Straight Up

by Deirdre Martin

  Aislinn chewed on her bottom lip. Surely there was no harm in trying it on just once before sending it back to him. She stood up, pulling her T-shirt off over her head, and shimmied into the nightie. It felt gorgeous against her skin, silky and lovely. She went to look at herself in her full-length mirror, loosening her braid and playing with her hair so it fell about her shoulders. She looked ... sexy. She held her hair up, pulling down a few soft tendrils around her face and the nape of her neck. Not bad. She swallowed. She did look beautiful. Never in her life did she think she'd see herself that way.

  Her eyes were drawn to the bottle of perfume on her dresser. No harm in putting a little spritz of that on her wrists, just to complete the picture. Smelling lovely, looking gorgeous, she walked back to her bed to pluck out the small card nestled at the bottom of the tissue paper. No harm in reading it. The card had two red foil hearts entwined on the front. Inside, Liam had written, “I really hope I have the thrill of seeing you in this one day, even though you're beautiful no matter what you wear. I love you, Liam.”

  Aislinn felt herself melting. God. look at you, going all gooey inside. She quickly shimmied out of the nightie, folding it carefully and putting it away in a dresser drawer, the card atop it. She decided she'd toy with him by keeping it. If he asked if she'd gotten anything in the mail recently, she'd tell him no. Maybe it was mean, but she was mean. wasn't she? She had a reputation to uphold. After all, she was the McCafferty.

  Straight Up

  Chapter Twenty-nine

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  “I could shear them twice as fast, you know.”

  Aislinn tried to pretend she didn't hear the comment Alec had just made under his breath as the two of them, along with Alec's brother Jake and Padraig, took a small coffee break after three hours of shearing. Aislinn's heart sank when daylight revealed dark gray skies; if it rained, they'd have to reschedule the shearing for another day. Luckily, the clouds gave way to generous sunshine.

  She'd felt slightly awkward when the Fry brothers showed up, since she hadn't seen Alec since the night she'd had to set him straight. But he seemed himself, raring to go. It was a lucky break that he and Jake were already well-acquainted with her farm and her flock, since it meant they'd save even more time performing the tasks ahead. Or so she thought.

  Things had started off well, but Padraig seemed to slow down a little as he clipped each member of the flock in turn. A few times, he seemed to be having a hard time holding down the larger ewes and rams, which had never happened before. When Aislinn gently offered to help, she was met with a snarl. She cursed herself for asking. She was sure that in Padraig's mind, she'd just given the Fry brothers more ammunition to use against him in their imaginary plot. Still. Alec was right: he probably could get the job done in half the time.

  “Let's leave him be for now,” she said to him quietly.

  “Aislinn -”

  “Alec, please.” Her tone bordered on pleading. “So what if he's a bit slow? It'll all get done.”

  “You're too kind to him by half. You know that, don't you?”

  “He's family,” Aislinn said softly, looking at Padraig, who sat brooding on one of the bales of straw across the barn.

  “Well, if you ever decide you need permanent help. I'm still available,” said Alec.

  Aislinn just sighed and went over to Padraig to try to assuage his mood.

  “Looks like someone's got his knickers in a twist,” she teased gently.

  “And whose fault is that, offering me help I didn't need in front of those bigheaded Frys, who I'm sure think they can do a better job than me.”

  “You did need help,” Aislinn maintained quietly.

  “Don't tell me how to do my job, Aislinn McCafferty,” Padraig scolded. “I've been shearing sheep since before you were born.”

  “I know that. But some of the larger ones seemed to be giving you a bit of trouble.”

  Padraig waved his hand in the air. “All in your head.”

  Aislinn felt the beginnings of a headache coming on and began rubbing her temples. “You've got to be more careful about nicking them, too.” "There's always a few nicks here and there. You know that.

  Yes, but you’re nicking them more than usual. She decided to stop banging her head against the wall.

  “See how much faster it's going with the Frys helping us?” she offered, hoping he'd at least admit to something positive.

  “Doesn't seem any faster to me,” Padraig muttered.

