Page 56 of The Irish Redemption

With a wink at Evelyn, Ma turns and strides away to the ranch house with impressive speed.

“Wow,” Evelyn breathes. “Your mom is amazing.”

“Yes.” I nod. “She is.”

“I thought she was going to yell at me at first.” Evelyn laughs awkwardly and presses the back of her hand to her flaming cheeks. “It was kind of scary.”

“She’s the scariest, nicest person you will ever meet,” I reply. “She’d feed the enemy a good meal before killing them just so no one can say she’s a bad hostess.”

“Wow.” Evelyn shakes her head in awe. “What about your dad?” She looks around as if expecting an Irishman to sprout from the ground and introduce himself. “Is he just as scary?”

“He was,” I say quietly.

“Was?” Evelyn’s head snaps to me, her eyes wide. “Oh, is he…? I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing like that,” I assure her, then I offer her my elbow. “He’s not dead.”

“Oh.” Evelyn loops her hand through my arm. “So he’s…”

“He’s in Ireland,” I say, ignoring the familiar twang of loss that rises at the thought of him. “We lost him a few years ago to Alzheimer’s. It was so rapid, it was sort of hard to believe. We tried everything to soothe him, including sending him back to his homeland in the hope of easing his mind. It soothes him, but not in the way we hoped. I think we all thought as soon as he was among the Irish moors again, he would remember us and be cured. Instead, he’s happy and lost.”

“Oh, Cormac.” Evelyn’s voice is soft. “I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”

“It was tough but…” My jaw tightens and I pet her hand. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“I never imagined someone like you growing up in a place like this,” she says quietly, changing the subject as we walk toward the house.

“What, not enough flannel?”

“No.” Evelyn laughs. “This is just so… all this open air and the animals, the nature and everything. You seem like you’re cut from city stone, that’s all.”

“Well, fertilizer is a great front for getting weapons across international waters,” I tease, and Evelyn laughs loudly.

“I can’t tell whether you’re being serious or not.”

“No one wants to dig through shit, that’s all I’m saying,” I reply, leaving her in the mystery of the truth.

Her laughter forces away the ache in my heart, so I focus on her happy, smiling face and briefly tighten my hand over hers. Despite everything, she remains light and it eases my heart.

“Enough of that, though. You’ve got a ham to carve.”

“What?” Evelyn stops in her tracks. “In front of everyone?”

“Yep. House rules, I’m afraid. Guest carves. Come on, it won’t be that bad.”

22

EVELYN

Never have I seen a dinner table so full of food. It resembles an advert I’d see splashed across my television during Thanksgiving, surrounded by a happy and wholesome family. Cormac and his family seem to fit that idea to a T, and it’s strange to see people so dangerous acting so homely.

If I didn’t know what I knew, I’d assume they were just like every other ranch family sitting down to a hearty meal at the end of a long week. There’s a roast ham at one end, and I eye it suspiciously as I take my seat next to Cormac. His mother, Clodagh, sits at the head of the table while Saoirse and Cian sit across from Cormac and me. Between us sit three kinds of potato, grilled veg, steamed veg, some chicken legs, a basket full of homemade bread, and several sauces and jams that fill the space. It’s a far cry from the two-day-old Thai food I surely would be tucking into if my life were moving on its normal path.

“Come up here, dear,” Clodagh says, waving her hand at me. “Guests carve. It’s tradition!”

Cormac shoots me an I told you so glance and then sits back as I stand and approach the head of the table.

“Don’t fuck it up,” Cian teases.

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