I crawled in bed with her and laid my head on her shoulder, wrapping my arm around her tiny waist as she ran her fingers over my forearm.
“I ya gae up to yon hill-tap, ye’ll there see a bonie Peggy—” Patrick began, stopping as Mum spoke.
“I love Robert Burns,” Peg said, relaxing into me as the movement on my arm stopped.
“You just like your name in there,” I teased, making her smile.
I heard Patrick clear his throat, then he started again from the beginning,
“I ya gae up to yon hill-tap,
ye’ll there see a bonie Peggy;
she kens her father is a laird,
and she forsooth’s a leddy…”
He finished the poem and started on another as Peg drifted off to sleep, and I listened to his clear voice as his accent grew thicker with each word. It wasn’t the one I remembered from our youth; it was Peg’s, and my throat grew tight with tears the longer he went on.
“She’s asleep, Patrick,” I said quietly.
He just shook his head, and continued without pausing. He kept reading as the men he’d called showed up and took Kevie away, as I got up to get him a bottle of water when his throat grew hoarse, as I climbed back in bed with Mum, and as the sun began to set in the sky. He didn’t stop, not for one moment.
***
“Patrick?” I called fearfully, meeting his tear-filled eyes after the sun had completely fallen. “I don’t think she’s breathing.”
“Come here, me love,” he ordered gently in a scratchy voice. I leaned up to follow his instructions, then froze as Mum’s chest rose one more time.
“Come to me,” he said again.
He raised his hand for me to take and I slid off the bed, walking numbly toward him, my eyes never leaving Peg’s chest. When I’d reached him, he pulled me into his lap, settling me across his thighs as he wrapped one arm around me and I pressed my forehead to his throat.
We were close enough that I reached out and grasped Mum’s hand in mine, running my fingers over the back of her fragile bones.
I could feel the vibration as Patrick began to read again, and I watched in agony, with tears dripping down my face, as Peg continued to struggle for breath, not once waking up.
We stayed that way long into the night, until finally, without fanfare and with her son reading her to sleep, Margaret Gallagher left us forever.
Chapter 46
Patrick
I crawled into Amy’s bed as the sun finally began to rise, curling my body around her sleeping form. It had been the longest night of my life.
Amy had been practically comatose after Mum had passed, unable to do the smallest thing to help me. I’d found the phone number to hospice and the funeral home on the refrigerator and by the time they’d arrived, I’d had to pry her out of the room so they could take Mum’s body away for burial.
Mum’s body. No longer simply her, but suddenly a thing.
My mother was dead. A part of me couldn’t fully grasp the meaning of those words, but the rest of me felt heavy in a way I’d never experienced before. I’d felt loss before, my da, men I’d lived with, and a woman I’d loved—but I didn’t think that anything had ever come close to the feeling of knowing I’d never again hear my mum’s scolding voice.
I missed her already, and I wished for a moment that Brenna was with me. I didn’t think she even really remembered my mum, she’d stopped visiting so long ago. It was a shame that she’d missed so much time with her nan, but when Mum had insisted that she didn’t want to see my girl, I hadn’t argued. I understood why she’d felt the need to stay away, even if I hadn’t agreed with it. Brenna had already lost too much in her short life—I hated the thought of her losing even more.
As my eyes grew heavy, I rolled to my side so I faced the door to the bedroom, tucking a still sleeping Amy against my back. I had so many questions filling up my mind that I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to sleep, but I knew I wouldn’t be getting my answers that morning. My wife was devastated—completely broken—and I knew deep in my gut that if I brought up the past while she was in that frame of mind, I might never get the answers I was looking for.
***
“Who the fuck are you?”
The angry words woke me from a deep sleep and I automatically went for the pistol that should have been on the floor next to the bed. Shit. I’d left it in my truck.
“What are you doin’ in my house? Huh? Where’s my nan?”
I looked up to see a large kid staring down on me from the doorway, a shotgun in his arms and no shoes on his feet. His skin was light, his body was in that unfortunate stage where it was getting taller but not yet wider, his hair was almost black and his nose was a bit big for his face. I knew immediately who he was, and I had to force myself not to cringe when I saw Malcolm’s eyes staring back at me.
“Mum?” he asked in confusion as Amy sat up behind me.
Shit, I didn’t know if I should force her back down or let her talk some sense into the kid—I didn’t want to get my ass shot.
“Phoenix Robert Gallagher, if you don’t put that damn gun away, I’m going to beat you bloody!” she snapped, her voice husky from sleep.
“Mum?” Damn, it was fucking odd hearing him call her mum in that Texas accent.
“Get out, Nix,” she ordered. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
He nodded and glared at me as he stepped out the door, and as he began to walk away, she yelled at him again. “Nix, close the door and lock up the gun!”
The door slammed with a loud bang, and suddenly I was lying in a quiet room with the most beautiful woman in the world.
“How ye doin’, love?” I asked, rolling to my back so I could look at her.
“I feel like shit, how about you?”
I snorted at the apt description, then gave her a nod. “About de same. Can’t believe she’s gone.”
“Me, either. And now I’ve got to go out there and tell my son.”
