8:185) Hope O`Keeffe 28-APR-98 11:10

On Saturday, there is a yard sale next door to my sister's house. John McLaughlin is moving into a nursing home, and his life is on the sidewalk. I buy a bedroom set -- two dressers and a bed -- and an extra bureau, and split a dining room set with my sister. I take the table and chairs, she takes the hutch and credenza. We write checks to her neighbor Benny on the other side, a lawyer who's always seemed tough and cynical before. Today he is near tears, talking about Mr. McLaughlin. He saved a secretary, just in case Mr. McLaughlin recovers enough to move to assisted living.

My grandfather (Dad, who haunts 41 Addington, not Grandfather, who sits and smokes cigars in an empty chair) was John McLaughlin too, dead thirty years next month. I remember introducing Ruth's neighbor to my grandmother: John McLaughlin, this is Mrs. John McLaughlin. They both cackled.

How much for the dining set?, we ask Benny.

I dunno. A guy told me it was worth as much as $800. I was hoping for five.

Done. We'll pay six.

I like writing checks to John McLaughlin. The bed is too small, the table and chairs not my taste. And I don't have either the space in my construction-zone-house or the money. But it feels right.