Joseph M. Walsh

“May I be frank?” “Yeah, yeah, be frank.” “Joseph, may I be frank?” “Be whoever the fuck you want, doc. I’m not your keeper,” I mumbled, enjoying the feel of Molloy’s fingers in my hair so much, I leaned in closer and rested my chin on her shoulder. “You be Frank and I’ll be Joey.””

“Yeah, yeah, be frank.” “Joseph, may I be frank?” “Be whoever the fuck you want, Doc. I’m not your keeper,” I mumbled, enjoying the feel of Molloy’s fingers in my hair so much, I leaned in closer and rested my chin on her shoulder. “You be Frank and I’ll be Joey.” “No, Joe, he meant… Never mind. Go ahead, Doctor.” “In cases like Joseph’s”

“And his first name?” Trish pushed. “Anthony,” Molloy said. “His name is Anthony Joseph Lynch.” Smiling, she added, “AJ for short.” “But I’m Anthony,” Tony squeezed out, turning the color of his daughter’s Opal Corsa. “Yeah, Dad.” Molloy rolled her eyes. “We know.” “You’ve decided to name your son after the man who raised you,” Trish said proudly, giving her daughter a huge smile. “Oh, Aoife, that’s a lovely sentiment.” “Actually, we decided to name our son after the man who raised the both of us,” I confirmed quietly.””