“I’m sorry. I’ve almost got it licked though. I’m never touching another drop. Going on the wagon. I’m quitting. That was it last night, I promise. I’m done,” he said.
Paulie and Will were friends because they were almost the same age and lived next door to each other but Will spent more time with his brothers, John and Stevie, than the neighbors. Will and Paulie kind of looked alike, though, and when they walked around town people thought they were brothers, or “Irish twins,” as Mr. Carey at Carey’s market said.
Amelia clearly came from a family with a soul, which went a long way to explaining her qualities, abundant and estimable as they were. The Shuter St. building was called “Amelia’s Place.”
At the front desk I asked the concierge if she had seen Amelia. The concierge furrowed her brow and narrowed her eyes. “Amelia? Amelia? I don’t recall anyone named Amelia.” The concierge must have been new, to not know Amelia, although I could have sworn she was an old hand. “What’s the full name?”
On my way, I thought I heard them talking about me. As I neared the table they stopped talking. Zoey looked guilty. Zoey always looked guilty. When I sat down they stared at me with – oh, I don’t know – sorrow, pity: something like that. In response I opened my hands palms up, and said, “What?” as I looked from one to the other.