The Write Escape

by Charish Reid

  Good. Let him sweat.

  As he sat across the divide, he pushed a cup toward Liam. “Maybe you could let this warm you up instead of the old morning Bushmills.”

  Liam regarded the tea with suspicion before his eyes flitted back to Aiden. “Go ahead and say what you need to say, boyo.”

  Aiden swirled his teabag around his cup. “Where’s your next port of call?”

  “It’s up to me, really,” his father replied. “Thinkin’ about stayin’ here for a while. I ain’t come down in the last shower, y’know? Ould codger like me can’t sail all his life.”

  “That’s surprising to hear,” Aiden said, as he pulled the bag out and set it on his saucer. He picked up his cup, holding the steaming liquid before his face. “I wondered if even you were aware of that.”

  “How’s your mother doing?”

  Aiden’s grip tightened on his cup. That’s what Liam did; took the piss and wound his own children up with mean humor. “Now you’re concerned?”

  “Still shriekin’ mad, is she?” Liam asked with a grin. “I’m only windin’ ye up, boyo. If I came ’round Hannigan’s house, she’d take a knife to me.”

  Aiden’s lip quirked. “Kinda like my tenth birthday?”

  “Jaysus, you remember that?”

  He rolled his eyes before taking a sip of tea. “Of course I do. You ruined my birthday, coming home pissed with that damn stray dog.”

  Liam shook his head as his laughter turned into a raspy cough. “I’d just come back from a long haul in Dublin and remembered it was someone’s birthday. Christ, a little old reverend mother couldn’t have saved me from the Hannigan wrath that night. Thought she’d pan me head in, but she pulled a knife instead.”

  “You tried to convince us that you bought the dog from travelers, but the damn thing was so long in the tooth, he limped in the door like he’d just entered the pearly gates,” Aiden said, biting back a smile. “This ancient hound found his way to the kitchen and stuck its fuckin’ maws into the birthday cake Mam made.”

  His father doubled over laughing at the story. “She screamed like the bean sídhe when that mutt dragged the cake off the table. Hollerin’, ‘we’ll never get the feckin’ fleas out the rugs.’ And wee Ryan just sat on the floor and started eatin’ cake with the dog.”

  Liam’s coarse laughter shocked Aiden back to reality. He remembered his mother’s face in that moment. It hadn’t been funny at the time and no matter how much Clare apologized to her children, he never forgot the pain in her face when she understood the end-result of trying to maintain a normal household. Liam would just show up and make a mess of it again. My god, it feels more like a tragic anecdote from Angela’s Ashes. Perhaps there would be something to smile about if it had only happened once. Unfortunately, destruction was the one thing his father was consistent with. “Are you sorry, Liam? For any of it?”

  When his father’s laughter receded, he cleared his throat and cut his gaze to a nearby window. “Sure I’m sorry, I said so yesterday.”

  Aiden shook his head. “You admitted to being a sorry sod and I didn’t disagree. But are you sorry for what you did? How you left?”

  Liam crossed his beefy arms across his chest and stared his son down with cold blue eyes. “What good’s sorry when yer as old as ye are? Hell, boyo, t’was a lifetime ago. Yer mam told me if I didn’t stick to land and stop me drinking, she’d put me out. I didn’t and so she did. Simple as y’like. Judging by the looks of it, y’turned out alright, yeah?” he asked with a smirk. “Ya hardly sound like a boy from Limerick. Ya sound a bit lace-curtain nowadays.”

  He stared back at his father, searching for the remorse in his eyes. When he couldn’t find it, he fell back on the emotion he knew best: Anger. “Limerick was hard in the ’90s. That flat above the washers on William Street was just a small piece of how shitty ‘Stab City’ was. And you left us for the fish?” Aiden asked, setting down his cup, fearing he’d fling it at a wall. “While Mam taught, she cleaned the hospital. She came home late, feet hurting and hands raw from chemicals, and sat down to write lessons when she should have been sleeping. She fed us every day with no fish and no coin from you, Liam. We begged her to let us get jobs and she wouldn’t let us. It tore Junior up to not go work in some factory, but she made him stay in school. He’s got two boys of his own, you know that?”

