“Set me up again,” he said as he went to the bar. He didn’t waver or stumble. Not yet. There’d be plenty of time for that later.
“Ah, one’s enough,” Jackie said, “wouldn’t you say now?”
“No, I wouldn’t say. I’ll have another, please.”
Jackie looked over at me for help. I didn’t know what else to do except give him a shrug. Hell, Vinnie was a thirty-whatever-year-old man and he’d just lost his mother. Now he wanted to have another drink. He wasn’t an alcoholic. He had no history with the stuff whatsoever, not that I knew of. What were we supposed to say?
Maybe this is exactly what you need, I thought. Press the Reset button on your life. Get out of your own head. You’ll feel like death tomorrow morning, but for tonight, I mean, why the hell not?
He came back to his chair with another glass of scotch. There were ice cubes in it this time. Blasphemy for a true Scot, but I guess Jackie was doing whatever he could to help him keep it slow and easy.
Vinnie tilted the glass back and drained it.
“All right, come on,” I said. “If you’re gonna drink, do it right. You don’t shotgun that stuff.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I’ll try to do better with the next one.”
“Seriously, why don’t you take a break for a minute, okay?”
He stood up, and this time I saw a little wobble in his step.
“Don’t even ask me,” Jackie said. “You don’t even drink, Vinnie. You’re just gonna make yourself sick.”
“If I can’t drink here,” Vinnie said, “I’ll go somewhere else.”
“Look, I know I’m not your father, but-”
“No, you’re not,” Vinnie said, reaching into his back pocket. “Here’s my father right here.”
He threw a photograph onto the bar. Jackie picked it up. I got up from my chair and went around to look over his shoulder. The photograph was half folded from being in Vinnie’s pocket, but the faces were unmistakable. One was a younger, thinner version of Vinnie’s mother. The other was… Well, it was Vinnie. That’s the only way to say it. At least at first glance, with the man himself standing right next to you while you looked at the picture, even with the washed-out color from the seventies, you’d have to believe that this was the same man, like somehow he had not aged at all since this photograph had been taken.
“My God,” Jackie said. “You’re the spitting image.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Vinnie said. “That’s great to hear.”
“This can’t be a big surprise,” I said. “I mean, you knew you looked like him, right?”
I thought back to the day of the funeral, standing next to Vinnie on the shore of Waishkey Bay, what he told me about his mother’s last days, how she had looked up at him and in the haze of her painkillers had mistaken him for her long-lost husband. Now that I was seeing this picture, it was a lot easier to believe.
“I found this picture in my mother’s house,” Vinnie said. “When I was cleaning out some drawers. She didn’t exactly have his portrait hanging over the mantel. Not after he ran out on us.”
“I understand,” I said, “but you must have seen pictures like this before.”
“I did. Not for a long time, but yeah. Once in a while. I don’t know, there’s just something about this picture, though. This picture I’ve never seen before.”
I looked back at the two faces. They were standing outside in the sunlight, the mother in a plain dress, the father in jeans and a white shirt. That dark hair tied up behind him, the way Vinnie does it. An automobile behind them, some big hunk of American metal from the seventies. They were blocking the grille, but I would have guessed a Chevy Impala. It didn’t look new, but it was probably new to them and they were standing there on the reservation in front of the car and looking proud and happy. There was no hint on either person’s face that he’d soon be gone and she’d be left to raise four kids on her own.
“He’s a good-looking man,” Jackie said. There was a soft tone in his voice, something we hardly ever heard. “They look like a nice couple here.”
Vinnie took the photograph back and looked at it. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. Then he put the photograph back in his pocket.
“I need that drink now, Jackie.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” I said. “Let’s go up the road. I finished up the work on the cabin and you need to see it.”
He stood there, not saying anything.
“I’ve got a bottle,” I said. “We’ll pick it up on the way. I’ll show you the cabin and then we’ll have another drink.”
He thought it over for another moment. Then he nodded his head and followed me to the door.
“Good night, guys,” Jackie said. “Vinnie, I hope you feel better.”
Vinnie put up one hand without turning around. Then we were outside, in the warm night. He climbed into the passenger’s seat of my truck and we were off.
“It was too hot today,” he said, laying his head back against the seat. “This place is not supposed to get hot. Ever.”
I nodded and drove. The town was empty. I turned and went down our road. We whipped through the trees and kicked up gravel. We passed his cabin, then mine. I saw lights on in my second cabin. The third, fourth, and fifth were dark. As was the sixth, but I knew it was empty. I pulled up in front and turned off the ignition.
“Let’s see this paint job,” he said, getting out of the truck. But when he went inside he sat down at the table and seemed to forget all about checking out my painting or anything else about the place. He took the photograph from his back pocket and put it on the table. I sat down across from him and looked at the two smiling young faces again.
“You said you had a bottle.”
“Sorry, I forgot. I should have stopped at my cabin.”
“What are you doing, Alex? You guys don’t have to treat me like a child.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I apologize. We’ll go get the bottle. Just tell me why this picture bothers you so much.”
“Look at him.”
“I know. I get it. You look like him. But he is your father. It’s not so surprising.”
“I’m the only one who really remembers him. My sisters were like, what, three and four years old. Tommy was only a baby. No, I was the only one who could go out and try to throw a ball to him, or…”
He stopped.
“What?” I said.
“I’m supposed to be thinking about my mother this week. She’s the one who raised us. She did everything. Now she’s gone and I can’t stop thinking about my father, and all the things he didn’t do.”
“You’re thinking about them both. It’s natural.”
“You should have heard her, lying there in that bed, the last time I saw her. Thinking I was him. Calling his name like she was so glad to see him, like he finally came back after all these years.”
“You know the mind does some funny things at a time like that. Maybe, I don’t know, maybe that wasn’t even so bad. Maybe it was a good feeling for her to have.”
“I wish it was me she was saying goodbye to,” he said, looking down at his lap. “Not him.”
“She was,” I said. “Come on. You know she was saying goodbye to all of you.”
“He doesn’t deserve to be remembered.”
This is getting a little heavy, I thought. I could actually use that drink myself right now. But at least he’s talking. That has to be good.
“Tell me again,” I said. “Just one more time. So maybe you can leave it right here in this room.”
“He left. Just gone. Never saw him again.”
“He’s in prison?”
“Yes. Rotting away in a cell on the other side of the country. He might as well be dead. I kinda wish he was.”
“Did you ever try to contact him? Try to find out why he left?”