The Parting Glass. Emilie Richards

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СКАЧАТЬ him. Well-meaning people always gave advice, as if doing so would absolve them of guilt if the child harmed himself.

      “This is Kieran Donaghue, isn’t it? And you’re Peggy Donaghue?”

      She glanced at him again. “Dr. O’Malley?”

      “Finn. Just Finn. And you’ve brought this screaming child to live with Irene?”

      Tears sprang to Peggy’s eyes. She had been in a high state of anxiety for forty-eight hours, and despite outward confidence, she’d had doubts all along that she was doing what was best for her son. Now this man, with his frigid black eyes, stiff spine and disapproving expression, reached deep inside all her fears.

      “He’s been in a plane for hours. He’s exhausted, frustrated, distraught. He’s not like this all the time.”

      “But often enough, I’d guess.”

      She stood a little straighter, although she didn’t know where the energy came from. “I’ve explained Kieran’s problems to Irene. She knows them all. She still wanted us.”

      “She’s a gullible old woman, lonely, though she’ll never admit it, and dying. Not the best combination to make decisions, is it?”

      Kieran was still flailing, and a crowd was gathering, but the strength of his tantrum was waning. Kieran, too, was exhausted from the trip and didn’t have the energy to sustain a fit of this magnitude.

      Peggy faced Finn. He was tall, nearly six feet, she supposed, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. She’d expected new tweed and found old herringbone, buttoned over faded jeans and a navy-blue T-shirt.

      “She’ll be glad to have me,” she said, “and glad to have Kieran. I’m not a nurse, but I’ve had medical training, and I like her. I know that already. And I know she’s lonely. Now she won’t be anymore.”

      “Sometimes loneliness is better than the alternative.”

      “And sometimes staying out of matters that don’t concern you is better than poking your nose where it doesn’t belong!”

      Something sparked in his eyes. “I can assure you that’s not a problem of mine.”

      Anger died. “I know she’s a good friend. She’s told me. And you’re worried. But you don’t need to be. If this doesn’t work, I’ll leave. You can count on it. I just think it’s worth a try. Can you be so sure it’s not?”

      His gaze flicked to Kieran, still kicking, still miserable. “Irene says he’s autistic?”

      Peggy hated the word. It reduced her son to a label, to a condition, a disorder. He was Kieran, her only child, Phil’s son, Megan and Casey’s nephew. He was Irish on her side and Slovak on Phil’s. His father was a talented young architect, and someday his mother was going to be a doctor. He was intelligent, although she knew unlocking that part of him would be difficult. He was a beautiful little boy and would undoubtedly be a handsome man.

      He was Kieran.

      “He is who he is,” she said. “And when this year is over, we’ll know him better and all his potential.”

      He appeared unconvinced. “These are your bags?”

      “Yes, but I have to wait for him to calm down. This is the only way I can make sure he does. I can’t interfere.”

      “I’ll take them out to my car. I can do it alone. I’ll wait for you outside.” Without another word he hooked the larger suitcases together, leaving her with the carry-on, and walked away.

      The trip to Shanmullin was going to take hours. Peggy hoped they would all survive.

      

      Finn O’Malley had resented making the trip to Shannon Airport. He had tried repeatedly to talk Irene out of this daft scheme to bring a stranger from the United States to care for her, but Irene was as stubborn as any Irishwoman. In her youth she’d had red hair, too, lighter than Peggy Donaghue’s, but thick and straight like the young woman’s. He wasn’t given to stereotypes, but the myth of the stubborn redhead had some appeal. In her long lifetime Irene had resolutely refused to marry, refused to move into town as she aged, refused to hire a companion, refused to go to hospital when poor health necessitated it.

      And she had refused, although her very life had depended on it, to accept the fact that Finn had given up practicing medicine. She had refused a new physician until Finn had been obliged to treat her or watch her die unaided.

      Stubborn.

      Now this young cousin of hers seemed to prove that Irene’s contrary nature was going to be carried on in the distant family bloodlines.

      “You’re certain you’re related to her?” he asked, as they finally neared the village.

      Beside him Peggy opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were unfocused and heavy-lidded from lack of sleep, but even so, he had been surprised to find such a beautiful woman waiting at the gate. “I’m sorry?”

      He hadn’t talked to her on the trip thus far. Thankfully the child had quieted almost from the moment they pulled out of the car park. Banging one’s head against the floor would do that, Finn supposed. The boy had worn himself out, and the mother had fallen asleep nearly as quickly and slept for more than three hours.

      “I said, you’re certain Irene is really your cousin? It all seems tenuous to me.”

      “Something tells me that anything short of DNA analysis will leave you wondering.” She said it with a faint smile to soften her words. She yawned and stretched, and the seat belt tightened across her breasts at the movement. Unfortunately, he was not oblivious.

      “Protecting her seems to be my job, whether I choose it or not,” he said, looking straight at the road ahead.

      “Why is that? What’s your relationship to her, other than physician?”

      “She was my grandmother’s best friend.”

      “And you’re carrying on the tradition. I like that.”

      “She gives me no choice.”

      “I can see she wouldn’t. Once we began discussing this arrangement, she gave me little choice, either. She’s a tyrant, isn’t she?”

      He couldn’t fault the way she said it. With admiration and affection. And besides, it was altogether true.

      “Has Irene explained how we’re related?” she said.

      “She’s been circumspect.”

      “Here’s a history lesson. Back in the nineteenth century there were four Tierney brothers living in the house Irene occupies now. Two of them died. A third, Terence, emigrated to Cleveland, where another brother had gone and died before him. Terence is my ancestor. The fourth, Lorcan, traveled to England and disappeared. Everyone thought he died there.”

      Finn wasn’t sure why he had asked. The details were too complicated and intimate, but now that she’d begun, he couldn’t tell her so. “But if he had died there, I suppose СКАЧАТЬ