  Liam didn’t answer.

  “Works at a bank in Dublin too. Sean and Ryan run their own businesses and they’re happy and you’ve got grandchildren. That’s what’s happened while you were off fishing.”

  “Good on ’em,” Liam said, shifting in his seat. “And what of you, boyo?”

  Aiden exhaled through his nose. “I’m a university professor in Galway.”

  Liam finally took a sip of his own tea. “Don’t surprise me none that ye went to teaching. Always took after yer mam.”

  Aiden let out a harsh laugh. “And I got my aimlessness from you. Every time I look out over the ocean, I feel something I want to bury,” He ducked his head and ran his hand down his face. When he looked up and met his father’s gaze, the fight was gone and replaced with sadness. “It was so much easier when I thought you were dead, Liam.”

  “That’s fair,” Liam said. His pale blue eyes stared at his son’s sweater, his teacup, the window behind him... But never directly into Aiden’s eyes. He cleared his throat and nodded before taking another swallow of tea.

  An uncomfortable silence settled over the table as Aiden ran his fingertips over the rim of his cup. He was starting to see the futility of this meeting. The only thing that had changed about Liam was his age.

  Liam broke the silence. “What else ye got fer me?”

  Aiden ran his hand over his mouth before answering. He was already tired and left empty from this exchange, but if his father wanted it, he’d give it. Best to get all this shite out in the open before he turned the page. “I’m sorry I hit you,” he said, “Mam didn’t raise me to get on like that. But I’ve hated you ever since 1995. You can say, all you want, that mam gave you an ultimatum, but it wasn’t just her. You had four growing boys to see after. Not one coin came back from Dublin, from England, from Spain, or wherever the fuck you went. Not one phone call on any of our birthdays. The Hannigans came to our graduations and quietly spit on the pauper’s grave they hoped you were buried in.

  “I defended you the longest, and boyo, I was a fool for that. Everyone else moved on before I got the sense to stop sneaking off and searching for you at every feckin’ harbor in Ireland. When that wasn’t enough, I taught myself how to sail against mam’s wishes. She was cross with me over it. You know why? Because of all my brothers, I was the one she had to worry about. She wrung her hands over if I’d take off on a boat and get a dozen women in trouble. The training must have worked because I’m finally respectable. But when I look into your sorry face, I see my other half and I hate it.”

  When Aiden finished, he sank against his chair and closed his eyes. Liam sat there and took it, mulling over each word like glass in his mouth. “I can’t tell ya anything you want to hear, son,” Liam said in a low voice. “Would it make ye feel better if I said yer not me? Not a bone in you, worth something, belongs to me. Yer County Mayo, Hannigan blood, through and though. Yeah, you got them good looks and the craic from me,” he said with a mirthless laugh. “But the parts that matter...yer Clare’s boy, alright.”

  Aiden opened his eyes, recognizing this was the first time Liam referred to him as “son” and not boyo. A strange realization settled over him: This is as good as it is going to get. This was Liam’s admission of guilt and Aiden was likely to never hear it again. “I think it might be time for me to head out.”

  His father nodded. There were no objections, no arguments. Liam still had that shifty look in his eye. “So where are you and that little lady staying?”

  “Her name is Antonia and we’re up in Tully Cross,�
� Aiden said, drinking the rest of his tea.

  “She a good lass fer ya?”

  Aiden pushed his cup and saucer away. “She’s probably far better than I deserve.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Liam joked. “Listen, boyo. Can I leave a phone number with ye? Maybe we can catch up another day down the road.”

  Aiden decided to humor the old man instead of the knee-jerk reaction of denying him. He nodded and watched as his father reached into his jacket for a small spiral notepad and worn down pencil. Liam scribbled down something and ripped out the page. He folded the small scrap of paper and slid it across the table like a business transaction. Aiden picked it up and stuffed it in his pocket before pushing away from the table. Liam rose with him, unsure of what to do with his hands. After more shifty glances around the room, his gaze finally settled on Aiden.

