The house seemed quiet when Moira left her bedroom the following morning. She saw that Colleen was just ahead of her, walking down the hall to the kitchen.
She followed her sister. “Good morning,” she murmured, as they entered the kitchen together. Her mother had evidently been up already; coffee had been brewed in the automatic coffeemaker, and a pot of tea sat on the big kitchen table, as well. Her brother was up, sitting at the table, sipping coffee, reading the newspaper.
“Top o’ the morning to you,” Colleen returned, eyes rolling as she turned them on Patrick. “And you, brother, dear. You’re looking well-rested for a man who spent half the night playing—”
“With the band,” Moira interrupted in horror, amazed that Colleen would make any reference to the fact that they’d been outside his door the previous night. She slid into her old chair at the table and cast Colleen a warning glare.
“Playing with the band,” Colleen repeated. “That’s exactly what I was saying,” she continued, glaring at Moira, eyes wide with innocence and mock indignation.
Moira felt like hell. She hadn’t fallen asleep until three or four. And then, perhaps out of force of habit, she’d found herself wide awake and unable to pound her pillow into any semblance of comfort when she’d realized she didn’t have to be awake so early this morning. She did have things to do, of course. Michael and Josh had done their work well. Permits to tape the parade and the goings-on in various areas of the city had been procured. But she needed a plan of action, and she needed to pretend that she had been on it from the moment she had hung up after talking to her mother and making the decision to come to Boston.
Patrick looked at them both, slightly puzzled. “I feel just fine, thanks. Colleen, you look all right, but Moira...hmm. Trust me, you don’t look as bad as you sound. Wouldn’t do, would it? Can’t have bags beneath your eyes that stretch to your chin when you’re on camera, now, can you?”
“Great. How come Colleen looks all right but I merely look better than you think I feel?” Moira asked him.
Patrick grinned. “You’ve had this shell-shocked look since you arrived,” he told Moira.
“Has she?” Pouring coffee, Colleen turned to study Moira.
“If you’re going to turn that cup-filling ritual into a daylong event, perhaps you could let me go first,” Moira said.
“Give her the coffee—she needs it,” Patrick said.
Moira glared at her brother. “How come you’re saying that?”
“I heard you tossing around all night.”
“Me!” Moira protested. She stared at Colleen, and suddenly she couldn’t help it; she burst into laughter, and Colleen followed suit.
“What’s the inside joke?” Patrick asked, eyes narrowing as he looked from one of them to the other.
“Well, we were trying to be discreet...” Colleen began.
“But honest to God, surely, that old bed frame hasn’t created such a noise since...well, probably since Colleen was conceived,” Moira said.
Patrick’s heritage was instantly visible as his cheeks flamed a brilliant shade of red.
“You two are full of it,” Patrick managed to sputter. “How rude. I mean, this is our parents’ house...”
“Hey, we’re not chastising you,” Colleen said, retrieving the coffeepot from Moira.
“No, we’re simply happy—”
“For you both, of course,” Colleen interrupted.
“That after all your years of marriage,” Moira continued.
“And at your ripe old age,” Colleen added.
“You can still get it up, that’s all,” Moira finished.
Patrick set his cup down, shaking his head, eyes lowered. Then he stared at them both across the table. “Well, all that from the woman who nearly attacked a stranger in the bar last night.”
“Michael’s not a stranger,” Moira protested.
“Hey, we’ve never met him before.”
“I know him very well.”
“Apparently so. What, you met him after the Christmas holidays? That doesn’t exactly make you eligible for a diamond anniversary band.”
“Cute,” she told Patrick.
“Well, she probably only did it because of Danny,” Colleen said, yawning.
Moira glared at her sister. “Hey, whose side are you on here?”
Colleen instantly looked sheepish. “Sorry.”
“You’re not supposed to be taking sides against me to begin with,” Patrick protested.
