I ran my gaze over him. He was short and round with a head full of white hair and a bushy moustache ta match it. “Maureen’s father?”
“Nah. Tara’s.”
“Oh….” I strolled over to him as he took a seat at the bar. “How are ya this fine evening, sir?”
“In need of some Jameson’s. And follow it with a pint of the plain.”
I slid out the bottle and searched for a glass. “Well, ya poor craiter. Sounds like you had yourself a day.”
“A day? A month. A year.” He picked up the drink I just placed on the bar and threw it back. “Ahh.” He exhaled. “A life.”
“Oh, well now. Is it truly all that bad?”
He squinted his eyes at me. “Do you have children, lad?”
I was surprised by the shot of pain and almost couldn’t answer. “I do not.”
“Well let me tell you, I have six. All gals. Do you know what it’s like to be surrounded by women?”
I chuckled. “No. But I wish I did.”
He laughed, too. “You’re right. The way I spoke it made it sound like a good thing. Living with seven women, well, it ain’t no picnic, to be sure. It’ll drive a man to distraction.”
I stroked my chin. “Mmm.”
“And if it weren’t enough paying for the clothes and the makeup and the shoes…my wife is a freakin’ quilt addict. Did ya hear me, son? Quilts! I ask you, how many freakin’ quilts does a man need?”
I smiled. “You make a fine point.”
“And I bet you biscuits to a bear the woman has a new one started when I get home tonight. I’m…I’m up to my neck in quilts, I say.” He was carrying on so it brought him to a stutter.
“Sure look it.”
He took a drink of his stout, and suds coated his moustache. “Mmm…mmm.” He gestured, trying to swallow so as to make another point. “Now, don’t get me wrong. I’ve been married to the gal going on twenty-six years. And she’s still a looker.” He raised his beer as if to toast her. “But we could blanket the whole of County Cork. I ain’t spoofing.”
“Sounds like a veritable Hell.”
“It is indeed. A dose, I tell ya.”
“Well, how ’bout the next round’s on me then, my man. How’s that sound?”
His mouth slid into a wide grin. “Like the voice of the angels, my lad, the voice of the angels.” He took another big drink and lifted his glass to acknowledge me as I drifted down the bar to help a new customer.
But I kept coming back to him, chatting him up to find some angle to approach him. He continued to talk about how his gals were depleting his pocketbook. Told me how he caught his youngest, a mere thirteen, wearing lipstick and regaled me with the horrors of having to go to the market for women’s products because the whole lot was on the same cycle. By the time we neared the close of the evening, he was fairly polluted.
“Now. If the missus could quilt me a good, strong Irish whiskey, ya know, like that whole Rumplestilikins thingie…” His words were a trifle mixed up. He gestured. “You know, spinning the straw into gold and such. That would be a bit useful.”
I laughed. “Indeed.”
He stumbled off his stool and laid out bills. “You’re a good lad, Killian.” He sized me up. “Too bad you’re too old for my gals. I’d marry one of them off to ya. Lydia perhaps. But I’ll spare you none of the details. She’s a lovely gal, but she’s got a face like a dog chewing a wasp. Poor dear.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Yes, it’s an awful shame I am as ancient as I am.”
He chuckled and slapped his hand on the bar. “I’ll see you on the morrow.”
“Are you certain you’re in shape to go home?”
He waved me off. “I’m walking, my boy. As long as I don’t stumble into the wrong house, I’ll be a fortunate man. May even wake up the old woman and get my oats off.” He whooped.
I doubt that’s gonna happen, old man. But give it a try, why don’t ya?
Paddy came out from the kitchen, appearing pure knackered. “Killian, it’s time for you to hit the Four Springs Nightclub. You must be bushed. You worked your arse off.”
“Are ya certain, Uncle? I could count the till for ya. Or sweep?”
“Nah.” He let on that he was giving me a shove, but barely touched me. “Get ya gone, now. I’ll be needing ya on the morrow.”
“G’nite, then.”
I left him, trudging up the stairs to my lodgings. It was a nice place. Long room with a bed, trunk at the foot of it, and I even had a small fireplace and bathroom of my own. One large, low window overlooked the street in front of the pub. I unbuttoned my shirt, then stood in front of the window, my hand fisted on the frame above my head, and stared out at the wet pavement.
