could see now that she was pregnant, her stomach starting to pop out, leading
her like a divining rod.
He watched tourists mill in and out of his old bar, women in broad-brimmed hats and too much makeup and their toupeed husbands
with diamond cufflinks glittering; he could almost see the clouds of perfume and cologne punctuating the air. These were people
who never would have stepped foot in War Bar, and here they were surrounding it, squeezing the last bit of life out of its
memory.
Jimi scooched forward in the seat, his hands grabbing Belly’s headrest.
“Stevie Ray’s getting confirmed on Sunday,” Jimi said.
“That right?”
The oldest boy looked at his hands.
“I thought they did it older.”
“They let you do it whenever you want to,” said Jimi.
“Who’s your patron saint?” Belly asked his oldest grandson.
The boy didn’t answer.
“Do you talk?”
“He talks when he feels like it,” said Jimi.
“Now tell me your ages again. I haven’t seen you boys since you were this big.” He pinched his thumb and forefinger together.
“You can’t see a baby when it’s that big,” said Stevie Ray. “Except on the ultrasound.”
“Thirteen, eight, and eleven months,” Jimi informed him. “I’m the eight.”
Nora came back with a large coffee. “Sure you don’t want some?” she asked. “It’s decaf.”
He raised one eyebrow at her. “Are you trying to make this hard?”
“It’s just a latte,” she said, but she was smiling, as if she’d won something.
She started the car and lifted another unlit cigarette, and he leaned over and eased it out of her hands, and he thought how
they were old enough now to share all their bad habits.
“Belly,” Nora said, and he said, “What?” and she said, “Can you hand me another cigarette if you’re going to keep that one
yourself?”
He handed her one, and they continued down Broadway. “What happened to that old building by the Y? It’s got stars on it.”
“It’s the Jewish Community Center. They restored it. That’s how it looked once upon a time and that’s how it looks again.”
“They don’t have Christmas,” said Jimi in the back.
“That’s right, honey, they’re different than us.”
“I didn’t know we had so many they’d need a whole center,” said Belly.
“There are more now,” Nora said, taking a long drag of her cigarette and ducking her head out the window to exhale. “One’s
the mayor now.”
“Don’t tell me it’s a Democrat.”
Nora nodded.
“Jesus, you’re gone five minutes and the whole place goes to pot.” He let this information sink in, tried to smooth out all
its wrinkly meanings. He had nothing against the Democrats, not in theory, but without a Republican administration, all of
Belly’s plans would change. Those were his friends in office, or if not his friends, then his contacts, the people who owed
him. How would he collect now? Who would see to it that he was repaid? There hadn’t been a Democratic administration since
before Belly was born. He wasn’t even sure he knew any.
“They’re all gone now,” Nora said, looking at him sideways.
“Did they call you? Any of them?” He turned and looked at his grandsons, but their eyes were glazed over in the heat and they
were glaring out the window. “Did they say anything to you about me coming back?”
Nora shook her head. “If you mean Loretta, no, I haven’t heard from her. Or anybody. They’ve left us alone and that’s just
how I want it. That was your business, not mine.”
He nodded, he bounced his head up and down, but he couldn’t shake this new information into submission.
They kept driving, past where their favorite fast-food restaurant, the Red Barn, used to be, now some big chain bookstore,
and the art supply store where his youngest daughter, Eliza, still worked, as far as he knew, past his old haunt Jatski’s
Diner and the big town clock that never, until now, kept good