Patty DayJANUARY 2, 1985
6:11 P.M.
Patty was still muttering sorrys as Lou Cates hustled her toward the door, and suddenly, she was out on the step, in the freezing air, her eyes blinking rapidly. Between blinks, before she could get her mouth to move, to form any sort of word, the door opened again, and out stepped a man in his fifties. He shut the door behind him, and then there they all were, on the small front porch: Patty, Diane, Libby, and the man, basset-hound bags beneath watery eyes, his graying hair brushed straight back. He ran a hand through the pomade while he assessed Patty, his Irish Claddagh ring flashing.
“Mrs. Patty Day?” His coffee breath lingered in the cold air, vaguely discolored.
“I’m Patty Day. Ben Day’s mother.”
“We came by to find out what’s going on with the