“Ah, now, are the girls beating up on you again, Patrick?” their mother asked, sweeping into the kitchen from the hallway. “Shame on you, the both of you. Now, don’t I spend half my life reminding you that—”
“That we’re all the greatest gifts you ever gave to any one of us,” the three of them said in unison, creating an outbreak of laughter around the table.
Katy shook her head. “One day you’ll know the truth of it. When the world is against you, when friends have failed you, you always have your family.”
“Oh, Mum,” Moira said, rising and walking to her brother to give his shoulders a hug—and his arm a pinch. “I adore my big brother. Honestly.”
“And me, too, of course,” Colleen said.
“And you, Patrick?” Katy demanded of him firmly.
“And me?” Patrick asked, grinning at Moira. “Why, my sisters are the light of my life. Though there is that other person. My wife. Oh, and my kids, bless the little demons. My life is just one big radiant ray of light.”
“Enough of that,” Katy said with a grin. “Moira, move back a bit. Patrick, scooch in your chair. The children are awake—they’ll be out for breakfast any minute now. Let me get the eggs going. Girls, would you give me a hand?”
“Girls?” Colleen asked.
“Aye?” Katy asked, puzzled.
Moira slipped an arm around her mother. “Mum, what she’s saying is that you’re being sexist. Patrick can help out just as well.”
“After all, you’re cooking for his children.”
“Well, now, Patrick can’t help out,” Katy said.
“And why is that?” Colleen asked.
“Because he’s the most useless human being in a kitchen I’ve ever seen. Granny Jon says that he’s the only person she’s ever met who’s incapable of boiling a pot of water.”
“He only pretends he can’t cook,” Moira said.
“To get out of the work,” Colleen explained.
“Now, the lot of you!” Katy said indignantly.
“Just kidding, Mum,” Moira said. “I’ll get the bacon.”
“The bottom batch, please. The lean stuff at the top from McDonnell’s is for the bacon and cabbage we’re having tonight.”
“Bacon and cabbage,” Moira murmured.
“And colcannon,” Katy said. “And some broccoli and spinach, because they’re good for your father’s heart. Moira Kathleen, I need the oatmeal, as well. Your dad has taken to getting it down plain every morning, for his cholesterol.”
Moira brought out the requested items from the refrigerator, then got the oatmeal from the cabinet. She looked at her mother. “That’s it. We’ll cook. For the show, we’ll let you take over, and we’ll videotape your preparation of the Saint Patrick’s Day meal.”
“We’re not having bacon and cabbage for Saint Patrick’s Day, we’ll be having a roast,” Katy said.
“Mum,” Moira groaned. “I don’t care what we’re really having on Saint Patrick’s Day. Bacon and cabbage is a traditional Irish meal. It will be a terrific segment for the show.”
“Oh, now, daughter, I’m not good on camera,” Katy protested.
“Can we put Patrick in an apron?” Colleen asked hopefully.
“Not on your life,” Patrick protested.
“Oh, yeah, great. Let him be traditionally Irish by drinking beer and playing with the band,” Colleen teased.
“You know, it’s just one of those things,” Patrick said. “I can wear a suit well, which is good for an attorney. I look pretty good in hats. Aprons... I just don’t seem to have the right build.”
“We won’t film you in an apron,” Moira said. “Since you can’t cook, you can do the dishes when we’re done.”
“I’ve got an appointment this morning,” Patrick protested.
“I bet he just thought it up,” Colleen said.
“Do you really have an appointment?” Katy asked him.
Before he could answer, there was a tap on the inner door. Moira felt an inexplicable wave of tension instantly tighten her muscles.
Her mother and sister had turned toward the sound. Only Patrick was looking at her.
“So, it is Danny,” he said softly.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she murmured. “Should I get it?” she asked her mother.
“No, it’s just Danny, at this hour,” Katy said. “Come in, Dan!” she called.
“I locked it last night when I came up,” Moira said.
“Danny has a key, of course,” her mother replied impatiently.
She heard the key twisting in the lock even as her mother spoke.
She wondered why it bothered her so much that he had a key. To her home. No, not her home, her parents’ home.
