Hard Irish by Jennifer Saints Page A

said.
    Dessie’s eyes went wide open then narrowed with suspicion.  “That’s exactly what he said.”
    “Great minds,” she replied.
    Dessie shook her head.  “More like insane minds.  Speaking of which, let’s go ahead and open the can of worms though there’s no place for them to crawl.  What’s this with your parents’ after death deliveries?  And what exactly did your father try and say?”
    Rocky retold the story.
    “Hmm.  So both your mom and your dad felt the need to leave you something to see after they’ve moved on to the Blue Sky Mansion.”
    “Yes, according to Pat they have.  He’s got the box from my mother and supposedly the lawyer has stuff from Da.”
    “You know this doesn’t sound like it’s going to be good, especially from your mom.  If it was just love-letters an ill-parent writes to their child, your father would have given them to you by now.  You also realize that the lawyer isn’t going to let you have any of your father’s things.  He’ll be bound by ethics and law to only deliver them after your father’s death.”  
    “I can only try.  I have power of attorney for my father, so maybe that will make a difference.  I am more worried about the effect on my father’s current health.  He’s trying to tell me something important.  Maybe knowing their secrets will help.  Something needs to help me figure out what my father meant.  He loved my mother.”
    “Close your eyes and think about her for a few minutes.  What comes to mind?”
    Rocky followed Dessie’s lead.  “Quiet, gentle, creative.  She had dark hair like me, but her eyes were china blue and she had fragile, handle with care stamped all over her.  Whereas I’m like the Dodge truck commercials—ram tough.” Rocky laughed.  “She was petite and into fashion.  Growing up I was the ultimate tomboy and I was huge.  She’d put me in white lace for church and I’d end up wrestling in the grass with the boys.  She wrote in her spare time, whenever she wasn’t running the construction office or taking care of Da or me.  Poems and short stories.”
    “What were they like?”
    “Tidbits about Ireland, her childhood.  She didn’t have an easy time of it.  Her stories were often sad,” Rocky whispered and drew a deep breath, realizing now that her mother had been a solitary, melancholy person.  “It’s been a while since I’ve read any of her work.  Even when she was sick, she kept writing and self-published collections of her poems and short stories.  I have her books on my shelf.”
    “Seems to me that one way to understand what your father might be trying to say about your mom, is to go back and remember the person your mother was.”
    “Good idea.  When I get home tomorrow night, I’ll pull out her books. Tomorrow is a big day.  We start the Drake Hotel renovations.  I want to be onsite by seven.”
    Dessie crossed her eyes. “You might have mentioned that before I invited you for a PJ party.  Pebbles, you’re in charge of breakfast and seeing our guest off.”
    Rocky laughed.  “What is she going to serve me?  A dog biscuit?”
    “Yes.  They are gourmet.  All natural, organic, and teeth-sinking good.  Bacon, egg, and cheese is her favorite flavor.  She had one for dessert tonight.”
    “I think I got a whiff of that when I kissed her earlier.”
    “Speaking of kisses.  On a scale of one to ten, how does your stranger rate?”
    “Twenty.” Rocky sighed.
    “Really?  Twenty?”  Dessie practically fell off the couch.  “Oh, honey!  I’m having a hot flash just thinking about it.  You need to get him bedroom bound ASAP.  Do not waste a minute of talent like that.” 
    Rocky rolled her eyes.  “Let’s watch a movie.”
    Dessie arched a brow.  “I’ll let it go for now, but you can’t hide from yourself forever.  What do you want to watch?”
    “ Flirting with Forty ,” Rocky said with a grin.  They’d both read the book based on author Jane