  “Suit yourself.” Aislinn sighed, tired of trying to appease him. She went back to talk to Alec. Boring as he was, it was better than dealing with the stubborn old man and his nonstop glares.

  *****

  She let Padraig keep shearing for as long as she could, even though she could tell it was driving Alec mad. But when she saw him grab three different sheep and pull them by their wool, she called a halt to everything.

  “What are you doing'?” Padraig asked.

  “What am I doing?” Aislinn flared. "What are you doing? You know better than to grab and pull them like that! You're hurting them! And you can damage the wool!”

  “Lower your voice!” Padraig growled. "I don't want them Frys -

  “Give me the shears,” Aislinn commanded, well past caring about Padraig and his paranoia.

  “I will not.”

  “Give me the damn shears, old man!” Aislinn bellowed.

  “So that's how it is, aye? Betrayer! Judas!” Padraig threw the clippers to the ground. “Fuck the lot o' you!” he shouted, storming out of the barn.

  Shaken, Aislinn watched him go. They'd never, ever had a blowup before, and it made her feel sick inside. She hated that she'd lost her temper with him in front of Alec and Jake, but she'd reached the end of her tether with him. Truly.

  Her first impulse was to chase after him, but she squelched it. She'd not go scampering after him begging to be forgiven, when what he'd been doing was wrong and could have hurt some of the flock. Christ, she wished her father were here. He'd have known the right way to handle him.

  Alec walked over to her, bending down to pick up the shears. “You did the right thing.”

  “I shouldn't have lost my temper with him,” Aislinn replied, troubled.

  “Anyone in your shoes would have done the same thing.”

  Aislinn felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “Shite, Alec. I really do think he's really starting to lose it, more than I've been willing to admit.”

  “Do you want to shear, or should I?” he asked kindly.

  “You do it,” said Aislinn, resolutely getting hold of herself. “I'm sure you can do it faster than I can, and I want to get this day over with as soon as possible, if you don't mind.”

  He patted her shoulder. “Understood.”

  *****

  "I had no idea Padraig was so stubborn.

  Dinner finished, Aislinn and Nora were doing the dishes. It was a warmish night, so Aislinn cracked the window open a bit, allowing a lovely, crisp breeze to sweep the room. Nora, of course, insisted it was freezing.

  As Aislinn knew would be the case, Padraig hadn't returned to finish up the shearing with them, nor had he come up to the house for his dinner. He was punishing her. Aislinn knew she'd have to be the one to make the first move, but right now, she hadn't the energy after the exhausting day she'd put in. If he wasn't up at the house at the crack of dawn as was their usual routine, she'd go down and fetch him. Stubborn old bastard, she thought. She needed this kind of aggravation like she needed a hole in her head.

  She handed Nora a rinsed plate to dry. “He was born stubborn, and no doubt he'll go to his grave that way.”

  Nora tossed aside the wet dishrag, reaching for a dry one.

  “We should really look into getting a dishwasher.” “We?” Aislinn returned sardonically.

  Nora pressed her lips into a thin, hard line. "You

  " I don't need one. />
  "But look how many dishes were generated tonight!”

  “There were only four of us! We'll be done with this in no time.”

  “Whatever,” Nora muttered. “Alec Fry likes you.”

  Aislinn sighed heavily. “Yes, I know. But I've straightened him out on that score.”

  “Told him you plan to live the rest of your life like a cloistered nun, did you?”

  “Very funny.”

  “I don't blame you for not wanting to get involved with him,” said Nora. “He was boring the teeth off me at dinner.” Aislinn laughed.

  “I saw Liam last week,” Nora continued casually.

  “Did you?” Aislinn replied, affecting nonchalance. “And where was that?”

  “At the pub. I walked into town the other day. It's a very pleasant walk.”

  “Yes, it is.” Aislinn eyed her sister curiously. “You went into the pub on your own?”

  Nora looked defensive. “What's so surprising about that? I was in town. I thought I'd just pop in and say hello to everyone.”

  Oh, that's right because all of a sudden you want to be thought of again as a Ballycraiger.

