Page 95 of The Photograph

“How long for?”

“A couple of years at least. To set up an office there.”

Lorna’s eyes widen. “God, that sounds amazing! You lucky son of a bitch. I’d love to be in a company with opportunities like that. I mean we’ll miss you, but wow, big brother.”

“Well, we’ll need lots of legal assistance, so I can push work your way.”

She pats my hand. “So like my lovely Dessy, always looking after his sisters. I’d give my right arm to escape this place.”

“What, Manhattan?”

“Yeah.”

“Really? Why?”

“New York is relentless. People are self-interested. The litigation I deal with …” She shakes her head. “I haven’t met a single kind person working downtown.”

Her thoughts mirror my own from when I first returned from Korea so vividly that it’s almost painful.

I run a hand through my hair. “I don’t know, Lorna, before things started to go south with Alex, I wouldn’t have even considered it, but …”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “You can’t turn it down!”

“Why not?”

“People like us are never given these kinds of breaks. We’re poor, working-class Irish immigrants. The prejudice, the lack of connections. And if you add into that discrimination against gay people … opportunities to step up to the next level are as rare as hen’s teeth. Think of all the experience you’d gain, the doors it could open for you. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t do this.”

“We’re not poor Irish immigrants, Lorna. Our grandparents might have been, but …”

“Dad walked out and Mom was a single parent juggling two, sometimes three, jobs. We grew up in the Bronx with creeps on every corner. You know how shit that was. You looked after us, and we all worked our asses off as soon as we were old enough. But we were on welfare.”

“Yeah, well …”

“Notyeah well, Des. It’s important. I’m clawing my way up and so are you. You can’t turn this down.”

Damn it. Why did I agree to meet her for coffee again?

38

ALEX

It’s late when I push through the front door the evening of the day after I went to see Des. Everyone is breathing down our necks at work. The analysts got a shouty email this morning about our financial modeling, and we all had to provide a written justification for how we look at companies by the end of the day.

Mom is bustling around in an apron over a silky red dress and wearing a lot of makeup. I eye her smooth cheeks and tight red mouth then peer into the oven. A sizzling brisket is sitting in her special sauce, keeping warm. Yum.

Sharp eyes track down my suit. “Are you getting changed before we eat?”

“I can.”

“Put something nice on.”

“Something nice?”

“Not jeans. The Silvermans are coming over.”

Oh God.Mr. Silverman is a work colleague of Dad’s. Will dinner be better or worse if someone is here? I guess it might take the heat off all of us for a while. I inwardly sigh. Why am I even here, attempting to help my sisters, trying to make amends? The whole thing is making my shoulders droop. I missmy relaxed nights at Des’s. Unbuttoning my shirt collar, I head for the stairs.

“They’re bringing their children,” Mom shouts after me.

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