“I t’ink he already knows.”
“Yeah, but I’m still his mother… he needs the confirmation from me.”
“Want me to go wit’ ye?”
“No, can you stay in here for a while?” She looked sorry for asking, but I sure as hell understood her reasoning. The boy had just held a fucking gun on me. He wouldn’t want me witnessing the moment he learned his nan was dead.
“Sure t’ing, gorgeous.”
“Stop being charming,” she grumbled as she rolled away from me and off the side of the bed onto her feet. “I’m immune to it.”
“Ye care if I get a couple more hours of sleep?” I asked, not even sure that I’d be able to sleep, but afraid if I was awake she’d kick me out before I was ready.
“Nope, stay as long as you want.”
“Appreciate it.”
I watched her move around the room, pulling on a pair of sweatpants with some odd looking mascot on the side of them, and a long blue robe with frogs printed all over it. She moved as if I wasn’t even there, braiding those long ropes of hair and slipping on some socks that didn’t match.
“Why’d ye do dat to yer hair?” I asked for the first time.
“It grew in that way,” she answered in an odd tone.
“No, de dreadlocks. Why’d ye do it?”
She paused for a moment at the door, then turned to look at me.
“Do you remember the way you used to run your fingers through it?” She asked with a bemused smile, then waited until I nodded in confirmation before she continued. “It wasn’t the same after it was cut off. It was rough and … I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone rubbing their fingers through it.”
“So now they can’t.”
“Right.”
She left then, and I lay on the bed wondering if the real reason she’d done it was because she didn’t want me running my fingers through it.
Perhaps it no longer mattered.
Chapter 47
Amy
“How did you get into my safe??
?? I asked as I strode to the coffee machine on the counter. God, I felt like I hadn’t slept in weeks. My entire body felt heavy.
“I know the combination,” Phoenix grumbled, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. “Who’s the homeless guy?”
“He’s not homeless, don’t be an ass.”
The conversation was irrelevant, but I let him continue. We were talking around the elephant in the room, neither of us ready to face it just yet.
“His beard is down to his chest and his hair is longer than yours.”
“He’s Nan’s son. You’ve met him before.”
“I don’t remember him,” he argued, crossing his arms across his chest.
“He’s known you since you were a baby,” I replied watching him closely.
“What’s his name?”
“Patrick.”
“Patrick what?”
I knew where the conversation was going, and I swallowed hard against the tightness in my throat. Shit. I wished so badly that Peg was there at that moment. She’d know what to do. A wave of grief rolled over me and I closed my eyes until the sharp pain calmed a little.
“Gallagher,” I answered.
Nix looked at the table, his shoulders stiff and his entire body practically thrumming with pent up emotion.
“Is he my dad?” he asked quietly, like he was embarrassed to even be asking. Sometimes it felt like he was already an adult and I was just a nuisance in his life, but other times, like right then? He felt like the little boy who’d been afraid of his teacher in kindergarten and had cried every time I dropped him off that first week.
“Oh, no. No, baby, I’m sorry, he’s not.”
“I don’t understand,” he replied, shaking his head.
His black hair was messy and hanging in his face, and as I watched it fall into his eyes, I had the overwhelming urge to take him in my arms like I had when he was little and brush all of that wild hair out of his face.
“It’s a long story, you sure you want to hear it?” I asked as I poured creamer into my coffee and sat across from him at the table. I didn’t want to talk about it, but if this was how he chose to spend the morning instead of talking about the huge, gaping hole that we now had in our lives… I wouldn’t argue with that.
“I don’t have any plans.”
I laughed a little at his nonchalant reply, and nudged him with my foot.
“When I was a little older than you are now, my parents and I moved to Ireland—”
“No shit?” he blurted, suddenly sitting up straighter.
“No shit,” I confirmed, “and watch your mouth. Anyway, we moved to Ireland and that’s where I met your nan.” I shook my head, and felt a small smile pull at my cheeks. “I thought she was a crazy woman at first. She stopped me on my way home from school one day and asked me in for tea.”
“You hadn’t even met her before that?”
“Nope. Are you going to let me finish, or are you going to keep interrupting?”
He scrunched up his mouth and motioned as if he was locking it up, before throwing the invisible key over his shoulder. Goofball.
“So, to get the whole effect, you have to understand that my parents pretty much sucked. They were too busy with drugs and prostitutes to pay any attention to me.”
Nix’s eyes grew so wide they looked like they were going to pop out of his head, and I knew it was taking every ounce of willpower he had not to comment. I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in the last three weeks.
“So, Peg invited me in, and pretty much took me under her wing. After a while, I was sleeping at her house more often than I was home. One night, her son came home from Uni—their college over there—and he was pissed that some girl was taking advantage of his mom. I was freaked, but it didn’t take long before he realized that I wasn’t out to get anything from Peg.”
“It took less den twelve hours,” Patrick commented from the entryway of the kitchen, a small smile on his face. “Sorry, I smelled coffee.”
“If he can cut in, I can cut in,” Nix announced, letting out a huge breath of air as if being forced not to talk had made him hold his breath, as well.
