But it’s his living presence I’ve missed the most since your mother’s left. And no amount of talking to him in my head can take the place of being able to see the man, to touch the skin and bone of him, to hear him sup a pint in Hartigan’s. What I wouldn’t give for just one hour of his company. No need for much conversation at all. Our elbows on the counter. A bottle of stout each in front of us. Half empty glasses.
Sadie replaced Tony in his heart. Wait, then she “left”? Left Maurice for another? Or passed away?
Also, the toast to Tony was over a stout. Tie in here.
