Page 2 of What Love Can Do

November 1985. She still hadn’t met Dad, but Quinn could tell she wasn’t an innocent teen anymore from the words she’d chosen: “I don’t care what I do with this life, where the wind takes me, or how I spend it, as long as I love and love well. And when my time is over, I pray that the wind brings me home again to Green Valley.”

Quinn stared at the words as a spike of adrenaline rushed through him. “…the wind brings me home again to Green Valley…” When her time is over.

The words resonated with him. Before she’d died, Mam had sold The Crazy Yankee. She’d told Quinn and his brothers to follow their dreams, start a new life, find a new home where they could make their dreams come true. The only problem was—Quinn didn’t know what he wanted to do from here.

Rugby was always a possibility. After they’d sold the restaurant, Quinn’s old coach had reached out and encouraged him to rejoin the team. Only the more Quinn thought about it, the more rugby seemed better left in the past. Forget that he was two years older and out of practice—the idea of constantly traveling again didn’t appeal as much as it once had. In addition, though it’d been difficult leaving the team, doing so had opened his eyes to new possibilities, and for the first time in his life, Quinn had learned that he was actually good with other things besides sports, like running a business. Even as he’d tried to save The Crazy Yankee after his father’s death, he’d had fun imagining the kind of restaurant he’d open if given the opportunity.

Quinn sighed and ran a hand through his hair. No, he wasn’t sure what his future had in store. But right here, right now?

Quinn looked at the time on his phone and figured it was around ten in the morning in Forestville. With shaking hands, he searched for Phillips Vineyard & Winery in California and was surprised to see it was still a fully functional establishment. A quick read on Wikipedia told him that the proprietor was still Richard Phillips, who had two daughters, Beatriz and Suzanne Phillips. No mention of Maggie.

He knew he was crazy for even thinking it, but he had to know. Had to hear the man’s voice. He had a grandfather, for feck’s sake! And aunts! He probably had cousins too, lots of them. Did they even know he existed? It wasn’t right, the way they’d erased Maggie Phillips from history. And it wouldn’t be right for Quinn or his brothers to deny Mam her dearest wish to return to Green Valley upon her death.

Before he knew what he was doing, Quinn’s thumb pressed down on the link for the U.S. phone number, and after a brief silence and series of clicks, the line rang.

“Phillips Winery, how may I help you?” the female, thickly American accent answered the phone.

“Good evening, er…morning. May I speak with Richard Phillips, please?”

“Mr. Phillips doesn’t come in on Wednesdays, or most days, but I can connect you with his wife, Betsy. May I ask who’s calling?” the friendly voice said.

Betsy? Mam’s journal mentioned her mother’s passing, so Betsy must be his second wife. Maybe third, for all he knew. Didn’t matter. As long as he got through. “The name’s Quinn. Quinn O’Neill.”

“One moment, Mr. O’Neill.”

The line changed to swing music featuring Tony Bennett, and Quinn’s heart pumped excitement through his chest and brain. Suddenly, it felt wrong to be hoarding this moment all for himself. Even if he was the oldest, his brothers deserved to know they had more family. He scrambled to his feet and bolted out of his room, running down the stairs, and spilling into the living room like an escaped convict discovering sweet freedom.

His four brothers all stared at him like he was mad. “What’s gotten into you?” Con groaned. “You look like feckin’ Frankenstein.”

Quinn spun the journal and pointed to Maggie’s final wish. “I’ve got it. It’s here…”

“What’s here?” Con’s face twisted in confusion at the phone against Quinn’s ear. “Who you talking to?”

“We’re taking her back,” Quinn whispered, setting the journal down on the tea table.

“Back where? What you mean, Quinn?” Brady asked, giving him a cautious side-eye.

All five brothers craned over the journal to have a look while Tony Bennett crooned on in Quinn’s ear about diamond bracelets and Woolworths not selling something. “I mean we’re cremating her body,” he whispered. “It’s what she wanted. We’ll spread some ashes over Dad, but then the rest…we’re taking her back to America. To Green Valley, California.”

The twins, Sean and Riley, exchanged confused glances.

Brady and Con shook their heads at each other a moment before staring back at Quinn. “What in feck’s sake…?” Con muttered.

Finally, Tony Bennett’s voice was sharply cut off by an elderly woman’s charming, chirpy voice. “Hello?”

“Hullo. Is this Betsy?”

“It is.”

“Great.” Quinn smiled, pulled the phone away from his ear, and pressed the speakerphone button. “May I please speak to Richard Phillips? That is, if he has a moment to spare.”

The woman named Betsy’s perplexed voice swirled a few notches. “Well, yes, but…who may I ask is calling?”

Quinn scanned his brothers’ faces—his cheeky brothers who he’d always promised to take care of, no matter what. They’d lost everything here in Dublin—their parents, their family restaurant—Brady had even lost a child and then a wife. It was time for them to leave Ireland for a time. To try something else, see something new, just as Mam had said. More importantly, they could bring their mam back home.

A visit to America was in order, whether or not Richard Phillips accepted them.

He needed to see where his mam was born and raised. He needed to see where she’d sat and dangled her legs, the vineyard where she’d grown up. He needed to take it all in before deciding what to do with his life. It wouldn’t be right not to, now that he knew another half of his heritage existed.

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