Page 29 of The Irishman's Christmas Gamble
The din of welcome quieted to a single voice, as a blond man of about Liam’s age came toward them with his hand thrust out. He wore jeans and a button-down shirt striped in green and orange. His stride was fluid and efficient, reminding her of Liam’s. This must be his former teammate.
“Paddy Naughton,” the man said, taking her hand. “You’re much too lovely a lass to be hangin’ around the likes of Liam Keller, so I’ll be glad to rescue you.”
She put her hand in his warm, strong grasp. “Frankie Hogan.” It came out in full-on Irish, an involuntary response to Paddy’s deep accent.
“Ye’re a Dubliner, then. That deserves a kiss.” He leaned in to give her a smacking buss on the cheek.
“Away and pull yer wire,” Liam said, putting his arm around Frankie’s waist.
Paddy winked at her. “Don’t go actin’ the maggot, Kells. I was just bein’ cordial.”
Owen was already perched on a stool, chatting with the bartender. Liam tapped his son on the shoulder. “We’ll be taking a table today.”
The boy sighed but jumped off the stool and followed them to a high-backed booth. Paddy handed Frankie a menu and nodded to the wall beside her. “Thought you’d appreciate the Liam Keller table.”
She looked up and saw the photograph of Liam sitting on his teammates’ shoulders, his head thrown back in a silent shout as he lifted his arms above his head. His hair was matted to his skull and his knees were bloody, but his face was lit with the savage joy of triumph. She had the same photograph in the file in her office. It was from the game that had advanced Ireland to the quarter-finals of the World Cup. And one of her favorites because it showed the essence of the boy who wouldn’t allow the world to beat him down.
“Can we order now?” Owen asked. “I’mstarving.”
His child’s whine slashed through her, and all the memories, all the images, all the Irishness of this place swelled up in her chest until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t slow the pounding of her heart.
Sweat seemed to erupt from her pores, soaking her blouse so it clung to her skin as she saw her six-year-old sister double over, sobbing and clutching her stomach when the hunger cramps grew too strong. The disappointed faces of her younger siblings arrayed around the table as she dished out one spoonful of watery boiled potatoes on each plate and nothing more. The humiliation of coaching her youngest sister to open her big blue eyes wide when Frankie took her to the grocer’s to beg for rotten fruit.
She was going to explode.
“Liam, I’m not feeling well. I’ll wait in the car.” She brushed away his concern as he rose to let her scramble out of the booth. Calling on every ounce of strength she could muster, she locked her eyes on his and spoke in a normal tone, “Stay with Owen. I need air, that’s all.”
She bolted out the door and into the car. Dropping her head back against the seat, she forced herself to breathe in for six seconds, hold for six seconds, breathe out for six seconds. The child’s cryI’m starvingbeat against the inside of her skull like a hammer against a gong.
She yanked out her phone. “Vincent, I need to get back there ASAP. Send a car and the chopper.”
By the time Liam had gotten Owen’s lunch to go and dragged his son to the limo, Frankie was gone. The driver said a car had picked her up not five minutes after she’d made a phone call. “She asked me to give you these,” he said, handing Liam two small folded notes.
He flipped open the one with his name on it.
Dear Liam,
Your son is a fine young man. You should be very proud of him. I am honored that I got to meet him. But it’s too much. All the memories. I can’t. I’m sorry.
Frankie
He crumpled the paper with a snarl. She couldn’t even bring herself to add a word of affection in her closing.
“Da? What happened to Frankie?” Owen asked.
Liam shoved the balled-up paper into his pocket. “She got sick and went home.”
“But the limo’s still here.”
“She’s a very resourceful lady, so she called a cab.” Or something faster, to carry her away from her past. “Here’s your lunch. Go ahead and eat in the car.”
Owen grabbed the takeout bag with enthusiasm, while Liam unfolded the note with Owen’s name on it. He wasn’t handing his son anything that Frankie had written without checking it first.
Dear Owen,
I’m sorry to leave without saying good-bye. I might have a touch of the stomach flu, and I didn’t want to pass my germs to you and your da. I’ve known your da for a long, long time, and I want to tell you that he is the strongest, most honorable man I’ve ever met. You can always trust him to have your back, to take care of you, to be there when you need him. He will love you truly, with everything in him. And he will never hurt you. You are too young to understand what a rare thing that is, but in time you will. Be good to him, Owen, and love him with all your heart. He is one of the few people who is worthy of it.
Warmest regards,
Frankie
Liam folded the note as though it were fine, fragile silk, smoothing it between his fingers. He stood with his head down while he fought back the black sea of anguish trying to drown him. Maybe he would give Owen this note one day, but not now.
These could be the last words he would ever have from Frankie.
