Page 118 of Three Irish Kings
Stacks, of course, never knew that, because he was long dead before Maggie Sullivan had ever come along, but I need to play along.
“Aye, but even a spitfire can’t survive a bullet in the head.” I pull out my briefcase and place the pictures and death certificate in his lap.
He looks down at it, his mind seeming to clear. “Dead? After all this time we’ve spent looking?” Da curses in Gaelic. “Aye, well, I guess you can clean out the cottage, then.”
I freeze. “What do you mean, clean it out?”
Does he know about Isla? Is he about to drop a bomb on me?
He waves his hand dismissively, letting the papers in his lap fall onto the floor.
I pick them up and scoop them back into the briefcase.
“Aye, your mother has been on my arse to clean out the basement for years. You can do it for me, Liam, since I’m sickwith this bloody cold?” He looks up at me expectantly, his eyes glazed and far away, but he recognizes me.
My heart flips in my chest.
I hate that it still means so much to me when he finally recognizes me, but I suppose a son always loves his father. Or at least craves the recognition.
I nod slowly. “I’ve got it, Da. I’ll get it cleaned out.”
Of course, we’d cleared out the basement when she died. For all the years she’d complained to Da about it, he didn’t do it until after she was gone.
There’s nothing I can do about Da not understanding that Maggie is gone. All I can do now is keep him from finding out Isla exists.
“Good.” He settles down in the bed, pulling the sheets up over his chest, and he’s snoring in seconds.
I watch him for a moment, watch his chest rise and fall and wonder what it would be like if he’d been a good man, a good father.
Would I still feel this conflict in my heart about how to feel about him? Or would this illness be even more devastating?
Either way, you live with the lot you get, as my mother always said.
I stand up and walk into the hallway, gently closing the door.
Maria’s back already, standing in the hallway. “I-I’m sorry I left. I just... it’s been so hard lately, Liam. So many bad days.”
“Aye. I understand.” I reach into my wallet and press a folded wad of cash, whatever I have in my wallet, probably around fifteen hundred, into her hand.
She pushes it back. “You’ve already paid me for the week, Liam?—”
“A bonus,” I insist. “For all the bad days.”
Maria gives me a weak smile and places the money into her scrub pocket. “You’re too good to me.”
“You’re too good to him.”
Without saying goodbye to my father or Maria, I walk downstairs and get back into my car, staring straight ahead for a long moment.
I don’t think I’ll see Isla at all, tonight. I need to be alone.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
CILLIAN
As I shower,I whistle a bawdy Irish ditty that never fails to make Isla giggle. I’m on my way to see her, even though it isn’t technically my shift.
I don’t care, though; I don’t even care if Liam boxes my ears for it.