And he had always been welcome here.
He walked in, freshly showered and scrubbed, as evidenced by the dampness that remained in his combed hair and gleamed on newly shaven cheeks. He was wearing jeans and a gold knit sweater beneath a casual leather jacket. She had to admit that he looked good. A bit of age had given his natural ease a slightly weathered and dignified look. He wasn’t as handsome a man as Michael, she thought, almost analytically, and only partially defensively. Michael had classic good looks. Pitch dark hair, striking blue eyes and a clean-cut face. Daniel was craggier. His chin a bit squarer, cheeks leaner, features more jagged. He had good eyes, though. A strange shade of hazel that made them amber at times, almost gold at others. He saw her studying him but only smiled, addressing her mother.
“I could smell Katy Kelly’s coffee way down in my room,” he told her, slipping his arms around her waist affectionately and kissing her cheek.
“There’s a coffeepot behind the bar,” Moira said rather sharply. Patrick looked at her. She widened her eyes. “How else would we make Irish coffee?”
“I think we’re all aware that there’s a coffeepot behind the bar,” her brother said.
“I was merely suggesting—” she began.
“Ah, but my coffee would never be as good as Katy’s,” Danny interrupted.
“And you’d not be wanting to have it alone,” Katy said firmly. “You’ve been up here every morning, and now the girls are here, as well. Naturally you want to spend time together.” Katy said the last casually, but sincerely.
“Of course we want to spend time with him. He’s like another older brother. A nice one,” Colleen teased.
Patrick groaned audibly.
“Just like a brother,” Moira said sweetly.
Danny had poured coffee and taken a seat next to Patrick. “Sibling torture this morning, eh?”
“Tell me, would you wear an apron so that your sister could humiliate you on national television?” Patrick asked.
“It’s just a cable show,” Moira murmured.
“A highly rated cable show,” Patrick said. “Well?”
For a moment, as Danny stared at her, Moira thought that his face had hardened strangely with anger. “I don’t have a sister,” he said.
“But you’re just like a nicer older brother,” Patrick reminded him.
“Oh, right. Well, what does the apron look like?” Danny asked, and the casual conviviality was back in his voice.
“I’m sure Mum has one with a leprechaun on it somewhere,” Colleen said.
“No one has to wear an apron!” Moira protested.
“Right. We’ll cook neatly,” Danny said.
“I didn’t say anyone but Mum needed to be in the show,” Moira reminded them.
“That’s right. The long-suffering siblings get to wash dishes offstage,” Patrick said.
“Hey,” Colleen protested, “I’ve got the kind of face they say can launch a thousand ships.”
“Naturally you’re invited to cook with us on camera,” Moira told her sister.
“Thanks. I’ll have to check with my agent.”
“Colleen Mary!” Katy said indignantly.
“Just kidding, Mum.”
“That is a face that could launch a thousand ships—sis,” Danny told Colleen. “Congratulations. I’m seeing it more and more every day now.”
“Really, Danny?” Colleen asked, her voice a little anxious. For a moment Moira reflected that her sister was really just a nice kid. She was doing exceptionally well, yet she was still amazed that people really thought her looks worthy of attention. She had managed to develop enough confidence to go forward and retain enough humility to remain grounded.
“Really. And I’ve heard from Patrick and your folks that there’s a budding romance in the west?”
“Just budding,” Katy said firmly. “So my daughter tells me.”
“Absolutely just budding,” Colleen said, laughing. “Mum, I’d never get serious without bringing the poor guy home first and making sure he had the stamina for a real relationship.”
Patrick looked at his sister without the twitch of a smile. “Um, stamina?”
“He’s a nice guy?” Danny asked. “Nothing else would do for my, uh, baby sister.”
“The nicest. Hey, you come to California now and then. Maybe you’ll be out there soon. I’d love for you to meet him.”
“Dan can size him up for you just like that,” Patrick told her.
“Colleen has a good head on her shoulders. I’m sure he’s a fine fellow,” Danny said. “Now, as to Moira...”
