A Reason To Kill, page 70
“Oh, I suppose the Atlantic no longer can be considered a complete separation, with methods of travel shrinking distances more and more every day, I rather think individuals can call themselves what they deem satisfactory. So Luv, you can be as Irish as you want to be.”
“You don’t consider yourself Irish anymore?”
“Wrong there.” He poured out a cup of rich chocolate urging it on her as he said, “Lass, let me assure you, when I’m facing those pompous English judges, I suddenly feel like Ireland’s crudest Mick.”
“You’re some kind of lawyer.” She grinned over the rim of the cup.
“You, my girl, were some kind of client. Together we were unbeatable. Now start working on getting that food on the fastest path to your belly or I play nanny and feed you.”
“Food sucks.” But obediently she began consuming the rapidly watering eggs. “It’s great here, but I’d like to go home.”
Misunderstanding, he offered, “You will. As soon as you’re well enough to travel. They can’t keep you out of Ulster.”
“Not to Killyleagh. But to the big house—New York. I want to have a belated Christmas celebration for Gavin and me with Ann and Dad. I want to help decorate the lawns with a million lights. Put up the giant tree with a thousand candles and Dad’s dirty old angel on top.” She giggled softly. “You know my dad with all his money still uses that same dirty old angel—that he’s had like forever. Every year Stella warns him it’s going to disintegrate but he’s still puts it up there.”
“Maybe Ann can talk him into a new one.”
“My dad’s got some queer ways. He still keeps some jewelry in a dumb old cigar box I covered in velvet in the third grade. It sits on that big oak dresser, among all those fancy wooden boxes, looking gross.” She giggled.
“Your father loves you very much.” He waited no longer only began spooning food into her mouth. “We all love you Dede, and you are going to get healthy again. If not for yourself then for the rest of us.”
“I’ll only get fat.” she said after a forced swallow. “Add that to the scars.”
“In no time, those scars will only be a memory.”
“Sean?”
He kept her silent with more food as he attempted to explain. “Seamus has taken the lad home. You must be fair, Sean is still very much a boy who needs time to heal, to put this aside and mature a bit.”
“I’m not to see him at all?” She guessed. “Am I to be kept away from Jas too? You should have left me locked up!”
Gently he swiped with a napkin at the moisture forming beneath the purple eyes and smiled as he assured. “It won’t be nearly as devastating as you imagine. Jason Connors, that lad will do his own thinking to hell with what he is told. The rest of your wild bunch are very much in evidence. Your Aunt Mauve is threatening to rip out the phones. And I hear the English are considering banning all flights from JFK.” He laughed and then his tone grew serious, “Please lass, give it time.”
“I will,” she grinned. “I’ll be a good and proper lady at least until I can stand on my own two feet.”
Chapter 125
Northern Ireland, 1985
It had stopped being a need for money that kept the woman trudging up the long hill years ago.
“Damn it Maggie! You’ve no call to run for The O’Neill. He needs a woman to tend the lad, let him fetch one from town.” Her husband’s unexpected anger surprised her.
Her son’s upset was expected. Roger made a fine living as a physician, that his ma should hire out her services embarrassed him. Naturally, she never told her son that all the fine things he had while growing, even his education, were not always his pa’s doing. They came from the big man, in the big house on the hill, The O’Neill; how could she admit to her son she loved that man?
After she turned her back on her husband, Maggie Monaghan had been young for so long. She worked in the big house and watched, as Delia O’Neill grew steadily weaker with illness.
Liam O’Neill was a grand handsome man. “There need not be children,” he promised as he awakened the passion in Maggie’s flesh, and there were no more. Only her Roger, who he saw after as if he were his own and his three fine sons and little Mauve, trying so hard to fill her mama’s place, wanting so much a life of her own.
~~~
Sure’n it was me aided my girl, Maggie smiled in memory, my being there after her mum died set her free. And it’s a grand life she’s made for herself as Mrs. Charles Comford.
My baby girl. The woman shivered as if in fear for her own child and in her heart she cursed the English. But they hadn’t won. Liam O’Neill had won like she knew he would and he’d be bringing their Dede home soon—alive. Even now, Liam was bringing his grandson home, Michael’s son, home to her.
