bar, so he’d decided to take his chances from the back. It was still early in the afternoon, so there were only a few people there. Two old women, both dressed completely in black, held court in what must have been their customary corner, overlooking the entire room. A few young mothers were at the bar, toddlers in their arms and shopping bags at their feet. They glanced at Liam as he came in unescorted, then turned back to their drinks.
He sat at the bar and waited for a few minutes for Mitch to come in and check up on the women.
“What’re you doing here?” Mitch asked when he arrived. “Kids don’t drink in my place.”
“I don’t want a drink,” Liam told him. In a lower voice, he said, “I want to see Mary Denise.” The barman gave him a strange look.
“I have to ask her something,” Liam said, ignoring his reaction. Mitch sighed.
“She’s up at the bar,” he told the boy, and pointed with his rag out toward the main room. “If she tells me you’re bothering her, I’ll run you out.”
“Thanks,” Liam said. He looked out at the bar, and saw Mary Denise sitting alone at the far end. She was wearing the same clothes he’d seen her in the night they’d met. She’d laid her arms across the bar, putting all her weight into her elbows, so that she sat hunched and far away from him. She tensed at the sound of the stool grating on the stone floor as he moved one close and sat next to her. She glanced at him, then looked back down into her drink. Before she turned away, though, he saw a deep bruise on her face near her right eye.
“You’re Lily’s kid from the other night,” Mary Denise said softly. “Do ya live here now?” He decided not to say anything about her eye, and smiled at her.
“I thought maybe I could talk to you,” Liam said. She sighed.
“Aw, kid, why?” asked Mary Denise. “What have ya got to say to me?”
“You shouldn’t call me kid,” Liam told her. “You’re not that much older than me.”
“I’m sixteen,” Mary Denise said. “Old enough.” She looked at him again, briefly. “Too old for ya,” she told him pointedly. He thrust his hands into his pockets. She’d made him feel dumb and little again. “Does yer mother know you’re here?” she asked.
“No,” Liam said sullenly. “She’s too busy cooking for Miles,” he added bitterly. Mary Denise laughed.
“What are ya, jealous?” Mary Denise asked. “What’s yer problem?”
“I don’t like him!” Liam said. “And I don’t trust him.” She looked up at that.
“Does he beat her?” Mary Denise asked.
“No,” Liam said. “I’d never let him.” Mary Denise laughed without any humor, and took a drink.
“Sure ya wouldn’t,” Mary Denise said. “Big tough kid like ya, you’d put a stop to it real fast.” She was quiet a moment. “What about ya, does he hit ya? Or does he take her money?” Liam shook his head to each. “Does he lie?”
“I don’t think so,” Liam said.
“Then shut up,” Mary Denise growled. “He’s got money, he don’t hurt her, and I’ve seen him make her laugh. Plus he don’t mind being with a woman who has somebody else’s kid. That’s rare,” she said.
“He wants to marry her,” Liam blurted out. “I don’t want him to.”
Mary Denise drained her glass.
“Kid, it sounds to me like yer ma’s got it hit on all sixes,” she said.
“But he’s not my father,” Liam told her. “She still loves him. I know she does. He’s going to come back sometime and come looking for us. How can she get married to Miles when he’s out there somewhere?”
This time Mary Denise really looked at him, and Liam saw her clenched jaw relax a little.
“How old are ya?” Mary Denise asked.
“Eleven,” Liam said. “Twelve in January,” he added.
“Twelve in January,” Mary Denise repeated. “And did ya ever meet your father?” Liam shook his head. “Nearly twelve years, and you’ve never even seen the bastard,” she said. “God, do ya really want your dad back?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Miles ain’t a bad man,” she told him. “I know for a fact he ain’t. Yer mom could have it a lot worse.” Mary Denise pushed her glass away. “And that’s all I have to say to ya,” she said. “I’ve got places to go, and ya ought to be getting home. Go back and think about why a man who’s here beats a man who ain’t anymore.”
She led him to the door and surprised him by walking home with him as far as their two ways overlapped.
When he got back to the apartment this time, Liam stood quietly outside the door and listened for a while. Miles was playing and singing again, although this time it was a louder, more boisterous tune. “I’m drunk today and I’m seldom sober,” Liam could hear Miles’ laughing voice sing through the thin door, “a handsome rover from town to town.” He could hear his mother laughing too, and he realized Miles must have struck up the tune to keep her from worrying too much about him. Even with the old piano so out of tune, Liam thought, the song didn’t sound half-bad.
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