And I was back to a night soon after I first met Jo. All my thoughts came ’round to her.
We were walking around the neighborhood outside the bar I worked at. It had rained, and the ground was the same shimmering silver as it was tonight. We’d danced to Snow Patrol earlier in the evening then walked along the quiet street, and I knew I was falling in love with her.
“This is nice,” she commented.
I peered about again. “Aye.” I was hit by a wave of melancholy. “I wish I could take you on a walk through Cork, though.”
She thought about that. “What’s it like?”
“Oh, it’s a big city, like Lincoln. But I’d walk you down by the River Lee, past brightly painted storefronts and pubs.” We separated to avoid walking through a puddle together. “I’d hold your hand.” I grasped it on the other side of the puddle. “It would probably be wet there, too. It’s always raining in Ireland. That’s why it’s so green.”
She was watching my face. “You miss it, don’t you?”
I sighed. “I haven’t thought about it much but…aye. Aye, I do.”
“Did you know anyone when you came here?”
“Not a soul besides my uncle.”
“You made up for lost time, then.” She grinned.
“Oh, aye. I’m sorry about that. There’s not much in the way of privacy at Paddy’s.”
“No. That’s what I love about it.” She stared off in front of us. “It’s almost like being with family. Or what I imagine family would feel like, if it were a normal family.” She sounded wistful. On impulse, I stopped to kiss her, long and deep.
I promised to take her to Cork, but we never made it there.
Then unpleasant memories invaded my mind. Hospitals, beeping machines, needles, my sweet Jo, wasted away to nothing…. It all tasted bitter in my mouth.
I purposefully turned from the window, slipped out of my clothes, and slid between the sheets, without bothering to wash up or brush my teeth. The lack of her was breath-stealing tonight. I tried to ruminate on something else. Something positive. As I tucked the quilt tighter around my shoulders—it was chilly without a fire—the worn nub of the cloth reminded me of Tara’s da, Mr. Duffy. Or Nolan, as he insisted I call him. It brought me a wee smile to think about his dramatics and how—despite the fact that he was complaining about them—I could tell he loved his wife and gals mightily.
By befriending him, I’d laid the groundwork to help Connor. I had only to follow up on it on the morrow.
Chapter 2
The lead-gray weight of the afternoon sky was no match for my heavy heart. I stretched my arms out behind me, planting my hands in the Irish turf that had come to take my form like a Memory Foam mattress. I’d been spending far too much time on this cliff top, above the pounding waves of the Celtic Sea, dreaming about my wife. I put four-thousand-twenty-one miles between me and her grave, and yet I constantly found myself here, where I felt nearest to her. I pictured her on some distant shore, just beyond the horizon marking the edge of my sight, grinning and waving at me. Telling me she’d love me forever.
I sighed, sitting up to pick at the clover beneath my feet and welcoming the bracing wind that burnt my skin. We didn’t know our forever would come so quickly. I drew my knees in, circling my
arms around them and twirling a dainty three-leaf clover by its stem. So fragile.
I was a sorrowful man, but sorrow didn’t sit well with me. It was the same when my ma and da died. I couldn’t stay, couldn’t face the ghosts of past love. It wore on me, consuming the man I was until so scant was left, my flight became one of self-preservation.
But this hurt was far deeper than the pain of losing my parents. Although they were taken from me in a highly unnatural way, a parent’s death was part of the expected progression of life. Laying the woman you loved with all your heart in the cold, dark ground? Well that was about as alien an action as there was. In fact, it was like some space monster had reached inside and left my heart in tatters, its massive claws leaving only a frame and shredded strings behind. I don’t think I’ll ever be the same man I was before Josie left me.
But Jo would want me to move on. I knew that for a fact. I could almost hear her from heaven now, scolding me. Telling me to get on with things. I recalled one particular day in the hospital, near the end.
