Page 80 of Dark Ink

“We’re taking things slow,” Rian corrected.

Alan shrugged, adjusting his little boy. “Ain’t nothing slow about the way she looks at you.”

“Or him, her,” Anna added, leaning over to wipe a smear of chocolate pudding from her littlest’s chin.

“Or him, her,” Alan relented with a wink. “You know, we just wish Liam could find something like that. Love, support, all that malarkey.”

This earned him a jab in the elbows from Anna. We all laughed like we were on a ‘70s sitcom. I glanced at Rian, but his smile seemed genuine enough. Maybe I was just mistrustful, I thought. Mistrustful that a family could actually be happy.

“I just need a bigger pond,” Liam muttered, mostly under his breath.

This drew a sharp eye from Alan.

“No, what you need is to want what’s best for you: a simple woman. A traditional woman. A woman who will keep you on the straight and narrow,” he said. “Ye keep chasing after something too big for you and what do ye t’ink yer going to find?”

I shifted awkwardly in my chair as Liam stared down at the crumbs on his dessert plate.

Alan continued, “Those Jackeens in Dublin are going to chew you up and spit ye out. The women there, especially. They don’t want nuthin’ from you but what they can get. You think you want sparks, well, don’t blame me when your whole life goes up in flames. And not even yer family will be around to watch it burn with ya.”

A terse silence descended over the dinner table. Even the young children seemed to sense it, going mute, stopping their tired fidgeting. Anna cleared her throat. I noticed her jerk her chin toward Rian.

Alan scratched at the back of his neck, laughter back in his voice as he said, “I mean, not all city folk are all that bad, of course. And, well, what am I saying, Rian is family. You’ve got Rian there.”

I expected to find Rian stung, hurt. But instead he laughed back, leaning back in his chair to stretch his arms overhead.

“For what it’s worth, I think Liam should stay, too,” he said teasingly. “I mean, not even the finest restaurants in Dublin hold a candle to your cooking, Anna.”

We all laughed again. I expected it all to fall apart. Again it didn’t. I kept an eye on Rian as conversation drifted again, wandering here and there, nowhere controversial, nowhere significant. He seemed content. At peace. I imagined many nights like these: easy, slow, good. And I thought, maybe. Maybe everything can be alright.

The dinner was cleared and the children were falling asleep, the night growing long. And there was tomorrow morning, the unspoken event that had brought us all together. It made us all rise in our chairs without needing to say anything. I washed dishes, passed them to Rian to dry. There was the noise of the refrigerator opening, leftovers being stacked, stored, comments about how well everything would reheat. I sensed that the funeral was looming higher, darker. I sensed that this would be the shift, the turn, us adults standing in the darkness at the top of the stairs.

Rian was the first to speak. “Thank you all for the wonderful dinner. I’m glad I came. We’ll see you all in the morning for the funeral, then?”

It was natural, calm. He spoke like we were all going grocery shopping. There was discussion about breakfast, what time to leave for the church, cars and carpooling, parking and gas stations. We parted with whispered goodnights. I turned around to look at Rian as he closed the bedroom door behind him, hands behind his back, facing me. I waited. Apprehensively, I guess. Was this when it happened? The falling apart.

Rian smiled at me and turned his gaze to the room, taking it in slowly as I watched him.

“This was my bedroom, you know,” he said.

I didn’t turn around to look, but instead kept focused on him. I searched his face for any hint of distress. Of pain. Of that claustrophobia I knew from my own childhood. It would kill me to be back in my own little bedroom and I waited for that in Rian: death.

“Liam and Alan crashed into my desk and broke one of the legs,” he said, slipping past me as I remained where I stood. “They fixed it with duct tape when I cried and, look, it’s still standing.”

I heard Rian knock his knuckles against the cheap wood.

“Rian,” I said, turning around. I found him spinning a little globe, it creaking on its plastic axis. “Rian…”

I wasn’t sure what else to say. Rian came up to me and took my hands. In the darkness, I looked up at him.

“Eithne,” he said. “It’s good.”

He smiled knowingly and I knew it was my job to do the same. Teeth brushed. Clothes slipped off. With the drapes already drawn there was nothing left to do but climb into bed.

Rian cuddled close behind me. His body warm. His fingers tracing circles across my palm. I thought, for the first time in a long time, for the first time ever maybe, that we could make this work. I could help Rian. I had helped Rian. I could save him the way I’d failed to save my father. Failed to save Stewart. I could love him enough. I could give him enough.

Look at tonight. I’d brought him back from the brink. My love. My patience. My endurance. I’d dragged him to shore from those black waters. I’d returned him to his family. He was happy. I was happy. We were together. I did that. And I could do it again and again and again.

I could love Rian. I could love Rian enough.

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