Respect is respect.
But Liam isn’t there.
“Where the hell is my brother?” Terri whispers to Danny as they walk down the aisle, slide into the pew to kneel.
“He’ll come,” Danny says. But he isn’t so sure. Liam’s probably ashamed to show his face, knows that this is partly his fault. And maybe it’s best he don’t, maybe better for Brendan’s family.
The mother, she comes up to Danny on the church steps after the mass, her red face twisted with grief.
“You didn’t see nothin’， Danny Ryan?” she asks. “You didn’t see nothin’？”
Danny don’t know what to say.
She turns away from him, and her daughters lead her to the car for the ride out to the cemetery.
“It’s okay,” Terri says.
“No, it’s not,” Danny answers.
They drive out to Swan Point for the burial.
Stand around the graveside in their black suits and dresses—like crows, Danny thinks—listening to the priest drone on.
Then the bagpipe starts in.
They wake Brendan at the Glocca Morra.
Brendan’s mother is resentful as hell at the Murphys, but not so resentful she don’t let them lay out the spread. What’s she going to do? She don’t have any money, and it’s the least the Murphys could do, after her son took a bullet for theirs.
So there’s a spread laid out, open bar, of course, and people stand around trying to think of good things to say about Brendan until the liquor kicks in, and the food, and it winds down into just another party.
Then Liam walks in.
With Pam.
Classic in-your-face, fuck-the-world, I-do-what-I-want Liam Murphy.
“You believe this?” Jimmy Mac asks.
“He’s a pisser,” Danny says.
Cassie, she’s wryly amused. Watches this scene unfold and says, “Oh, this is going to be good.”
The whole place gets quiet as Liam leads Pam to a table, holds out a chair for her and then sits down. He looks like he’s getting off on the drama, but Pam doesn’t—she looks damned uncomfortable. As well she should, Danny thinks, with Brendan Handrigan just laid into the ground.
Up at the bar, Sheila Murphy’s jaw gapes like it’s broken, then she swivels on her stool and turns her back.
Pam visibly flinches. Leans over and whispers something to Liam, who shakes his head, then gets up and walks over to the bar to order. Stands right next to Pat and Sheila.
“Pat, Sheila,” he says. But his eyes are like, You got anything to say? He orders a Walker Black for himself and a glass of white wine for Pam, waits while Bobby the bartender pours the drinks and then he walks back to his table with this fuck-you smile on his face. He sets the glass of wine in front of Pam, sits back down, and then looks around the room to see if anyone wants to challenge him.
No one does.
Which, Danny knows, isn’t going to work for Liam.
So Liam stands up, taps on his glass for attention, and announces, “I just want everyone here to know that Pam and I went to Las Vegas and got married. So, everyone—raise a glass to Mr. and Mrs. Liam Murphy.”
“Jesus,” Danny murmurs.
“Amazing,” says Cassie.
Terri shakes her head.
Bobby walks out from behind the bar and scoots into the back room.
“Now the shit’s going to hit,” Jimmy Mac observes.
“Truly.”
The door to the back room opens and John Murphy comes out, Pat right behind him.
“Showtime,” Cassie says.
Danny’s waiting for Murphy to ask his son to step into the back for a private word, and then for Liam to come back and take Pam out of there, but that’s not what happens. What happens is Murphy leans over, kisses Pam on the cheek, and says, “Welcome to the family.”
“Jesus shit,” Cassie says.
Pat comes over and sits next to Danny.
“Pat, what the hell?” Danny asks.
Pat shrugs.
Old Man Murphy reaches over and takes Pam’s hand.
“This is going to end badly,” Cassie says.
Danny thinks it’s one of her cynical jokes but then turns and sees that her eyes aren’t laughing, they’re serious.
Serious and sad.
Like she sees something the rest of them don’t.
Eleven
Pam Murphy （née Davies） never thought she’d honeymoon in a run-down house in the country. Then again, she never thought she’d marry an Irish guy from Providence, Rhode Island.
Greenwich, Connecticut, is only 150 miles from Providence, but it might as well be on the other side of the world. A leafy, old-money, high-WASP bedroom community of New York, Greenwich couldn’t be more different from blue-collar, Irish-Italian Providence, and Pam couldn’t have had an upbringing more different from her husband Liam Murphy’s.