  “So you were saying? The Yank?”

  “Yes, I saw Liam. He was asking about you.”

  “Expected me to fly back into his arms after getting the shears, did he?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Nora about the lingerie she'd received, but she decided against it.

  “I've told you before: he's not going to give up.” Nora picked up another plate to dry. “Yes, he did an awful thing, but everyone deserves a second chance, don't you think?”

  “Seems to me we've had this conversation before.”

  “I'm sure we'll keep having it until you stop being so bullheaded and just admit you love hint”

  Aislinn stared out the window. “We'll see.”

  *****

  No Padraig the next morning. Aislinn was cheesed off: he knew there was no way she could work the farm without him. She tramped down to his cottage in the dew-covered grass with his thermos of tea in hand, preparing her apology in her head.

  She knocked then entered, expecting to find him sitting at his kitchen table, listening to the news on Radio Eireann. But he wasn't there. In fact, there was no fire going in his fireplace, which was unusual.

  “Padraig?” she called out. “Come on, you old bastard, show yourself. I'm fully prepared to grovel for the privilege of your company.”

  No answer.

  A sick feeling began to form in the pit of her stomach as she slowly walked across the small room to the closed door of his bedroom.

  Aislinn closed her eyes a moment. Please. God. let him be all right

  She slowly opened the bedroom door. Padraig was lying beneath the thick wool blankets of his single bed, his eyes closed. Sleeping, Aislinn told herself, pushing herself over the threshold. Must have tied one on last night in his fury. God. please.

  She forced herself to his bedside. His eyes were closed, a still, soft look on his old face, his very dead old face with its blue lips.

  And all she could think was: I've killed him.

  Straight Up

  Chapter Thirty

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  Leaving Padraig's cottage. Aislinn walked back up to the house slowly, her body so heavy it felt as if she were hauling pounds and pounds of 'vet sand on her back. She called Dr. Laurie's office, got the answering service, and left a message. Then, despite the early hour, she woke Nora. She didn't want to be alone.

  The next few hours unfolded as if in a numbing dream: Dr. Laurie coming to the house and issuing the death certificate. Calling the funeral director to come fetch Padraig's body, then going to the funeral home with Nora to pick out a casket. Nora was appalled that he was going to be laid out in their living room in the manner of old Irish wakes, but it was what Padraig wanted. and truth be told, Aislinn found a measure of comfort in it. He wanted to be cremated, too, and have his ashes scattered among his two favorite meadows. He didn't want a Mass, but he once told Aislinn he wouldn't mind Father Bill saying a few kind words about him.

  Nora was a godsend. It was she who called the Frys and asked them to come work the farm for a few days, and she who called around Ballycraig, telling everyone what the funeral plans were. There would be a one-day wake, followed by a short memorial service the next morning. Aislinn knew Padraig wouldn't have wanted a fuss, and truly, a one-day wake was all she could bear.

  Aislinn kept her emotions in check until after supper. Dinner was difficult: it was as if she had forgotten how to have a proper conversation. Thankfully, Nora didn't push. They sat together in the kitchen, Aislinn painfully aware of the old man's absence, and of the heavy stillness that comes to a house when someone has passed on. When they finished doing the dishes, Aislinn went up to her room, pleading exhaustion.

  That's when she fell to pieces.

  Padraig's death was her fault. She knew it as sure as she knew her own name. There was no stopping the tears now that they decided to come. She lay down on her bed, curled up into a little ball, and began weeping.

  Nora slipped into the room so quietly Aislinn almost didn't hear her. Aislinn almost asked her to go, but she'd learned her lesson the hard way after her parents' death and the incident with Connor: Don't push people away when you're in pain. Let them in. It doesn't mean you're weak. It means you're human.

  Nora sat down on the bed, taking Aislinn's head in her lap while she tenderly stroked Aislinn's hair. “It's all right.” she whispered over and over. “Let it out.” Aislinn cried as though her heart was breaking, because it was breaking.

  Finally, she looked up at her sister through watery eyes. “It's my fault he's dead,” she choked out.