One of our favorite and most loyal customers at The Pint Well-Taken, Quinn, had come for a visit. The old man was quite a character but one of the folks we were closest to. Jo asked me to go fetch her some hand lotion. I was pleased for the break. Watching her wither away was agonizing. But when I left, I could never stay away long. I’d be filled with an urgency to return, to spend every waking minute with her before our time was gone. I paused outside the door, leaning against the wall and closing my eyes. Sometimes the pain was overwhelming. Quinn’s and Josie’s voices drifted to me, and Jo’s first statement caused me to listen in.
“I’m so glad he left. I needed to talk to you alone. I have a favor to ask you.”
Quinn’s chair scraped on the floor. He was probably moving closer to hear her. “Oh, anything, my love. What is it you’re needing?”
She hesitated. “Do you know that Shannon who works at McGillicutty’s?”
“Shannon Pierce?”
“Yes. That’s her.” She paused. “What do you think of her?”
“Oh, well…Shannon’s a fine lass. A pure jewel. Trust me.”
Jo exhaled. “That’s what I thought.” Another pause. Either Jo was regaining her strength to talk, or thinking about what she wanted to say. But when she spoke next, her voice was stronger. “Now, I know you complain about Rosie all the time, but I can tell by the twinkle in your eyes when you speak of her, you really love her.”
Quinn chuckled. “Aye. But don’t go telling her. She’ll be impossible to live with.”
Jo laughed but was struck by a coughing fit. I winced, knowing how painful that was for her.
Quinn was alarmed. “Are you all right? Should I get Killian?”
“No! No. I’m fine.” Her voice was raspy. She coughed more, then asked. “Could you just hand me my water there?” Sounds of movement came to me. Then Jo began again. “So…you have a bit of the romantic in you, and I bet you would be a great matchmaker.”
“I’m a fine judge of character, to be sure.”
“And Shannon…she’d make a good wife? She’s kind, and funny….”
“Aye. But for who?”
I knew it before she said it. “Killian.” My heart seized. Fat tears poured down my cheeks. I was too tired to wipe them away.
Quinn took a moment to speak, and when he did, his voice was choked. “Your Killian?”
“I want to find someone who’ll care for him as I would and make him happy.”
Quinn sounded panicked. I felt for him. “Now…don’t be talking that way, Miss Josie—”
“Quinn, please. I need you to do this for me,” she begged. “Get the two of them together. Show Killian—”
Hearing someone approach, my eyes snapped open. A nurse stood closer than I expected. “Are you okay, sir?”
I lost the conversation from there and, after reassuring the nurse, walked away. I went to the chapel, got on my knees, and offered God everything to spare her.
A week later, she died.
I knew there had to be a reason God took her, but I was blind to it in every way. It had been almost a year since we laid her in the ground, but it seemed like a mere day. A cold mist began to fall. I closed my eyes and let it bathe my face. After a few moments, I drew my da’s pocket watch out. Break time was over, and then some. I struggled to my feet but stood with my hands in my pockets for a moment before taking a stride closer to the cliff’s edge. Gazing out at the sea, the wind pressed against me. This close, I could hear the thunder of the waves as they tirelessly crashed on the rocky shore. Like my grief, they ebbed and flowed with unrelenting tenacity.
I chanced a peek below and discovered I wasn’t alone. Far beneath me, walking along the shore, was a woman, her hair in a ponytail. She wore a beige cape with a hood, but like me, she didn’t seem to care whether she got wet or not, as she hadn’t covered her head. She stopped to look out over the waves, as I had. The wind whipped her cape around her as she hunched into it more deeply. Was she mourning someone’s loss, too? My heart went out to her.
I tore myself away from the scene and trudged toward the pub, bending the sweet grasses below me with the stomp of my feet. I was no more in the door when Aunt Deirdre called to me.
“Killian, ya look like a drowned rat. You must be wet to the bone.”
I slid my feet back and forth on the entrance mat, not wanting to bring any mud in. “Aye. It’s a grand soft day.”
“Well, get that sweater off ya. And grab me a….” She held up an empty bottle of Tullamore Dew.
I nodded and quickened my step, seeing they were busy. The smell of the wet wool was nauseating me, so I pulled the heavy-weight, cable-knit sweater over my head as I weaved through tables. I wore a T-shirt with the pub’s logo on it underneath. When I entered the pantry, it was like I could still smell the perfume from my strange run in with the angel. I resisted the urge to glance behind me, grabbed the bottle I needed, and made my way toward the bar. I hung my sweater on a peg in the hall to dry and got to work.