“Moira and her Michael,” Katy said.
“He’s great, Mum, and you know it,” Moira said.
“He does seem decent,” Patrick acknowledged.
“He’s a hunk,” Colleen said decisively.
“Beady eyes,” Danny said, shaking his head.
“Oh, God, that again,” Moira said irritably.
“Well, I think his eyes are fine,” Katy said thoughtfully, taking the comment entirely literally.
“Look again—they’re beady,” Danny said, staring at Moira.
“Fine, I’ll take another really good look at the man, Danny,” Katy said, setting strips of bacon into a huge frying pan with incredible precision, getting more bacon into the pan than Moira would have thought possible. “But really, he’s courteous, and very handsome. And he does adore Moira.”
“Yes, I guess he does,” Danny said grudgingly.
“A vote of approval at last?” Moira inquired.
“I’m withholding final judgment.”
“And he’s been so effusive with his comments regarding you,” Moira said.
“Really?” Danny asked.
“Actually, no. He hasn’t mentioned you at all.”
“Well, I’m just an old family friend. Not a real member of the family who he needs to impress.”
“But you’ll definitely be on top of the guest list for the wedding,” Moira said over the rim of her coffee cup.
Her mother gasped. “Moira Kathleen!”
“No, no, no, Mum,” she said quickly, with a sigh. She had to watch this sparring with Danny in front of her parents. “We’re not planning anything—yet.”
“I truly wish you every happiness,” Danny said. His eyes were steady on hers; his voice was sincere.
For some reason, that made her more irritated.
Maybe she didn’t want him to be happy for her. Yup, that was it. Completely. She wanted him to be sorry he’d blown everything himself.
“Thanks.” She forced herself to speak casually. “Excuse me for a minute, please. I’ve got to make a phone call and get going on the day. Mum, would you really mind if I taped the preparation of tonight’s meal? If it will really make you uncomfortable...”
“No, no, it’s all right. I mean, I just don’t want to appear...foolish. You’ll be with me all the time, right?”
“Of course. And we’ll have Colleen and Siobhan and even the kids, if they’d like. It will be fun. Honestly, Mum.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe about it,” Colleen assured her.
Katy nodded again. Moira started to her room to make a call, just as the kids came scampering out of the master bedroom.
“Auntie Mo!” Brian said.
“Morning, handsome,” she told her nephew.
Molly was right behind him. “Auntie Mo, Auntie Mo! Presents!” she said, hurling herself into Moira’s arms.
“Molly,” Shannon said as she came up behind her sister, very mature at six, “we don’t ask for presents.”
“It’s all right,” Moira assured them both quickly. “You can ask your aunt but not other people,” she reminded Molly. “But I’m your aunt, and I’ve promised you a present, so it’s okay. I’ve got to make a call, and then I’ll bring the presents out.”
“Thanks, Auntie Mo,” Brian said.
“Where’s your mum? I haven’t seen her yet.”
“On her way out,” Shannon said. “She told me she didn’t sleep much last night, and that when you get older, it’s harder to wash away the wrinkles.”
Moira laughed. “Tell your mum that she doesn’t have anything that so much as resembles a wrinkle.” She smiled suddenly and couldn’t help adding, “Tell her I’m sorry she didn’t sleep well.”
She slipped past Brian and the girls and went into her room, where she dialed the Copley and asked for Michael. No answer. She asked for Josh’s room, and he quickly picked up, telling her they’d just talked to the four-man crew Michael had hired and that they would all be ready to go in about half an hour.
“So what are we doing? I mean, we’ve flown by the seat of the pants before, but...”
“We’re going to tape right here today. Traditional Irish cooking. Come on over whenever you’re all ready. Oh! I couldn’t reach Michael.”
“I talked to him earlier. I’ll give his cell a buzz and tell him to be at your place.”
Moira hung up, then gathered the presents before starting down the hall to the kitchen. When she got there, she saw that her sister-in-law had preceded her and was talking to her mother at the sink. She turned as Moira came in, smiled broadly and hurried over to her.