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “I made him feel useless. This farm is all he's had his whole life, and I made him feel useless. He went home and died of a broken heart.”

  “That's madness.”

  “No, it's not, it's true,” Aislinn insisted, sniffling. “I embarrassed him in front of the Frys by taking his clippers away, making him feel old and incompetent. I shouldn't have done it. Nora. I should have kept my mouth shut.” Her lower lip trembled. “The last thing he told me - told all of us - was to go feck ourselves. And now I'll never get to apologize and make it up to him, because he's dead,” she sobbed.

  “Aislinn, listen to me,” Nora said firmly. “You did not kill Padraig. He was an old man. Dr. Laurie says it's likely he had a heart attack or just passed on in his sleep.”

  “If he had a heart attack, it's because he was so worked up over my embarrassing him and our row!” Aislinn cried.

  “Nonsense! The man's been a heavy smoker for years! I bet his arteries were clogged from here to kingdom come.” Nora continued stroking Aislinn's hair. “Maybe it was just his time, love.”

  “I hate that the last words between us were harsh,” Aislinn choked out. “It kills me.”

  “He knows how much you loved him.”

  Aislinn sat up, rubbing her eyes, which felt like someone had dragged sandpaper across them. “Oh. God, Nora what am I going to do without him?”

  “You're going to hire Alec Fry, for starters.”

  Aislinn sighed heavily. “I know, I know. I'm going to talk to him about it tomorrow morning. Or at the wake.”

  The wake. She hoped no one expected her to get up and say anything. She wasn't good in those situations. If anyone else wanted to speak, that would be fine. But she would not. Could not.

  The one thing she did intend to do as a tribute to Padraig was to put together a collage of photos of him to display. There were loads of photos of him on the farm, in town, in the pub; pictures both old and new, chronicling his life. She'd bought a big piece of oaktag for the backing when she and Nora were in town earlier in the day.

  Aislinn pulled a tissue out of the front pocket of her jeans, blowing her nos
e. “I've got to go sort through the photos.”

  “You can do it in the morning.”

  "I have to work in the morning, remember? I took today off, and I'll be taking all day Sunday and Monday off, too. If I don't do some work tomorrow, I'll go mad.

  “All right. I'll help you with the pictures, if you want.”

  “That'd be great.”

  “It's no problem.”

  Nora started to rise from the bed when Aislinn impulsively grabbed her hand. “I'm so glad you're here.”

  “Now there's five words I never thought I'd hear,” Nora quipped. She squeezed Aislinn's hand tight. “I'm glad, too.”

  *****

  Liam felt self-conscious as he walked through Aislinn's front door with his family. He hadn't brought a suit with him to Ireland, and as a result, he had to borrow one from his cousin Brian. It was too tight on him, but he had no choice: there'd been no time to go out and buy one. The same held true for shoes: he'd had to borrow a pair from Jack: otherwise, he would have been forced to wear the suit with his hiking boots or running shoes, which would have made him look like a total idiot.

  News of Padraig's death had shocked everyone, including his parents, whom he'd called immediately. Toast after toast was hoisted in his honor at the Oak, and the band played many of his favorite old tunes: “Whiskey in a Jar,” “Danny Boy,” “I'll Take You Home Again. Kathleen” . . . The songs made Liam homesick, as memories of his parents and other relatives singing them at family gatherings overwhelmed him.

  When he heard about the old man's death, Liam's first thoughts were of Aislinn. Nora had told Jack that Aislinn was the one who'd found Padraig dead in his bed. It had to be awful. Liam knew how much she loved the old man, no matter how much she complained about him being a royal pain in her neck. And with his death happening less than a year after the death of her parents - Jesus, it had to be ripping the scab off that painful wound, big time.

  The house was packed with familiar faces. People were speaking in hushed tones, but Liam knew that once night fell, those who stayed late would relax and have a few drinks, and anecdotes would be told, accompanied by quiet laugher. He remembered Aislinn calling him a plastic Paddy the first time they met, and right now, that's what he felt like: he'd never been to a wake where someone was laid out in the house before. He was morbidly curious.