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“It doesn’t make sense to you. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make sense,”
“It’ll be fun, Malone.” “No it won’t,” Malone shot back, and Ness chuckled, satisfied. “Nah. It probably won’t. But it needs doing. That’s what men like you and me are best at. Doing what needs doing.” He shoved his hat back on his head and buttoned his overcoat. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright from the booze. “Don’t think too hard. You’ll scare yourself. Isn’t that what you used to tell me?” “Yeah.” “It’s good advice.”
“I write their stories—in a few words—and put them in their pockets.” “Why?” “Nobody’s going to say words at their unmarked graves. These are their eulogies.” “Is that part of the job?” “No. And Mr. Raus—and the men who come to retrieve them for burial—probably think I’m mad. I don’t know if they toss the papers I tuck inside their clothes. But it makes me feel better. I keep good records so that someday . . . if someone comes looking, they can be found.”
Someone has to do it. If not me, who?” If you don’t do it, who will? “Nobody cares about those people . . . or their stories,” she added.
Something had shifted in him. He’d given dignity to those who had nothing. He’d hated every minute of it, but he’d liked it too. He liked the way he’d felt watching Dani attend to those who had, most likely, rarely been cared for. Those who could never thank her for the service rendered. He had liked helping her.
“I don’t believe it,” Zuzana snapped. “Your belief is not required for something to be true,” Malone said.
“I didn’t feel anything. I still don’t.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and met her gaze with resignation. He was not deserving of sympathy nor did he particularly need it. “When a lake freezes over, it doesn’t freeze all the way to the bottom,” Dani said. “What?” “It just freezes on the surface. The ice can be really thick . . . but there’s always water moving below it. You feel something. It’s just below the ice,” she said softly.
He sighed. “Your heart is too soft for this, Dani Flanagan.” “Hmm. Maybe so. But perhaps your heart is too hard.” She smiled a little to take the sting out of her words. “The truth is, the harder we are, the easier we shatter. It takes some softness to absorb life’s blows.”
In many ways, she was the most remarkably untangled human being he’d ever encountered. Complex but not complicated. Deep but not dark. It was as if she stood with her arms wide open and said, Here I am, and the world nodded and said, Yes, you are, and gave her a wide berth, not out of fear, but out of reverence. To not believe in her would be like not believing in the sun. The sun simply was—it shined, it set, it rose, it waned—and it had no need to please or persuade. That was Dani.
“Humans are complex creatures. We want to belong, but we can’t stand to be the same. How in the world do you force equity on humankind, when we try at every turn to differentiate ourselves from each other?
“We’re hardest on our heroes, aren’t we?” she said. “Eliot never took a bribe, and that made him a legend. He set an impossible standard for himself and made every other politician look bad in the process. They haven’t forgiven him for that.” “It’s the reason people secretly adore villains. Villains make them feel better about themselves. It’s why the Butcher never gets caught,” she mused.
“I never took his money. You know that, right?” “Whose money, Eliot?” “Capone’s. Sometimes he’d have one of his guys leave a thousand dollars on my desk. And I didn’t have any trouble turning it down. Because that . . . that shit was obvious. Right and wrong. Black and white. They mighta got me if they’d been a little more subtle about it.” “More shades of gray?” “Yeah. The thing is . . . I don’t know any man who has chosen the right who didn’t think it was worth it in the end. And I don’t know any man who has sold his soul who thought he got the better deal.” “Eliot . . . what do you need to
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He demanded to be let out of the room, yelled about his civil rights, threatened Eliot with public crucifixion, and yet seemed almost flattered by his circumstance, as though he was living out a fantasy. His fixation with Eliot was obvious.
And she’s still good. I don’t know how she stays that way. I sure as hell couldn’t do it.” “But you did. That’s exactly what you did. What you still do. That’s why you’re locked down so tight. You’re protecting the good,” Ness said softly. Kindly.
What a mess. He wasn’t surprised. He always expected the worst. He planned for it. For that reason, he was always the most capable guy in the room and the most unassuming. He did not look on the bright side, because in his experience, there wasn’t one. You could always make the best of things, but most of the time, that wasn’t saying much. He was actually comforted by bad news, because he could go about making things better. When he got good news, all he could do was wait for the tides to turn.
I’m in love with you. So you aren’t just . . . my friend.” And he was a bastard for admitting it. Love confessed and then denied was not a gift.
“You say you know me, and I’m not sure you do. But I do know you,” Dani insisted, her voice shaking. “I know every line of your face and wish in your heart. I know you. And you will go, and you will never come back. You will convince yourself that I am foolish and that you are undeserving. You will continue in the way you have done, and you will die alone. We will both die alone.” “Don’t say that, Dani,” he said, aghast.
He’d thought all his grief had gone. He’d thought it had moved on. And suddenly . . . it was back. Maybe grief was always like that. Maybe it kept coming back until you released it.
“They will give it to him,” Zuzana said. “No one wants war. So they will give it to him. And he will just keep taking and taking. You mark my words. You can’t appease tyrants. You have to defeat them.”
“It is the things we most want to put down, the things that are hardest to carry, to endure, that give our lives the most meaning. Sometimes our burdens are taken from us. And sometimes we walk away from them. Sometimes, not having that burden might even feel good. We might feel relief. But it doesn’t take long to realize that the things we call burdens are most often ballast. Our burdens give weight to everything we do. They shed light on all that we are. And the moment we lose them . . . we lose everything.”
She laughed. “Go to her, brother. Go to her, pick her up in your arms. Take on the burden of love. And don’t ever let her go.” “It would not be a burden to love her,” he argued, needing the last word since Molly had let him have so few. “Of course it would. It is a burden to love anyone. And it is a burden to be loved. Stop running from it, my boy.
He wanted to do the right thing, and even though he had his flaws and his selfish ambitions, he was not ruled by them. Maybe that is what makes heroes of regular men and what makes regular men (and women) heroes.
