Jack leaned against the back of the sofa, his gut hanging out of his suspenders. “First off, Cat and I are so grateful for how you took care of Mary.”

“Uh-huh.” Pat set the table. Mary was Anne’s mother, who lived with them for her last year. He was half-listening and trying to figure out if he could have another . . . “Anne, should we have wine with this dinner or something?”

“I think we’re okay,” she yelled back from the kitchen. “Does Jack want wine? I’m not sure we have any.”

“I’m fine. Listen, Pat . . .”

Dan came out of the bathroom and plopped in a chair at the dining room table.

“You okay, buddy?” Pat asked.

“I’ll live.”

“Sorry about that. This table is a pain in the—”

“So here’s the thing, Pat. She had about ten thousand dollars. Half of that went to the doctors and the funeral. And the other half she wanted donated to the Church.”

“That’s right.”

“Have you given that money to Tolentine?”

“You have to ask Anne. I don’t think so. I don’t know.”

“Well it would be a big help to us if Cat and I got that half for John’s and Ryan’s college.”

Pretending not to hear, Pat looked at Jack. “I’m going to open some wine. It’s been a rough day.”

“If you could help me talk to Annie about this.”

“You can talk to Anne all you want, Jack. But it’s not her mother’s wishes.”

“Half that money should be coming to us, Pat. You know that’s fair.”

“Half after we paid for everything, right? So half of what’s left?”

“We helped her with the rent at University Avenue.”

“That’s the first I’m hearing about that.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“Dinner’s ready.” Anne walked into the dining room and set down a tray of half-charred chicken smeared Indian red with barbecue sauce. She disappeared back into the kitchen for the sides.

Pat sat at the head of the table. The sight of the chicken brought on a new wave of weariness. “So how much do you want? What’s the get here?”

Jack realized he had kicked a hornet’s nest and backed off. “C’mon, Pat, this is not some king’s ransom.”

Anne came in with potatoes and coleslaw and sat down. Pat popped up from the table. Ransom sounds about right. “I’m opening wine.”

“We don’t have any.” Anne inspected the chicken for doneness.

“Fine, just need a glass of water then.” Never mind there was already one on the table in front of him. Pat went to the kitchen, hobbled into the pantry, and snuck a big, burning gulp of vodka. He then stumbled back into the dining room, kicked his own chair out to sit back down, and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. Anne, Dan, and Jack pretended not to notice any of this.