Belfast, Northern Ireland
The Present
The street had changed. There were handsome shops all along it now.
Danny stood on the sidewalk, taking a moment, as he always did in Belfast, to go back in time. Not to dwell on the misery of loss. Just to remember the family that had once been his.
He did love Belfast and all the North. They had been to Armagh just the other day, visited Tara, walked along endless hills of rolling green, felt the expanse, the wildness, the beauty and the magic of ancient times. Then they had returned to Belfast, and joined the hustle and shove of the busy city.
Today it seemed especially important for him to stand here. The last year had been the best of his life.
He would never forget his youth. In a corner of his heart, there would always be the pain of his loss. Yet even though that pain would never go away—should never go away—it had changed. The pen really was worse than the sword. He had done a great deal to change the world, or, at least, his world. His parents, he thought, would be proud. And Moira... Moira had allowed him to find his own peace, and a man could truly bring it to others only when he had found it in himself.
“Danny!”
He saw her coming down the street. She was in green. Kelly green, at that. A neat little suit that displayed the length of her legs and the indentation of her waist. Her hair, shining in the sunlight, bounced and waved over her shoulders. There was a slight touch of concern in her blue-green eyes as she reached him, taking his hand, placing a light kiss on his lips before studying his eyes again.
“Are you all right?”
He smiled. “Absolutely.”
“I was worried. I didn’t know where you had gone.”
Okay, so he had ducked out on the luncheon. Andrew McGahey was being honored in the grand ballroom of the hotel for his efforts on behalf of the children of Ireland. And Andrew wasn’t alone. He and Sally Adair had been introduced at the wedding, and they had been together ever since. Of course, Andrew remained a dedicated Catholic. Sally was still a wiccan. Maybe they would make it anyway. Anything was possible in America.
Danny had listened to most of the speeches, had watched his brother-in-law be merciful to the crowd and accept his plaque with a few words only, thanking his family and the Irish in America. Then a rather longwinded professor had taken the dais, and Danny had given in to the overwhelming urge to take a walk. It was important for him to come here. He always did, wherever he came back to this city of his birth.
“This is where it happened?”
“Yes.”
She squeezed his hand. “Danny?”
He arched one brow. It still amazed him that they were man and wife. He had always loved her, but he had known when they were very young that he hadn’t been right for her. That he had a few demons to battle himself. And then...
There had been times when she had lain beside him shivering, and he had known that she was still haunted by her memories. A man who had said he loved her while needing other women...and disposing of them as easily as if they were laboratory rats who had fulfilled their purpose and needed to be destroyed.
All in all, though, they had come through quite well. The wedding had been spectacular. Mass at the family church in Boston, Moira in a shimmering long dress and veil, not quite traditionally white, but a combination of white and silver and mauve that seemed to spread magic with every move she made. Naturally the reception had been at Kelly’s.
They’d taken two weeks on a remote private island in the Caribbean. There had been times when they had spent hours just talking. Times when they had just made love, a little desperately on some occasions, gently on others. Either way, it had only mattered that they’d had one another, that they were together, a bastion against the past, a team to forge through the future.
Life was good. He had Moira. It was impossible to love anyone more. Humbling to be so loved in return.
Incredible to have such understanding.
His book, written about the events that had formed Jacob Brolin’s life and political perspective, was due out in a month. It was sure to cause some controversy.
That was fine. He still liked a certain amount of controversy. There was nothing like a good, hard-fought argument to be waged—and won. And of course, Moira was opinionated, so they had lots of heated discussions, and lots of wonderful moments of passionate apology. He had become a resident alien in New York City; Moira had already, in the single year of their marriage, taken six trips to Ireland with him. Their first trip, they had come alone, here, to Belfast, then traveled beyond, into the North.
Their second trip, they had taken Granny Jon and the family to Dublin. Everyone had come, including Siobhan and the children. They had made a day out of traveling down to Blarney to show the kids the castle and, of course, kiss the Blarney Stone. Katy Kelly had remarked that it seemed rather unnecessary, since most of the time they were all full of it to begin with.
