Tavish was marriedto a strong-willed woman, like many O’Connor men before him. Cecily was fiery, intelligent, and a very proper English woman. And, Patrick discovered, completely blind. That explained the oft-repeated insistence that he talk with her before deciding on any details of Finbarr’s future house.
“He can see a little when he has enough light,” she said. “He’ll need a house with an ample degree of it.”
She spoke with a refined English accent that made a fellow think he ought to bow or scrape or at least apologize for something. She was also shockingly beautiful, beauty made even more striking by her green-tinted spectacles. How his family had ever grown accustomed to having her nearby he’d never know.
“What else ought I to know about the boy’s house?”
Ma had spent the afternoon running about, busy seeing to some unidentified matter of business, but was not, it seems, as distracted as she appeared. She crossed behind Patrick’s chair and put an arm around his shoulder. “’Tis a fine thing you’re doing for your brother.”
Patrick froze, torn between his years-long need for his ma’s reassurance and his absolute certainty that if she knew even a bit of what he kept tucked away, it would change everything. And not for the better.
“Sorry lad,” she whispered. “I forget you no longer like when I hug you.”
How far that was from true. And, yet, Ma wasn’t entirely wrong. He’d longed for her embrace over the years. Wept for it, even. But he’d lost all right to her motherly affection. Receiving even the smallest bit of it was painful.
“I’m just not used to being hugged,” he said, wanting to ease some of the sadness he heard in her voice.
His words apparently encouraged her, as she hugged him again, this time more fiercely. “I’ll never let you go again, Patrick. I’ve nearly all m’children with me again.”
Nearly all.
“If only Grady hadn’t followed you to battle,” she sighed. “But, what’s done is done.”
“Mary?” Da poked his head around the front door. “We’ve Biddy here looking to set down a stack of plates.”
“On the smallest table,” she told him. Then, turning to Patrick, she asked, “You remember Biddy, don’t you?”
Remember her? How could he not? She’d swept Ian’s heart right out of his chest that last year in New York. He and Patrick had still been the best of friends then. Patrick had been witness to all the ups and downs of that love story. His heart had ached for his brother and then rejoiced with him when the woman he loved chose to love him in return. Of course Patrick remembered Biddy.
“Aye,” he said, his eyes on the paper where he’d been making notes of Cecily’s suggestions.
Ma hesitated a moment before slipping outside. Patrick kept still in the silence she left behind.
“Why did she make you so uncomfortable?” Cecily asked.
How has she sorted that out? He hadn’t said anything to her about his discomfort, and she couldn’t see his stiffness when Ma came so nearby.
Tavish, standing nearby, rocking his infant son in his arms, spoke before Patrick could. “Don’t bother trying to deny it.”
“I’m out of practice, is all.”
“Out of practice with what?” Cecily asked. “Being a son?”
“It’s grown unfamiliar.”
“And what aboutcéilís?” Tavish asked. “Have parties also grown unfamiliar?”
“I’ve not been to acéilísince we left Ireland.”
Tavish smiled. So much like Grady. The three of them had looked nearly as alike as triplets, though years separated them. Tavish was now older than Grady had ever been. So was Patrick, for that matter.
“There’s acéilíhere nearly every Saturday,” Tavish said. “Right here at Da and Ma’s. We missed last week on account of all the rain.”
“Truly?”
Tavish and Cecily both nodded.
The very Irish parties had been a favorite of Patrick’s back in their homeland. For a long time, parties of any kind had appealed to him. He couldn’t be too careful about them now. In addition to music and dancing, such gatherings always included alcohol. He’d managed the last week and a bit with only a few drinks. He was doing so well. He couldn’t bear the thought of backsliding so soon.