An hour later, my cousin Flynn walked in with a bird on his arm.
“Killian.”
“Flynn. How are ya, my boy?” I hurried to wipe a spot at the bar where the two could sit.
“Fair to middlin’. Oh, I haven’t introduced ya to my gal, have I? Bridey?”
The girl was perusing the bar floor but turned at her name. A pair of deep green eyes with a spark of wickedness in them came to rest on me. She jumped, and her mouth fell open.
“I told ya he looked like me.”
She glanced at Flynn then swung her gaze to me. “The very likeness of ya.” She seemed stunned. I didn’t think we appeared all that much alike, but we often got this reaction. She was a comely thing, high cheekbones, black hair drawn up in the back, and sharply arched brows that added to her mischievous air.
Flynn stood taller, clearly proud of his catch. “Killian, I’d like ya to meet Bridey. Bridey—”
She interrupted, her voice a tad shaky. “Bridget, actually. But everyone calls me Bridey.” She blinked then looked away, having stared at me for an uncomfortably long time.
I offered my hand, clicking my heels together as if coming to attention. “Killian Murphey, at your service.”
“Oh.” She shook it hurriedly. “Flynn, I need to get to work.”
“So ya do, gorgeous.” He drew her in and laid a kiss on her.
She squirmed, clearly feeling awkward in front of a stranger. He laughed, and she moved away from him, taking her wrap off as she walked behind the bar. “Pardon me,” she said, not making eye contact. “I just…uh…need ta….” She motioned with the clothing she was holding, and I realized she needed to get past me to hang it on one of the pegs in the hall.
“Oh, sorry.” I flattened myself against the bar, and she moved past.
Flynn leaned forward. “Whatcha think? Some mot, eh? Did ya see the pair of jabs on her?”
Is he talking about his own girlfriend that way? And what’s an answ
er to that? If I say aye, I noticed she was extremely shapely, it would mean I was eyeing her in that way, now wouldn’t it?
I frowned and skipped the question altogether. “What can I get you to drink, Flynn?” We fell to talking about family members. The gal came out a few minutes later tying a short apron at her waist. She was wearing a baseball style shirt with Murphey’s publicized across her chest. No doubt Flynn appreciated the irony. He watched her ass as she passed, without letting up on his talking, and his gaze followed her for much of the night. I was impressed by her waitressing skills, as she wound through the tables, delivering this and that. Speedy, efficient, and a “delight,” as one woman stopped at the bar to tell Paddy. Bridey laughed brightly and often, joking with the regulars.
One fella was being particularly loud in describing a woman whom he dubbed unattractive. “I’m telling you, a sniper wouldn’t take that out.” His friends hooted. “Not like our Bridey here. Am I right, doll? That Ginny McDavy is a double bagger.” Meaning one for her head, one for yours, in case the first fell off. “I wouldn’t ride her if she had pedals,” he concluded.
Bridey was filling her tray with the drinks I made for her order. She glanced up at me, the corners of her lips twitching, put the last drink on her tray and twirled around, but threw her response over her shoulder. “Well, if ya did, you’d be needing training wheels.”
His chums fell about, one even teetering off his stool. “Ya pierced me to the heart, ya did,” he shouted after her, but he enjoyed the snappy retort as much as the rest.
I rang a customer up, but when I closed the cash register’s drawer, a tube of lip balm rolled forward and dropped off the edge of the back bar. I caught it in mid-fall and replaced it in its spot, then spun around with my change. The scenario flashed through my mind again in slow motion, the balm’s label turning over and over, each time revealing a strawberry. Rapid fire sensations hit me. Lush lips blending with mine, a warm touch on my thighs, her nails on my face, and the sweet taste of strawberries and sin.
It’s hers! My mystery woman.
I swung about to pick it up and confirm what I thought I saw. Deirdre was passing, and I grabbed her arm, bringing her to an abrupt stop and making some of her beer slosh over the rims of the glasses she was carrying.
Sin Worth the Penance Page 2
