we live in interesting times,’ he said. It sounded like the right response. He hoped it was, considering how pretty this woman was.
She smiled, and Byrne realized she was a little older than he had originally thought. He placed her in her mid- to late thirties.
‘We didn’t get to meet properly the other day,’ she said. ‘I’m Faith.’
The other day? How could he not remember this woman?
And it hit him. She was F. CHRISTIAN. She was the female paramedic who had come to the scene at St Adelaide’s. On that day she’d had her hair in a ponytail, had no makeup on, and wore glasses. Not to mention a bulky parka. He had hardly noticed her that day, but that was not unusual, considering the circumstances.
‘Kevin Byrne.’
‘I know,’ she said. They shook hands. ‘Mind if I join you?’
‘Not at all.’ Byrne moved his coat to the stool on his left. Faith slipped onto the stool, and Byrne caught her full profile. She was beyond attractive. She had a ring on her right-hand ring finger in the shape of a cross.
‘Wait a minute,’ Byrne said. ‘Your name is Faith Christian?’
She smiled, rolled her eyes at what had to be the ten-thousandth time she’d heard this. ‘Don’t ask.’
‘See, now I have to know,’ he said.
‘We just met. We’ll probably get to it.’
‘You think?’
‘We’ll see.’
‘In that case, what are you drinking?’ Byrne asked.
She smiled again, gave it a moment’s thought. ‘I think I’ll have an Old Fashioned tonight.’
Margaret, standing a few feet away, topping a Guinness, nodded her head. She’d heard. Margaret heard everything.
‘You know, I’ve never met a woman who ordered an Old Fashioned before,’ Byrne said. ‘It’s so Joan Crawford.’
Faith smiled. ‘You know, it’s odd. I don’t really have a drink.’
‘Then you’re not from Philadelphia, I take it.’
‘No. Not originally.’
‘See, it’s a city ordinance here.’
‘Well, I’ve been working on one since college, but I’m pretty fickle that way. I started watching that show Mad Men, and the main character drinks them. I thought I’d give it a try.’
‘Classy drink.’
‘Yeah, well, I need all the help I can get.’
Hardly, Byrne thought. He glanced over Faith’s shoulder, at the door that led to the stairway and the first floor. A few minutes before Faith showed up Byrne thought he had seen someone standing there, and now he could see he wasn’t mistaken. Whoever it was stood in shadow. Byrne always felt safe at Finnigan’s Wake, but he had long ago acquired the habit of never sitting with his back to the door. Any door.
‘So, how long have you worked as a paramedic?’ Byrne asked.
‘About eight years,’ she said. Margaret delivered the Old Fashioned. Faith sipped, nodded her approval. ‘I can’t believe it’s been that long, but here I am.’
‘Is it something you always wanted to do?’
She ran the swizzle stick around the glass. ‘Not really. I thought about nursing school – I still think about nursing school. But you know how it is. Life intervenes, mortgages happen, car payments are due, your dreams run out of gas.’
Byrne flicked another glance to the doorway. The shadow was still there. Unmistakably a man, on the tall side. Byrne had the feeling they were being watched, and he was rarely wrong about that feeling.
‘What about you?’ Faith asked. ‘Did you always want to be a cop?’
‘Yeah. I don’t remember ever wanting to be anything else.’
‘Not even a fireman?’
‘Please. Especially a fireman.’
The friendly rivalry – and sometimes not so friendly rivalry – between police and firefighters was alive and well in Philly.
‘I know a lot of guys at the 10th Battalion,’ Faith said. ‘I’m telling them you said that.’
‘Bring it on.’
Faith smiled, took another sip. They spent the next twenty minutes talking about the city, their jobs, their favorites. Another round of drinks came and went. They finally got around to the important things.
‘So, do you have any kids?’ Faith asked.
Byrne nodded. ‘One daughter. Colleen. She’s away at college. Somehow.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean about two months ago I was putting together a Big Wheel for her third birthday.’
Byrne went on to tell Faith about Colleen, about what her deafness meant to her, how she had never treated it as a disability, and how that had always been an inspiration to him.
‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Do you have any kids?’
Faith seemed to hesitate before answering, but maybe it was Byrne’s imagination. Or maybe it was the Bushmills. ‘I do,’ she said. ‘I have a son.’
Byrne looked at her for a few moments. When she didn’t add