  “Well, I guess this is it,” he said.

  Aiden held out his hand, a peace offering. “Yes, it is.”

  His father heard the resolute tone in Aiden’s voice and it made his brow furrow slightly. He awkwardly took his hand and gave it a single shake. “Right then. You, uh...take care of yerself.”

  Aiden released his father’s strong hand, a grip made for tying ropes and hauling traps, not for hugs or pats on the back. “I’ll keep doing that, Liam.” He backed away from the old man, feeling a combination of lightness and sadness. With time, he hoped those two feelings could evolve into relief and salvation. Aiden left the dining room and then the guesthouse without looking over his shoulder.

  The search for Liam was complete.

  It was time to return to Tully Cross.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Here’s the problem with publishing, Danny,” Antonia said watching the bartender pour another whiskey. She sat on the edge of her barstool, propped on her elbows. “If I take this job, I’ll just be back where I was. No, that’s not exactly true. I’ll have way more work to do.”

  Danny passed her glass back to her and whipped his towel back to his shoulder. She’d been talking his ear off for the last hour while he tended to other patrons. Antonia knew she should have been talking to Aiden. But when she started her day, his car was already gone. After yesterday’s terrible events, she figured he probably needed to be alone. Antonia didn’t want to pester him with her recent reverse of fortune. It was difficult to compete with an existential meltdown, nor did she want to. He needed space and time to think about things. As did she. “How much do you like eating, lass?”

  Antonia sipped on her second whiskey and soda before answering. “I love it.”

  “And you say you’ve got no job now?”

  “Correct.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “I wish I could just stay in Tully Cross and work the bar with you,” Antonia said with a pout.

  Danny scoffed. “You got any experience?”

  “I was a bartender in college.”

  “Were ye now?” he asked, raising a blond brow. “Can you pull a decent pint, love?”

  Antonia sat up straight and shot him a defiant glare. “Of course I can.”

  He raised his hands in defense. “Only asking.”

  “And I can make a killer dirty martini,” she added.

  “There ain’t really a martini crowd here.”

  Antonia slumped in her seat. “I suppose there isn’t.”

  “I can’t hire you, but I’d like to take a cigarette break and Nellie doesn’t come in until seven. You think you can handle the bar while I’m outside?”

  Antonia frowned. “Are you serious?”

  He swiped the cigarette off his ear and winked at her. “All you need to know is that Michael is working on his fifth Guinness, I’ve got it written here. You ever use an SPS-2000?” he asked, cocking his head to the register behind him.

  “Sure,” she said with a startled laugh. “It’s not as good as the SPS-3000, but it’s a solid machine.”

  Danny tossed his towel at her. “Well, la-dee-da,” he said. “Can you handle about fifteen minutes?”

  She turned around to look at the nearly empty pub. Michael sat at the end of the bar, dressed in another stylish three-piece suit. If he picked tonight to fall off his stool, she’d have to let him stay on the floor. “Okay,” she said, leaving her perch and walking behind the bar.

  “Don’t play fast and loose with your pouring either,” Danny said over his shoulder as he exited. “I’m still running a business after all.”

  Antonia hadn’t been behind a bar since she was twenty-eight. Back then, she had the energy to work third shift and show up to a nine o’clock lecture. The club she worked at was much busier than the crowd here. With Michael at the bar and a couple sitting near the fireplace, she quickly sized up their orders. The man and wife were a beer and white wine couple. Michael was on his last swallow, so Antonia washed her hands and found a glass. The red-faced gentleman would want his sixth drink.

  She tilted the glass at the spout and pulled two thirds of the pint, just as she’d watched Danny do so many times. As she set the glass to rest, Michael announced he was ready for another drink. Antonia smiled to herself. “Coming up.”