The homely dark child was an instant disappointment that she attempted to cover up with an overzealous welcome. Ignoring the frosty stare, Maggie Monaghan’s words tumbled out nervously. “It’s your daddy’s room I’ve fixed for you. Sure, you’ll sleep where he did as a lad. You’ll let me show it to you?”
“Maggie,” Liam O’Neill laughed softly. “You needn’t fawn over the lad. He’s a bit upset with us but he’ll get over it.” Firmly grasping the small hand in his large one, he pulled the stumbling urchin along.
~~~
Forced into the nursery, Gavin was instantly surprised to discover many of his own possessions had preceded him all the way from New York. He moved among them cautiously touching this and that as if expecting them to disappear. His fingers passed over the grinning robot features. He flicked the switch that normally rewarded him with instant life. The robot still grinned in a lifeless way. On and off he switched—nothing. Suddenly the boy burst into angry tears and kicked at the wretched toy. “It won’t work!” He screamed and punched the grinning mouth.
The man pulled him away from the destruction of the toy as he said, “It’s just the batteries are worn. I’ll see you get new ones.”
But to the frightened child the silent toy, his father often threatened not to supply fresh batteries for, was another betrayal. Attempting to pull free of the man, he yelled, “Mike don’t want me anymore!” His grandfather lifted him to the bed and he immediately twisted into a fetal ball as he sobbed into the mattress.
~~~
Liam O’Neill thought, Michael is wrong in not telling the lad the whole truth. And decided, Gavin needs to know where he belongs. He needs to know he’s a born right to the O’Neill name. He said, “Suren what gave you cause to think that?” as he sat down next to the small carcass.
“He sent me away,” was a muffled yelp.
“And where would that be?”
“Here.”
Unwinding the small body, the man held his grandson’s wrists to prevent escape as he said, “And where is here? This here…is Michael’s home. All the O’Neills’ home. Your home. I’ve only brought you home.”
The child accused, “Mike wanted to get rid of me. He don’t want me anymore!” He struggled against the adult’s hold. Suddenly released, he bolted from the bed.
“Just you slow up!” The statement caused Gavin to halt short of the exit. “Young man, your father was not of a mind to do that nor could he. You don’t belong to Michael. You’re part of him, yes, but you are also part of the rest of us.” Watching the large eyes overflow with tears that the child rubbed until his cheeks reddened brought a compassionate smile and the bite left his grandfather’s voice as he said, “Gavin, you’re Deirdre’s little brother, Mauve’s nephew, my grandson. How could you think any of us could give you away?”
“My other grandpa did!” Gavin accused. “He kept my sisters but he gave me to Mike.”
“Nonsense! It wasn’t like that. Poor man was left no choice. The judge asked if you wanted to live with Michael? Why Michael? I’ll tell you why, because he knew you were Michael’s son.”
The boy crept closer as the man realized now he must finish what he’d started. He searched for words a small child could understand. “Gavin, sometimes, when your parents weren’t home, you’d be looked after by someone else?”
“Toni babysat us.”
“That’s right. When you were first born, your mama left you with the Clarks—rather like that. She couldn’t care for you but she wouldn’t give you up not even to Michael who was your father. Not to any of us. She was afraid of losing you so she never told us you were born. It wasn’t to be forever but you were a fine little chap and the Clarks took to loving you as if you were their own son. You were happy with them. So when Michael found out, he couldn’t bring himself to disrupt your life.”
“Mike gave me to my real daddy?” The tears had been replaced by wonder and now the eyes widened in terror. Mike had once before given him away? His real daddy wasn’t his daddy? His mommy was a babysitter like Toni?
His puckered skin tightened on his small face, his cheeks smarted, and his dry throat burned as he whimpered in fear, “Mike gave me away?”
