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She nodded again.

Keeping my eyes glued to her, I slowly pushed the handle down and swung the door inward. She coughed loudly again, drowning out the creak from the hinges as I pushed Tadhg and Ollie through the small crack in the doorway.

With Sean in my hands, I turned my back to leave, but quickly swung back to face her, hovering anxiously in the doorway.

“Go,” she mouthed, looking me right in the eyes. “Go now.”

“What about you?” I found myself mouthing back, feeling torn and conflicted.

“I’ll have a drink with you,” Mrs. Lynch said to her husband in a calm tone, eyes glued to mine. “A goodbye drink.”

“Good girl,” her husband slurred, shoulders slumped.

“I’ll close that door first,” she added. “We don’t want to wake them.”

“That’s right,” he replied, nodding. “It’s better if they sleep through it.”

Standing up, Mrs. Lynch walked calmly to the kitchen door, face void of all emotion, eyes locked on mine. “Get them out,” she mouthed slowly. “Take them away from here.”

Stunned and confused, I hovered at the front door with her baby in my arms. “Come with me,” I mouthed, urging her to justrun. “Come on.”

She shook her head.

“Why?”

“Just go.”

“Ican’t.”

“Gonow!”

“I’ll come back for you.” Feeling at a complete loss, I exhaled a ragged breath. “I promise.”

“Don’t come back.” She shook her head. “Just save my children.” Her gaze flicked to Sean, who had his face buried in my neck, and a lone tear trickled down her cheek. “Tell them I’m sorry,” she mouthed and then she closed the kitchen door.

Silently reeling and still clutching her youngest child in my arms, I slipped out of the house, quietly closed the door behind me, and ran for my car.

65

Ah, Shite

Shannon

Numb to the bone, I sat in the passenger seat of Johnny’s Audi, with his hand resting on mine on top of the gear stick and my three little brothers in the back seat. The boys were barefoot, in their pajamas, and Johnny had the heater on full blast to keep them warm.

“What about this one, lads?” he asked, cranking up the volume of the Offspring’s “Why Don’t You Get a Job.” He’d been playing every explicit song he could find on Gibsie’s mix CD since we left Elk’s Terrace. The more cursing and foul language in the song, the more my brothers’ sobs and sniffles turned to laughter. Johnny was trying to distract them and it was working. Singing at the top of his lungs, he bobbed his head like a madman, encouraging the boys to curse and sing along with him.

By the time Eminem’s “Just Lose It” came on and Johnny threw himself into an enthusiastic rap, even Sean was giggling. His tear-streaked cheeks were stretched in a wide smile as he stared in wonder at my boyfriend.

“You should stick with the rugby,” Tadhg snickered from the back seat. “You’re a terrible rapper, lad.”

“‘You’re a terrible rapper, lad.’” Johnny mimicked a Cork accent, making his voice rise several octaves. “At least I don’t sound like I’m singing when I’m talking.”

“No,” Tadhg chuckled. “Because you can’t sing for shit.”

“Tadhg.” I sighed heavily. “Don’t be cursing.”

“Hesaid we could,” Tadhg argued, pointing at the back of Johnny’s head.

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