PROLOGUE
Ronan
Quincy, Massachusetts, 2001…
Twelve year old Ronan O’Mara’s feet pinched in his too-small dress shoes. The new necktie his mother found for him at Goodwill was suffocating him, but worst of all his heart was broken. His grandfather, Declan Hennessey, his mother’s father, was dead.
Gramps had been the only male role model in Ronan’s life after his father, John, left the family when he was a toddler. From that moment on, his grandfather had always been there for him, through thick and thin. He’d taught Ronan to throw a punch when he’d come home from school crying after being bullied. Gramps listened with a sympathetic ear when Ronan voiced concerns that he might like guys instead of girls. What was Ronan going to do without him?
This was only the second funeral Ronan had ever attended. The first was for their neighbor who’d been in her nineties when she died. The funeral mass had been just a regular Sunday service, but for the fact that there was a gleaming casket sitting in the middle of aisle.
At Gramps’s funeral, there was no casket, just a podium with a polished black urn sitting atop it. Ronan had no idea how his grandfather could possibly fit inside the small container, which was about the size of a Kleenex box. Before they’d gotten to the church Erin had explained that Gramps wanted to be cremated, so that his ashes could be united with his wife, Gwen’s, after her death. Ronan thought cremation was badass, going out in a blaze of glory, like a Viking funeral.
Reaching for his mother’s arm, Ronan rested his head on her shoulder. Erin O’Mara had always been strong, but he’d seen quite a different side of her over the last few days. She’d been quiet and sullen, often crying alone in her room. Ronan had taken it upon himself to be the strong one while his mother grieved. He’d been the one making dinners- reheating casseroles sympathetic neighbors had dropped off – doing the dishes, and making sure his mother took her vitamins and brushed her teeth before bed. Ronan was going to make a damn good father one day, that was for sure.
When the mass ended. Erin and her mother lined up behind the priest, who carried the urn toward the back of the church. He took their hands and walked between them. He’d been stunned when, moments later, Father O’Callaghan handed the urn to Erin, who walked back to their car with it in her hands. She placed it on the floor behind the driver’s seat and had cautioned Ronan not to kick it, before she helped her mother into the passenger seat.
The idea of his grandfather’s remains spilling in the backseat of his mother’s Oldsmobile was terrifying. Would Gramps haunt them because part of his left foot was sprinkled on the rug? Another, more terrifying thought struck, where were Gramps’ ashes going? Would his mother stick his urn on the coffee table? With the flour and sugar canisters in the kitchen? On his bedroom dresser next to his statue of the Virgin Mary? He was about to ask his mother, but when he saw her brushing away tears, he kept his question to himself. They’d be home in ten minutes and his question would be answered then.
As the car pulled away from the church, more questions peppered Ronan’s mind. What would happen to Gram now that Gramps was dead? Would she go to live in a rest home like RalphMatthew’s grandmother or would she come live with them like Skippy O’Hearn’s grandmother? How would she afford food and electricity? Would Gram have to live on the streets like a bag lady with all of her worldly goods in a dinged up grocery cart?
Being an adult was scary business. At twelve, he knew he only had six years to get his act together before he turned eighteen and became an adult himself. How the hell was he going to afford an apartment, electricity, a bitching video game system? Ronan’s head spun.
As the man of the family, it was now up to him to fill Gramps’s shoes. Ronan knew there was no way he could live up to the man his grandfather was, but he was damn sure going to try.
1
Ronan
September, present day…
“I now call this meeting of the Halloween Block Party Planning Committee to order,” Ronan said, slapping his hand on the kitchen table. Everly and Aurora kept laughing over something Wolf had said. Cope and Ten never bothered to look up fromtheir conversation. Ditto for Greeley and Fitzgibbon, who’d been whispering together for nearly ten minutes.
Upset that no one was listening to him, Ronan went to the pantry, grabbed his airhorn and walked back to the table with it. The noisemaker had been a gift, of sorts, from Jude, who’d fastened the horn to his desk chair so that when Ronan sat down, it would set the device off. He’d nearly had a heart attack. If he were a cat, he would have lost at three of his nine lives that day.
Pressing the button, Ronan set off the airhorn. The loud wail scared the hell out of everyone at the table. Lizbet started to cry from the living room, while Aurora slapped her hands over her ears and ran to Greeley, who wrapped his little sister in his arms and held on tight. If looks could kill, Ronan would be a goner.
“What the fuck, asshole?” Jude said. He got out of his seat and walked into the living room to grab the baby. He came back a few seconds later with Lizbet, who’s hair stuck up around her head, while tears ran down her cheeks.
“We’ve got to start the meeting. The food’s gonna be here soon,” Ronan said, noticing how rattled his husband and daughter looked. “Jude, I’m sorry I woke your baby. I’m also sorry I scared Aurora and everyone else.” Ronan felt like the asshole Jude called him.
“It’s the same thing every year, Ronan,” Ten said, looking up to the ceiling as if he were hoping for some sort of divine intervention. “Someone will make caramel apples. The kids will only eat the candy and leave the apples discarded in the street. You’ll bitch and moan about how kids have no manners nowadays and you’ll retell the story, for thebillionthtime, of the time when an apple saved your life. Tru and Carson will break out their popcorn machine and make kettle corn, bags of which we’ll keep hanging around in the pantry until it fossilizes. Youand Jude will bring the grills out to the street and you’ll cook more burgers, dogs, and street corn than the entire city of Salem could eat in a month. The leftovers of which will also turn to stone in our fridge. We’ll do Trunk or Treat and the kids will do zoomies around the house later that night thanks to all the sugar they consumed.” Ten looked around the table. “Did I leave anything out?”
“You’re a monster.” Ronan set his hand solemnly over his heart. “How have we remained happily married for nearly seven years when all you do is crush my dreams?”
“You mean the dream to have two kids?” Ten asked, one eyebrow raised. “Or you founding your own detective agency? Or you going back to work for the BPD’s Cold Case Unit for onelastcase, or when you unretired and joined the Salem Police Department? What about the time I bought you the five pound peanut butter cup, which I cautioned you not to eat all at once, and when you ate every last bite one snowy afternoon, was kind enough to offer to drive you to the ER when you started hearing colors and thought you your heart was going to explode from sugar shock?” Ten looked around the table, his eyes coming to rest on Ronan. “Have I left anything out?”
Ronan sank into his seat with a sour look on his face. “I guess not.” He had to admit he had a really great life, thanks to Ten, his kids, and their friends. There was definitely a better way to bring the meeting to order than with the airhorn and complaints.
“What’s our Trunk or Treat theme going to be this year?” Jude asked, obviously trying to get Ronan out of the hot seat.
“What about movie monsters?” Cope suggested.
“Oh, I love Franken-blind!” Everly gushed. “Dad could dress up like him with a green face and nuts in his neck!”
Jude snorted. “Nuts in his neck?”
Everly nodded. You gotta watch the movie, Uncle Jude. It’s in black and white and is almost as old as you are, which is pretty old! Daddy, you could be the Bride of Franken-blind! She screams loud, just like you do!”