Siobhan was a beautiful woman, with long blond hair and deep blue eyes. She looked wonderful, but she also looked tired, really tired. Her slender features were leaner than ever. She was pale, and there was a hint of mauve beneath her eyes, despite her practiced application of makeup.
“Moira, hey!”
“Siobhan, you look terrific,” she said, hugging her sister-in-law tightly and wondering if she sounded as if she was lying.
“Thanks, but I feel like hell this morning,” Siobhan said with a laugh. “So we’re doing a typical, natural, completely unaffected and spontaneous cooking section for your program, hmm?”
“Completely spontaneous,” Moira agreed with a laugh. “Even though you’ll have to open the door five times so we can get all the right angles on tape, trust me, you’ll be completely spontaneous.”
“I was joking. You want me in it, too?”
“Sure, it will be fun. We’ll whip up some scones first, so the kids can sit in the dining room and eat them, and then the four of us will do all the stuff in the kitchen. A family thing.”
“A family thing? What about the guys?”
“We’ll film them lounging around on the couch, drinking beer, scratching and watching a football game.”
Siobhan laughed. Eamon Kelly, hearing the conversation, instantly protested. “Daughter, how can you say such a thing?”
“Eamon, don’t complain,” Danny said lazily from the kitchen table, where he was playing a game of war with Molly, who was slapping her little hand on the cards on the table with a happy giggle. “Sitting on the couch, drinking beer, watching a game—scratching an itch now and then—sounds like a fine way to spend the day,” he said.
“Dad, everyone knows that you work like a horse,” Moira said, ignoring Danny. “You sit on the couch and take it easy.”
“I’ll be down seeing to the pub, girl, you know that,” Eamon told her.
“I’ll open for you, Eamon,” Danny said. “That way you can watch your daughter at work.”
“I really do have an appointment at one,” Patrick said regretfully.
“Patrick, I thought this was a family vacation,” Siobhan protested.
“Honey, it’s an hour’s meeting with an important client,” Patrick said.
“Auntie Mo!” Molly suddenly wailed. “Presents!”
“Molly!” Siobhan was the one to chastise her that time.
“Hey, I promised her a present ten minutes ago. That’s an eternity when you’re only four,” Moira said. “Molly, catch!”
She tossed one of the wrapped plush leprechauns to Molly, who missed. Danny retrieved the gift from the floor for her, while Moira turned to pass out the gifts for Brian and Shannon. When she was done, she walked over with the music box and set it next to her mother.
Katy looked at her with a question in her eyes.
“It screamed your name,” Moira explained.
“Moira, it’s neither Christmas nor my birthday—”
“Mum, chill,” Colleen said lightly. “Just open the gift, let us ooh and aah, and say thank-you to Moira.”
Katy grinned sheepishly, then opened the present almost as quickly as the children. Molly squealed happily over her stuffed toy, and Patrick let out an affirming, “Oh, wow, cool.”
But Moira was busy watching her mother as she unwrapped the delicate little fairy and her eyes widened with delight.
“Moira, she’s breathtaking.”
“She’s a music box.”
“What does she play?”
Moira picked up the figure to wind it.
“‘Danny Boy,’” Danny said softly before the music began.
Moira turned to stare at him as the rest of the room watched the little fairy dance. He was watching her strangely, she thought. The light in the room reflected off his eyes, making them appear golden and yet oddly shielded.
“How did you know?” she asked him.
“Lucky guess,” he said with a shrug. “Hey—bacon’s starting to snap.”
“Mary, Jesus, and Joseph,” Katy gasped, seeing her pan smoking.
“I’ve got it, Mum. Go put her on the mantel or wherever you’d like her,” Moira said, quickly flipping the breakfast bacon.
“I’ll grab the eggs,” Colleen said.
“Danny, Patrick, you get the juice,” Moira suggested.
“Juice?” Molly said.
“Hey, where’s Granny Jon?” Patrick asked.
