Page 54 of The Distiller's Darling

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The door closed behind the Brennan men and Naomi blew out a long, slow breath before turning back to her mother. She found Judith Klein watching her closely, with a strange expression on her face.

“What?”

“Naomi …” Her mother’s voice sounded almost tentative. “You wouldn’t … move to Ireland, would you?”

Naomi stared at her. “I-what?” She felt as though the entire world were spinning around her. Somehow, her feet were stuck to the floor, but she was afraid to move. She might start floating away into the whirlwind that seemed to be hovering over her house.

“Well, you seem to be close with Iain.” Her mother’s lips twisted. “His father is a piece of work, but children don’t always turn out like their parents, as I’m discovering.” Her tone was rueful. “You just… I don’t want you to leave, Naomi. I’m very proud that you’ve built your own life, but I’m terrified that you’ll realize that you could do it anywhere.”

“I spent years living further away than River Hill, Mom. You never said anything.” Her stint as a roving artist-in-residence had taken her all over the western half of the United States, living in places that ranged from palatial to bizarre.

“Those were all temporary. I knew you’d come back.”

“And you’ve acted like River Hill is practically Timbuktu ever since I’ve lived here. You’ve never visited.”

“You’ve always come home.”

“This is still about me not returning your phone calls?”

“Not entirely.” Her mother sighed. “I’ve questioned a lot of your choices over the years, Naomi—” she ignored her daughter’s snort of assent “—but I’ve never, ever, questioned that you love your family. And you know we love you.”

“That’s true,” Naomi said slowly. She hadn’t ever questioned their love for her. She’d been driven to the point of rage by their attitude toward her, wanted to scream in frustration at them, and made it a point to escape their orbit at every opportunity, but she loved her parents and she knew, deep down in her bones where the knowledge could never be shaken, that they loved her. They just didn’t understand her.

“I’ve always assumed you would eventually fall in love with somebody and settle down, just like I did.” Her mother smiled, a secret sort of Mona Lisa half-smile. “I had a fairly wild time in the seventies, you know.”

Naomi raised a hand. “I really, really do not want to know.”

Her mother shrugged. “Suit yourself. Maybe I’ll write a memoir.” She paused thoughtfully, her eyes distant. “Might have to wait for a few people to die, though.”

“Mom.”

“Sorry. We’re getting off track. The point is, I assumed you’d settle down with somebody who was… one of us. Somebody we knew, whose family we knew, whose future we understood.”

“All evidence to the contrary?”

“Yes. Some assumptions you just can’t shake.”

“And now?”

“Is he really staying here?” Her mother frowned. “His father seems very certain he’ll go back to Ireland.”

Naomi felt her heart cracking again. How could there be any pieces left to break? “I don’t know. We haven’t spoken about it.” They hadn’t spoken about anything. Apparently, he and his sister had come up with some sort of plan to stay in California, and put it into action, but the need-to-know crowd hadn’t included her. She couldn’t put into words how much that hurt, especially not to her mother. Even if her mother, of all people, suddenly seemed so sympathetic.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll find out eventually.” Judith patted her daughter’s arm. “I want to hear about your work.”

“You do?” Naomi swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Didn’t you hear me telling that obnoxious Irishman how amazing it is? Next time I yell at him, I want to come armed with more than a mother’s intuition.”

Naomi giggled through a wave of emotions that threatened to swamp her. Pride, relief, grief, heartbreak, and a little bit of awe. She knew that her mother had the ability to annoy the stuffing out of her, but who knew she was able to turn that ability on for perfect strangers? She’d practically given Cathal Brennan an aneurysm. One he fully deserved, in Naomi’s opinion.

“Come on. Let’s start with the design work that pays the bills, and then I’ll show you the studio where all the fun stuff happens.”

As her mother paged through her portfolio, which now included both Max’s menu design and Iain’s whiskey branding package, Naomi’s fingers drifted to the phone in her pocket. Should she text him? What would she say?

Sorry my mom turned your dad into a raving lunatic?

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