“He was there, you weren’t, kiddo,” I argued, pointing at him.
“Yer mum was de prettiest girl I’d ever seen,” Patrick said over his shoulder as he grabbed a cup of coffee. “I was infatuated from de first.”
“He’s full of it.”
“I am not!” Patrick sat down at the table while Nix’s head flew back and forth between us. “Ye should have seen her in her school uniform.”
“I went to an all-girls Catholic school and had to wear the uniform—plaid skirt and knee socks,” I informed my son.
“Not a visual I want,” Nix groaned and slunk down into his seat.
“Anyway, we eventually got married,” I said, rubbing my thumb over the tattoo on my finger.
“You’re married?” he yelled, his mouth dropping open in surprise.
“Yep.”
“Then why isn’t he my dad? Why aren’t you my dad?” Nix asked, on the verge of completely losing his shit. I guess it wasn’t the best morning to lay it all out for him. God, I was a shitty mother. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing half the time.
“It’s not—”
“No, let me take this one,” I said to Patrick, cutting off whatever he was about to say. I’d not allow my son to know the full events of that year. Not for any reason, ever.
“We got married, but soon after that Patrick’s dad—Nan’s husband Robbie, who you’re named after—was killed in a car bombing outside our house.”
“Holy shit!”
“Yeah, it wasn’t pretty,” I said softly, glancing at Patrick as we both remembered that morning.
“God, that must have sucked,” Nix said, slumping back down in his seat.
I nodded in agreement. “Then soon after that, Patrick’s wild oats came back to haunt him.” At Nix’s confused face, I explained a little more clearly. “He’d slept with someone before we were married, and gotten her pregnant.”
“You dick,” Nix said to Patrick, who was running a hand down his face.
“Aye, ye’ve got de right of it.”
“We decided to get out of Ireland with some friends of Patrick’s, but we had to leave in two different groups. Patrick took his baby mama—” I paused when Nix snorted at my terminology, “then Nan and I were supposed to go in the second group and meet up with him.”
I looked over and met Patrick’s eyes while I finished my story. “I was angry, livid really, so before we left Ireland, I slept with someone else to get back at Patrick—and then I refused to follow him to Oregon. Your nan and I took a plane to New York and rode the bus down here instead.”
Patrick’s eyes closed tight, as if in pain, and I so badly wanted to reach across the table to hold his hand—but I didn’t. He didn’t deserve my comfort—not for this.
“Dang, Mum. Bad move.”
“Not really, I got you, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, lucky you.”
“I know, I just love smelly socks and the way you stink up the bathroom so I can’t shower for an hour afterward.”
“Shut up, Mum!” his eyes flew to Patrick in embarrassment.
“Oh, please. I lived with the man—he could give you a run for your money.”
Both Patrick and Nix burst out laughing, and it was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard—until suddenly, it was the most painful, as Nix’s chuckles became gut wrenching sobs. I stood so fast that my chair hit the tile behind me, and was around the table in seconds, pulling my baby boy into my arms.
He’d finally gone over the edge he’d been perched on for weeks. I was just thankful that I was there when it happened.
“Nan’s gone, huh?” he asked into my neck, his entire body shuddering as his fingers dug into my back through the thick robe I was wearing.
“Yeah, baby. I’m so sorry.”
I heard a sniff from the table, and turned my head toward Patrick
to find his elbows braced on the top with the heels of his hands digging into his eyes.
I couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down my face.
“She made Patrick read Robert Burns poems to her,” I told Nix softly, rubbing his back.
“Good ol’ Robbie Burns, eh?” he replied in a surprisingly accurate depiction of Peg’s accent.
“Yep. Still making all of us do her bidding, even at the end.” I clenched my eyes tightly closed and breathed in deeply. I didn’t have the luxury of letting myself lose it. I had a son to take care of.
“What happens now?” Nix asked, and it was so similar to the question that I’d heard years ago, that my eyes met Patrick’s across the table as I answered.
“Nan planned her own damn funeral, so we’ll do that next week sometime… and then, we’ll just keep living.”
“Okay,” Nix said, as he leaned up to kiss my forehead. I swear I’d never get used to my child being taller than I was. “Um,” he hiccupped, and pulled away. “I’m going to go shower. You okay?”
“I’m good. Go ahead and shower, but leave some hot water, would you?”
“Yup.” He moved to the entry of the kitchen and then turned back to Patrick. “It was nice to meet you again, even though the reason you’re here sucks.”
“It was nice to see ye again, too, Phoenix.”
“Sorry I stole your last name,” Nix said with a crooked, watery smile.
Patrick stared at him for a minute then lifted his chin. “I’m not.”
Chapter 48
Amy
“Thanks for coming,” I said, looking over my shoulder at Patrick, who was glowering at the man I was speaking to.
“Of course, babe,” Sam said kindly, pulling me into a hug and rubbing my back in long, sweeping motions.
The movement would have been a comfort on any other day, but with Patrick watching us, it just made my skin crawl.
“Call me tonight.”
“I will.”
I watched Sam walk out to his lifted pick-up truck, and sighed as he waved before pulling away. Fuck.