“I’ll see if she’s up,” Danny volunteered, leaving the kitchen.
Katy left the room with her little treasure but was back quickly. With an efficiency that only appeared to be confusion, breakfast arrived on the table. Danny came in escorting Granny Jon, who was apologizing for oversleeping.
“Everything is under control, Mum,” Katy assured her.
“Tea?” Granny Jon asked.
“Strong enough to walk itself across the table,” Moira said in unison with not only her brother and sister, but her parents, as well.
Everyone laughed at that except for Granny Jon, who gave them all an indignant sniff as they grouped around the kitchen table. It was big, but there were eleven of them, and they were tightly packed. For a few minutes the conversation centered entirely around such comments as, “Can you pass the salt, please?” and, “Who has the juice?” and, “Oh, no, Molly, that glass is way too full.”
As Moira was rescuing the glass from her niece, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” she said, jumping up. “Must be my crew.”
She poured some of the juice from Molly’s plastic cup into her glass, set it down, then headed for the door. When she opened it, she saw that Michael had arrived. There was a nip in the air, and she shivered as she felt the chill. Michael didn’t seem to notice it. He looked like an ad for Armani, in a long wool coat and black scarf.
“Morning,” he said. His voice was nicely husky.
“Good morning. Come in, it’s freezing out there.”
“The cold is okay, but last night was awfully lonely,” he told her.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “My dad, you know...”
“I’ve got it perfectly,” he said softly. “It’s still just a shade, well, you know, lonely.” He was looking over her shoulder. She saw that Danny had followed her to the door.
“Michael, good to see you. You must be a man accustomed to the cold, standing around on the porch like that. What’s your pleasure, coffee or tea?”
“Coffee,” Michael said, moving in as Moira shut the door. He slipped out of his coat, allowing Moira to hang it on the eighteenth-century hall tree, and removed his gloves, meeting Danny’s eyes. “Coffee, please. I think I’ve had six cups this morning, and it still doesn’t seem like enough.”
“Right you are. One coffee coming up.”
Danny turned to get Michael coffee, his attitude as courteous and casually friendly as could be.
“Don’t trust him,” Moira whispered to Michael.
“Oh?”
She shook her head, leading him into the kitchen.
“Morning, Michael. Bacon and eggs—or oatmeal?” Eamon asked, rising to shake Michael’s hand in greeting.
“Nothing, thanks, I grabbed a bite early.”
“Michael, you haven’t met my sister-in-law, Siobhan, yet,” Moira said, introducing the two.
“Hello, Siobhan. A pleasure.”
“Very nice to meet you,” Siobhan replied, studying him with an open smile.
“Was that bacon and eggs you decided on?” Katy asked.
“I think he said he ate, Mum,” Moira said.
“They’re only happy, and they’ll only love you, if you eat, you know,” Danny warned Michael.
“Then bacon and eggs it is,” Michael said.
“Now, Dan O’Hara, that’s not at all true,” Katy protested. “Though surely everything here will be better than at your hotel.”
“Oh, I’m positive of that,” Michael said. “But, Katy, all this food... And you’re just going to clean up and start cooking again so we can film?”
“I’m cooking again because we’re planning on having dinner,” Katy said. “And I’ve lots of help.”
“Except for me,” Patrick said. “Appointment,” he explained. “And I want to go by and check on the boat.” Besides his wife and children, his one real love in life was his boat. He kept it berthed at the docks in Boston because he loved going out on the open sea, except that it was something he seldom did in winter when the seas were too rough. It was a nice toy, forty-five feet, sleek as a devil, with sleeping facilities for eight people.
Patrick glanced at his watch. “In fact, I’ve got to get moving. Moira, I’ll try to be back in plenty of time to do my part, sitting on the couch, scratching, drinking beer—and doing the dishes, as well. Sweetheart...” He paused by Siobhan’s chair to give her cheek a kiss.
She didn’t offer him anything more.
