—9—

IF YOU don’t mind, I think I’ll keep this poor man as me husband. Wasn’t he wonderful out there on the bridge? What terrible things might have happened to me if he weren’t so strong and so quick?

Isn’t he quick, thought In a few seconds them fellas were routed and I was safe in his arms. They never thought he was so quick, did they? The next time they try to kidnap me, they’d better send three fellas to hold him down, and won’t that not be enough?

He really doesn’t like fighting though he’s terrible good at it, isn’t he? When we got rid of all them gobshites—pardon me language, but that’s what they were—I thought he was going to collapse on me. He’s fine now, but he’ll ache all over tomorrow morning and himself having to write that report for me.

I love him so much. I really do. Lying here in bed with him in me arms and meself all naked, I know I’m the happiest woman in all the world.

And just maybe the best protected, too.

I won’t ever let go of him. Never. Do You hear that?

Well, as long as it’s all right that I hang on to him. If You want to take one of us home first, I’II go—though You’ll have to find someone to take care of him. Someone to order those double shots when he needs them.

Without the ice.

If only I were the kind of wife he deserves.

Maybe me ma is right. Maybe that will all work itself out. Maybe I’m too obsessive. Maybe I want to control everything, even the things you can’t control.

We Irish women have that temptation, don’t we now?

“Mary Fionnuala Anne,” me ma says to me, “you think you have to control everything. But you can’t. Aren’t you dealing now with things you can’t control?”

I don’t like that, but I suppose You don’t like it when I try to budget Your time for You.

Anyway, he’s mine and I won’t let him go.

Unless You insist.

And I don’t think You will.