It had been a great trip. Showing Ireland to children for the first time, showing them the source of so many of the tales they had heard, had been wonderful. Seeing Molly’s eyes widen for a ride on a chubby Irish pony through fields of emerald, Brian’s fascination with the tales of knights in shining armor, and Shannon’s pleasure in the quaint charm of the small towns.
Moira had brought her own brilliance to their travels. She had expanded her show, and they now did segments on American vacationers returning to their roots in foreign countries. Colleen’s was still the face on hundreds of magazine covers, but she had also taken to hosting more shows for her sister. That allowed Moira more travel time. For himself, it was easy. Writing was an exercise of the mind. Of course, it helped to see all the places that stirred his imagination and brought back the trials and triumphs of history, near and far.
Life was good. He couldn’t imagine that anything could be better.
“Danny,” Moira said again.
He looked at his wife. Wife. He smiled. “Sorry, love, I was wandering.”
She shook her head. “I worry about you when I know...you’ve come here. I think about my family. Patrick, Colleen...my folks. When I see Molly, Brian and Shannon, and I think about what happened... I know I couldn’t have come through...as you did.”
“I only come here because I loved them so much. It’s a way of saying hello, telling them they’ll always be with me.”
She smiled. “You feel that they’re here, with you, a little bit?”
“Maybe. But I’m okay, Moira. I have been for years. Never as good, though, as since I’ve been with you.”
Shoppers passed them by. A pretty woman walking a dog smiled and said hello. A man in a tweed cap tipped it to them.
“Hmm...”
“What?”
“I was actually waiting for us to be alone somewhere incredibly beautiful and romantic...”
“Excuse me, but my city is incredibly beautiful and romantic.”
“Oh, I know, I know. I meant like our bedroom in the hotel, the lights all muted, music playing, roses in a vase...”
“Champagne in a bucket? A tub full of suds? You wearing nothing but bubbles here and there, at strategic spots?”
“Something like that.”
“I like it—let’s go.”
“Wait, Danny, the point was that I want to tell you something. And I’ve just decided to tell you here.”
“Great. Get me all hot and bothered, then make me stand on the sidewalk where I can’t do a damn thing about it.”
“Danny, we’re going to have a baby.”
He couldn’t have imagined that anything could be better, but he’d just been proven wrong.
“We’re...pregnant?”
“No. I’m pregnant, but we’re having a baby.”
He folded his wife into his arms. Kissed her. Tenderly. On her lips, both cheeks, her forehead, her lips again. “A little Irishman,” he whispered.
“Or an American woman,” she reminded him.
He cradled her face in his hands. Studied her eyes, kissed her lips again. “Whichever, I’m thrilled. I’m... God, I’m thrilled.” He smiled and looked up. “Hear that, Mum? A grandchild.” Suddenly he got a questioning look in his eyes.
“You’re certain?”
“Absolutely.”
“Maybe we should test again.”
“Why?”
“Because then you can tell me again, in the romantic room, with the music, the champagne...”
“Danny, I won’t be drinking champagne any time soon,” she told him.
“I didn’t intend for you to drink it. I think it would be better for you to, oh, wear it,” he told her.
“Oh.” She smiled. “Shall we go?”
He put his arm around her, and they started down the street.
“My God, I’m shaking,” he said. “I’m going to be a dad. To a wee bit of an Irishman.”
“Or an American girl.”
“Maybe it will be a lass,” he agreed. “A little Irish lass.”
“Or an American boy.”
“Fine. Have it your way—the first time,” he teased. Then he stopped again in the street, cradled her face once more, kissed her and drew her to him.
“The best of Ireland, and of America, will be in our son or daughter,” he said softly.
“Oh, Danny, that’s lovely.”
“You think so?”
“Yes.”
“Good, then let’s move on. I’m definitely in the mood for champagne.”
* * * * *