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Fiona and Conor came home!
When I saw them walk through the security gate in Asheville, it felt as though my heart started beating again. I could’ve sworn Conor had grown. He seemed bigger and older, even though it had been only a few weeks. I guess that’s what world travel does for you. I hoped to give it a try.
But Conor wasn’t too big to pick up and squeeze. As I held him close, all the tensions of the past weeks just left me. Usually when I put him down, he’d run off, but this time he stayed close and took my hand. I didn’t pick up Fiona and squeeze her (though I wanted to), but I did give her a big kiss—and got one back.
We talked and talked on the drive home. Her father was going to be fine after some treatments Fiona helped with. Their weather hadn’t been as rainy as ours, so they’d traveled a good bit round Clifden, and Conor got to meet all kinds of relatives.
My shot-off ear was on the left side, so she couldn’t see the wound. I could tell Fiona was too give out to hear about all that, so I just gave her the basics and promised to tell her more over breakfast in bed.
It was late when we pulled up the drive toward home. I’d put Mollie inside with an early dinner since it would be dark when we got back. When our headlights hit the house, we could see her fuzzy face parting the curtains in the upstairs window as she stood on our bed. By the time we came inside, she’d gotten all settled looking on the oval rug in the living room, certain she’d fooled us into thinking she’d been there all evening.
After their long time away, Mollie musta thought it was just me coming home. Dogs were like that, content, after a time, to settle in with whoever would feed them. But when she saw Fiona and Conor, she went over to the boy, put her head against him, and made the most pitiful crying sounds. Before long, though, those two were romping round on the rug like the old friends they were. As they played, I bent over to touch my boy’s head, and Fiona saw my ear.
“Jaysus, Joseph, and Mary! What in the world happened to ye, Rabbit?”
Her hand reached for my ear, like she was gonna soothe the wound, but I took hold of it just in time. “Nothing that won’t heal in a week or two. Let’s not talk about it now.” Normally that wouldn’t be enough to calm her, but she was too weary to argue.
The next morning, she was up before me, what with the big time difference and her body clock off, so I didn’t get to make her breakfast in bed. When I heard her up, I found a piece of paper and wrote a note, promising it another time, no expiration date.
I went downstairs and hugged her while she stood at the stove. After a while, she told me to take a seat. She’d made me something I’d had at Nigel’s oncet: a fine English breakfast with sunny-side up eggs and bacon and fried bread and tomatoes and mushrooms. And tea and toast and marmalade.
“Wonderful,” I said between bites. “A full English!”
“Make that a full Irish,” she said, but she was just kidding. Even after a trip back home, she didn’t harbor bad feelings against the Brits.
I’d set the note at her place, and when she read it, she leaned over and kissed me. Her eyes were kinda puffy, but she looked happy to be home.
Around ten o’clock, I made a pot of coffee, and we sat together while Conor played outside with Mollie. We could hear him laughing, which was a sharp contrast to what I had to tell Fiona. I fumbled round for the right words until she said, “Rabbit, just come out with it. Don’t sugar-coat it. That ear of yours frightened me last night, but as long as you’re standing safe and sound in front of me, I know I can take it.”
So I told her about “The Peddler and His Wife” and Kentucky and the overturned coal truck and the noisy hawk and, well, everything. Her hand flew to her mouth when I told her about Marshall White. He’d even fooled Fiona, queen of the Irish gypsies.
“That bastard took half your ear off. Let me look closer,” she said. When I bent my head over, she just kissed it and added, “Whoever tended to you did a fine job.” I heard her voice tremble, and next thing I knew, she threw her arms round me and cried ‘til my shirt was wet.
After that she asked lots of questions about Marshall and what happened next; I filled her in best I could. “He’s on the run, honey. But the FBI figures he’s headed for Winston-Salem.” I explained about the fancy hotel and “Poor Ellen Smith.”
“Well, he’s taken murder ballads to a new low. I don’t ever want to play one again—I don’t care how pretty Polly is or how wise Omie is!” She did that little foot-stamping thing. I was trying to comfort her when she jerked away. “What happened to Vern?”
“He’s with family services here in the county. His babysitter was looking after him while Marshall was terrorizing Kentucky, but then the authorities took him somewhere. That’s all I know.”
“Oh Rabbit, he should come here and be with Conor. They are more than friends; they’re closer than some brothers.” She got up to make some calls, and I knew nothing would stop her ‘til that lad was sitting on our front porch.