“Okay, munchkins,” he said to the kids, delivering only slightly distracted kisses to the three of them. “Behave now, okay?”
“The kids are always fine,” Eamon said. Moira was curious at his tone. She wondered if her father wasn’t a little bit disturbed by her brother’s exit.
“Bye, then,” Patrick said, taking his coat from the hall tree. Maybe he felt all eyes on him. He turned at the door. “Honest, I’ll drink a lot of beer and do a lot of scratching,” he said. Moira offered her brother a slightly pained smile. His eyes fell on his wife.
But Siobhan wasn’t watching him. Her eyes were purposely lowered as she buttered toast for Molly.
Patrick departed, and Danny cleared his throat. “Well, now, can’t let Patrick be the only bad child. I’m off for some cigarettes. Nasty habit, I know. I’ll keep it outside. Katy, do you need anything while I’m out? Something traditionally Irish you might be missing for your meal?”
“Now, Danny, you know that between the pub and the house, we don’t often run out of what we need,” Katy said.
“Actually, I think we’re a bit low on butter,” Colleen murmured. “The real thing, no margarine.”
“Colleen, we can’t be making a guest go to the store,” Katy said.
“Sure we can,” Colleen said quickly. “He’s not a guest, he’s a big brother, remember?”
“Katy, how much butter?” Danny asked, starting for the stairs that led out through the pub.
“Better make it two pounds. We’ve a full house,” Katy said.
“Right,” Danny said. “I’ll be back soon. I don’t want to miss the fun.”
“You told my father you’d open up the pub,” Moira reminded him.
“And so I did. I guess I, like Patrick, will have to do my share of scratching and guzzling a bit later.”
With that he left, but something about his departure seemed odd to Moira.
Only Michael was still eating. Siobhan rose, picking up plates from the table. “I’ll wash,” she said.
“Fine, I’ll dry,” Colleen added.
“Then I’ll get the rest,” Moira said, quickly busying herself with plates and condiments.
“Now, let Michael finish his meal before you go stealing his plate,” Eamon told her.
“Right, Dad.” As she took her grandmother’s plate, she saw that Granny Jon was looking curiously at the floor. But she looked at Moira quickly, as if her attention had never been anywhere else. “The kids drop something?” Moira asked, ducking.
But the kids hadn’t dropped anything.
Granny Jon had been staring at the brand-new pack of cigarettes that lay on the floor beneath the chair where Danny had been sitting.
* * *
Patrick hurried down the street, tightening his wool scarf around his neck and hiking up his collar. Having spent the majority of his life in Massachusetts, he was accustomed to weather that could be brutal far into the spring. Stopping at a traffic light, he stomped his feet and spoke aloud to himself. “No wonder the fucking Pilgrims all died,” he muttered. He looked up. At least, for the moment, there was no snow. Just a blue sky with puffs of white clouds, fast-moving.
The light changed. He suddenly looked back, struck by an eerie feeling of being followed.
No one on the streets except a kid on a scooter. Wait till the ice forms toward night, kid, you’ll be sorry, he thought. It was a Saturday morning, still fairly early. Bostonians took some time to get going on Saturdays. Still, it seemed as odd to him that the street was empty as if it had been full.
Why had he thought someone was following him? Nerves? Guilty conscience? Maybe it was just the weather.
He moved quickly, then glanced back again. No one there.
Still, that feeling. Unnerving. As if he heard silent footfalls echoing in his mind.
Someone’s breath, whispering at the back of his neck.
Right. And maybe he was being followed by leprechauns, little people in green, trailing along behind him.
And maybe he’d just been home too long, listened to too many stories as his parents and grandmother entertained the kids.
Tales about fairies, mischievous leprechauns...
And then, of course, there were banshees, black shadow creatures tracking a man, wailing in the night, foretelling his death.
He looked back once again and hesitated, eyes scanning the street.
There were no fairies, no leprechauns or banshees. Both the good and the evil in the world came from men.
He started forward with determination. He had made up his mind, set his course.
He was going to do what he thought was right.