“Son, things are never so simple.” The man drew the shivering child between his knees. “You were so wanted by so many.” He knew this was a lie, still he felt justified in falsifying a bit. “But you were happy with the Clarks. You believed they were your mommy and daddy. Neither your real mother nor Michael wanted to make you unhappy by taking you away from them. Everyone had waited too long. We didn’t know what to do. Then the auto accident took the Clarks away and your daddy immediately brought you home with him where you belonged.”
Burying his face in the wide chest, Gavin whimpered, “Where’s my real mommy?”
“She died before the Clarks did.” Was all the man felt free to disclose. “But you have Ann now.”
“All this dying…what if Mike dies?” The tears came again without violence as Gavin pressed into his grandfather’s chest.
O’Neill hugged him close as he promised, “You’ve no cause to worry son, you’ve lost a lot but you’ve gained. You’ve gained those things you had a right to all along. You are part of your real family now and we will all see to taking care of you till you can take care of yourself.”
“Mike will come back for me?” A loud sniffle followed the words.
Liam O’Neill smiled against his grandson’s dark hair as he said, “As if he has a choice? Sure, but the poor bloke has been condemned to remaining your pa and my son.”
Chapter 126
New York, 1985
Amy O’Neill brushed rosy color on her cheeks, then wiped it away for it was too noticeable. “Fuckin’ ghost,” she complained out loud as she wondered why nature hadn’t seen fit to bless her with her cousin’s Deirdre’s complexion. Their aunt Mauve always kidded that it was because she was a winter lily and Deirdre a summer rose.
“Five feet two, eyes of blue, skin the color of Elmer’s glue.” She sing-songed Deirdre’s description of her. She wondered what fairy tales her aunt made up to explain Gavin. A withered fall leaf in a garden of white Poinsettias—after all he was born in December. Then perhaps no one was sure of that either. She giggled. It wasn’t that she disliked the kid, it was just the way everyone in the O’Neill family fawned over him. Thank goodness her mom’s family didn’t find him all that special. She’d heard some pretty nasty remarks from the Logan clan concerning her Uncle Mike’s newly acquired son.
At breakfast, the morning the reigning member of O’Neill clan had to move his operation to London, Amy’s mother lit into her father. She had said, ‘Gordon, Michael is being a damn fool about this. Taking that boy to your father—can you imagine Liam’s reaction? I told him, he should leave him with us until after the trial.’
‘Gavin is Liam’s grandson. Mike’s son, Amelia, they’re not going to hide him.’
‘Mike’s son, Gordon, rea…lly?’
‘I can’t prevent you from thinking what you please, but you could do the family the respect of keeping it to yourself.’
Amy was sure she had never seen her dad that angry before. The way his hands were clutching the table, she felt he’d like to punch out her mother. She wanted so desperately to say something clever that would make them laugh like she had done when she was little—but nothing came to mind. And then it was too late, her dad had stalked out of the room.
Her mom apologized, “Sorry, darling, we shouldn’t discuss such things in front of you.”
“Really, Mother, I’m hardly a child any more. I understand about Gavin—well, I think so anyhow. He isn’t Uncle Mike’s kid only…”
“Amy! You must never say that. Of course Gavin is Michael’s son.”
“Hey, brat.” Her twelve-year-old male cousin yelled from the opposite side of the closed door. Amy had a dozen cousins from her mother’s family but they were all much younger and she missed Deirdre. “Your mom says you should get a move on. Your guests are already here.”
“Bug off pest.” Amy yelled back. “I’ll be down when I’m ready.” Touching melon shaded lipstick to her small mouth she thought, some damn birthday party. Without Dede and Jas it’s gonna be a drag. An idea hit her and she patted a bit of the lipstick on her cheekbones. Turning her face this way and that, she decided she liked the effect. It was sexy the way the lipstick glimmered as it caught the light.
Running her hands over shimmering ivory silk that clung to her body emphasizing its delicate curves, she giggled. Her mother was going to have a bird when she made her entrance. She nearly panicked and reached for the pale blue chiffon that had been so carefully constructed for her tiny figure.
“Screw it! I’m eighteen!” She told her mirror image. “Damn if she’ll make me dress like twelve.”
