Page 63 of Whale Harbor

“Your brother had sudden cardiac failure.” He paused a moment for them to take that in. “I suspect he had a condition called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.”

“He was fine,” Fearghal said. “He was only out with his friends.”

The doctor frowned and seemed to be weighing what to say. “It’s a shock. I know it is. He wouldn’t have known about it. There are very few symptoms.”

When no one said anything he continued. “There are very few symptoms so he would have just carried on as he normally did. He was a relatively young man. What did he do for work?”

“Construction,” Barry said. “A laborer.”

The doctor made a note.

“And how about his social habits?”

They all looked at him blankly.

“Did he smoke?”

“Ah,” Mac said, and all of them nodded.

“Did he drink alcohol?”

“Did he drink alcohol?” Sean repeated, as if he hadn’t understood the question. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“If he had the condition I think he did, alcohol would exacerbate the problem.”

“He had a drink now and again,” Sean said. “Like anyone.”

“We’d like to find out the cause for certain if you give your permission. Some cases of HCM are mild, some more severe, but if a full postmortem exam confirms he did have it, then you should all get checked as soon as possible. Were there any other close relatives who died unexpectedly at a young age? Say, younger than fifty?”

Sean coughed and turned away. Barry’s face was a grimace.

“Yes,” Mac said. “Our mother.”

“And that was in the UK?”

“No. It was in Ireland,” Mac said. “Nineteen sixty-three. She died at home. She hadn’t been sick or anything.”

“And she certainly didn’t drink alcohol,” Sean said. The doctor looked apologetic. Sean signed a form and eventually the doctor left them.

“What a thing to ask,” Sean said, furious.

No one answered and a nurse quietly invited them to follow her. The room was silent and cold.

“Eamon,” Seamus said, bending close to his brother’s face. His tone was conspiratorial, as if they might be in on something together. “Eamon,” Seamus said again, and the rest of them couldn’t help it, they looked and waited for Eamon to yawn, sit up, say hello. Where did people go?

“I’LL CALL CATHAL,” MAC SAID after. “I’ll do it when I get home.” Cathal had recently had a phone installed. He was seventy-seven and seemed as sharp as ever but this would be a shock. It didn’t feel right that the brothers should part ways yet, so they stood outside the hospital in the rain for a while. Mac turned to Seamus and Noel and asked if they wanted to come home with him. He couldn’t imagine them going back to the apartment with only each other for company.

Vincent coughed. “Would it be all right if—”

“And you, Vincent. Of course you’ll come, too.”

In the most surprising turn, Vincent and Eamon had gotten close over the years. Eamon was the only one of them who’d ever seen where Vincent worked, met some of his coworkers, who he described as a little stiff but decent enough people, and when Vincent got free tickets for something through his office, he often asked Eamon. It was usually Knicks tickets, but once, when his girlfriend couldn’t come to the ballet with him, Vincent called the apartment almost as a joke to see if anyone wanted to go. They were supposedly very good, very expensive seats and why waste them? The others said no thank you but Eamon said what the hell, why not see what it was all about? After, he raved about it, said ballet dancers were the greatest athletes on earth. They hung in the air somehow and split themselves in two. The training that must take. Unreal.

Mac thought of his car. Would they all fit?

“I’ll run him over to your house,” Barry said.

“All of you come,” Mac said. “Even just for an hour. All of you come. Call Regina and Marie and everyone when you get there. Tell them all to come.”