The Friday Afternoon Club: A Family Memoir

by Griffin Dunne

“That’s all I ask, Cathy. Just think whether you really want a guy who calls himself John Maura in your life. Think about how he took my sister’s life. Think about what he did to Lillian Pierce. Thank you so much for listening to me. I know it wasn’t easy.” Cathy’s father called a day later to say she’d broken it off with John Sweeney Maura, and thanked us both for our help. “It was Griffin who did it,” Dad said. “Your daughter might not have listened to me.” Yes, it was me. I did that. And if given the information, I’d track down every woman Sweeney ever had so much as a conversation with. But by the late eighties, I stopped keeping track of Sweeney, or his girlfriends, or where he worked to get him fired. Lugging around all that hate had become debilitating, and to my surprise, over time, it kind of burned out on its own. My body wanted to self-heal before I did and detected my hate as a cancer that would eventually kill me unless my own cells rebelled against it. People far more enlightened than I am say that forgiveness is a choice that frees us from the bondage of hate, and that to forgive is the purest form of love. I choose not to forgive or forget, and as long as I’m no longer bound by hate, I’m happy with the quality of love I have for my family and friends, even if it falls short of its purest form. I wish only the worst for Sweeney but am most content that he rarely crosses my mind or intrudes on the memories I cherish of Dominique. I can let go of the hate, but...