Small Mercies

by Dennis Lehane

“Mrs. Fennessy, please go home.” “And do what?” “Whatever you do when you’re home.” “And then what?” “Get up the next day and do it again.” She shakes her head. “That’s not living.” “It is if you can find the small blessings.” She smiles, but her eyes shine with agony. “All my small blessings are gone.” “Are you sure?” “Oh, I’m sure.” “Then find new ones.” She shakes her head. “There aren’t any left to find.” Bobby is struck by the notion that something both irretrievably broken and wholly unbreakable lives at the core of this woman. And those two qualities cannot coexist. A broken person can’t be unbreakable. An unbreakable person can’t be broken. And yet here sits Mary Pat Fennessy, broken but unbreakable. The paradox scares the shit out of Bobby. He’s met people over the course of his life who he truly believes existed as the ancient shamans did, with one foot in each world: this one and the one beyond. When you meet these people, it’s best to give them breadth the length of a football field, or else they may suck you right into that next world with them when they go. Because they’re going. Make no mistake. They are fucking going.