  She watched the light brown foam rise to the top and slowly transition to a dark molasses. There was a certainly calmness and beauty to this wait. When Danny did this, his actions seemed trained and elegant. She continued to watch the drink as the pub’s door clattered and footsteps traveled to the bar. “Couldn’t trust me for two minutes?” Antonia asked.

  “Ms. Harper behind the bar,” said a familiar voice. “Not for a minute.”

  Her gaze shot up to meet Aiden’s. “Hey,” she breathed.

  “You couldn’t pay your tab,” he said. “And Danny’s forcing you to work it off. I’ve seen it before, but usually in the form of dishwashing.”

  His eyes were red and tired, but the handsome smile was back and it was contagious. Antonia found herself mirroring it immediately. “He’s outside on a smoke break and left the bar in my capable hands,” She filled the rest of Michael’s beer, driving the foam to the top of the glass. Only a centimeter of foamy head. Not bad. “Sometimes trying something new gives you perspective on the life you’re already living,” she said, setting the glass in front of Michael.

  “Thank ye, lass,” he muttered.

  “Makes sense to me,” Aiden said, eyeing Michael. “You’re not over-serving him, are you? I don’t know if my back can handle another incident.”

  “It’s his sixth one,” Antonia said, making a note in Danny’s notebook.

  “You look adorable back there,” Aiden said with a grin. “Although there’s very little you can do to not look adorable.”

  “Danny doesn’t want me giving out free drinks,” she said, whipping the towel over her shoulder. “So you can keep your compliments to yourself.”

  Aiden nodded in appreciation. “You got me.” He perched a knee on the barstool and leaned over the bar. “Can I have a kiss instead?”

  Her face warmed at the suggestion, but she was already on her tiptoes meeting him halfway. “That’s on the house.”

  Aiden took her by the chin and drew her closer. “God, how I’ve missed these lips,” he said, brushing them with his own. She licked the corner of his mouth until her tongue met his. His fingers slowly grazed her throat as he tasted her mouth. Before their kiss could border on improper, she pulled away and let him return to his barstool. His lazy smile warmed her insides faster than any high-proof spirit.

  She let out a breath. “What can I get you?”

  “I could taste whiskey on you, my dear.” He picked up her glass of whiskey. “Is this yours?”

  “It was.”

  Aiden tilted his head and took it all in one gulp. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed and felt a fire in her belly. Even in his tired state, Aiden’s sexiness shined through. He’d retired his Aran sweater
and wore a simple gray T-shirt that revealed the bulge of his biceps as he leaned against the bar. “I’ll have another, if you don’t mind.”

  She rolled her eyes as though it was an annoyance, but secretly wanted to show off her skills. She rinsed out a nearby jigger and poured the correct portion into a rocks glass. “Soda?”

  “I’m not a child,” he chided. “I’ll take it neat, thank you.”

  Antonia smiled. “Fair play.”

  “Ah, look at you,” he said, sitting down. “You’re picking up the slang.”

  “I suppose I am,” she said, setting his glass before him.

  “You’ve already developed the lilt and cadence of the accent, you know? You learned the melody without overplaying it. Imagine what you’d sound like if you stayed here.”

  Antonia froze. She had imagined staying in Ireland and it made her anxious. His plans, no matter how hopeful they were, worried her. Aiden spoke of the future so easily when his past, and her present, were barriers for both of them. “I’m sure it’s something all tourists pick up,” she said, busying herself with the glasses. She picked up a clean one and began wiping it down for no reason. “How was your day? I didn’t see your car this morning.”

  His mouth twisted as his eyes dropped to his drink. “I drove back to Clifden.”

  “Could you find him?”

  Aiden seemed surprised by the question. He gave a jerky nod and cleared his throat. “Yeah, I did. We had a talk.”

  Antonia set down her glass and started on the next. Part of her wanted to respect his privacy... But my god, was she going to have to pull the details out of him? He’d driven to another town to get answers from a man who wronged him twenty-years ago and all she could get was we had a talk? “How do you feel?”