Flouncing through the doorway, she motioned to her cousin, who remained on watch, and he yelled into the intercom, “She’s coming!” The music flared up to the tune of Daddy’s Little Girl.
Gordon O’Neill met his daughter on the top landing. Offering his arm, he whispered, “Beautiful, lass, you’re beautiful. All those young fellows are jealous of this old man.”
“Oh! Daddy!” She blushed and her face lost its need for color. The familiar staircase that she ran down a dozen times a day appeared to have grown in length. She crossed her fingers. God if I trip. She clung to her father’s arm, and delicately perched each foot on a stair, making certain one high heel was secure before lifting another.
Soon he was swinging her out on to the dance floor as the band struck up Happy Birthday. Everyone was looking at her and suddenly Amy felt an unexpected pleasure in knowing Deirdre wasn’t there.
Brian Fitzgerald cut in. He bent to touch his lips to her cheek. “You grow or something?”
“Three inch heels,” she admitted. “Hope I can make it through the night. Can you believe? This is the first birthday I can remember that Dede wasn’t at.”
“And you had sooo many.”
“Bri, don’t be weird.”
“Jas will be home tomorrow. I can’t believe it, He’s coming back to the academy. Guy’s gotta be nuts.”
“Why? You’ll be there to bottle feed him as usual.”
“Amy, dance, don’t talk—someone might realize how stupid you are.”
“Fuck you,” she whispered. She moved quickly out of his arms to stalk independently from the dance floor.
“Amy, you finally caught up with me.” Neil laughed. The time they’d been cloistered together for protection had allowed Neil and Amy to develop a relationship. Since Bridget’s death, Neil’s charismatic personality remained submerged. Tonight it apparently was resurfacing; his eyes gleamed with mischief as he said, “Now you just grow old.”
Neil’s a great looking guy, she thought. He outshines and out classes Brian by a mile. She said, “But I’m going to have fun doing it.” Her throaty laugh was flung into the air intended for the youth still standing alone on the dancefloor.
She raised her arms and Neil pulled her close. They moved on to the dance floor and swirled back by Brian Fitzgerald.
“Too bad Dede couldn’t be here,” Neil Carey said.
Amy O’Neill answered. “She’d make it a Halloween Party. They say her face could rival Frankenstein’s bride right now.”
Chapter 127
New York, New York, 1985
When she was young the dream of coming here paled all others, now she was here and the place terrified her.
Nervously she plucked at aggravating lint on her navy skirt. She watched the man’s face for some hint as he continued to read through the reports. Now and then he shook his head and smiled. Finally he looked up and said, “Mrs. Quinn, I’m going to have to admit everything you’ve been told by your own physicians is true. All these new tests confirm is there is nothing physically wrong with your son’s arm.”
“He can’t move it.”
“I’m well aware he won’t move it.”
“You’re tellin’ me my Paddy’s bluffing. A child his age?”
“No.” He reached out to pat the worried mother’s hand. “The boy’s not bluffing. You’re right he’s too young to carry it off so well. It’s a deeper emotional problem. When your son had his accident, did something else occur at the same time—or shortly after? Perhaps some drastic change took place in his young life?”
She needed only a moment to consider. “Plenty, why after the accident we moved in with my husband.”
“Your husband?”
“Well, sure, he wasn’t my husband then. I was his housekeeper and tended ta his sick pa.”
“Your husband is not Paddy’s father?”
“Not by birth.”
“Then we probably have part of the answer—jealousy. Paddy dislikes your new husband?”
This brought a smile to Sandra Quinn’s lips. “Not the case at all. Why Paddy’s been callin’ that man papa and loving him before he’d even the right.”
“And your husband? How does he feel about the boy? Perhaps unconsciously he rejects him and the child senses it?”
“Not hardly. Richard pampers him fierce. No Doctor, it’s more I should feel neglected not our son.” She could see in his expression he didn’t believe her. Why was it so difficult to accept that a man could love a child that wasn’t his? All men took their children on faith. She felt like telling him, his own weans might look like him but that was no assurance they were his, especially if he has a brother— the man’s a doctor, heavens he knows that. She kept her tongue in check.
