the television. As Roger finished his business, the porch light switched on.
“Do you have any idea of the hour?” her mother hissed from the entry.
“It’s not yet tomorrow, I’d wager.”
“You should have let us know you’d be this late. Your da’s been worried.”
“Sorry, Mam. I meant to call.”
“Then next time, you’d best do it.”
Vi apologized one more time. All she needed was the bellyful of Chablis and she’d be that muddled teen again, a stage in her life she could do well without. Vi shooed Rog inside and edged past Mam, wishing her a restful sleep.
“At this hour, it will be more of a nap,” Maeve said before going upstairs.
Vi shook her head. Liam’s offer of a place in Duncarraig was developing a fine appeal.
She went into the front room and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. He absently patted her hand where it rested on the arm of his chair.
“Danny called while you were out. He wants you to give him a ring,” Da said without once turning his eyes from the golf tournament he was watching.
“It’s getting late. I’d best do it in the morning.”
“He said he’d be waiting up for you.”
“Well, then…” Vi went to the kitchen phone and dialed her number back in Ballymuir. Danny picked up almost immediately.
“I’ve missed your voice,” she said, feeling some of the night’s tension leave her.
“Well, you also missed Pat cutting his finger at work.”
So much for finding peace. “Was it bad? He wasn’t using that horrible band saw again, was he? After the last cut, Michael promised me he’d keep him from it.”
“He was, but it’s not bad at all. I wasn’t even going to tell you, except I knew you’d give me hell when you got home and saw him.”
“Which I might do yet.”
“You’re acting a bigger baby than Pat did. He was stitched, given some antibiotic cream, and sent home. Jenna stopped by, and Kylie’s here now, asleep in front of the fire. The reason I’m calling is because her students want to do something special for her before the baby’s here, and were hoping you’d give a hand.”
Lord, more cooing and ahh-ing when she’d already reached her limit.
“So long as they can wait till I’m back,” she said aloud, for sharing bitterness was something she’d never do.
“And when will that be? Not that we’re missing you, but we like having Rog about.”
She laughed at that male evasion of love. “Soon. A fortnight more at the most.”
“Then I’ll pass along word that you’re in.”
“Fine, then. Now you’re not hiding the truth from me about Pat?”
“You’ll know if you come home to a spare finger under your pillow, won’t you?” With that, her blood-thirsty brother hung up.
Vi pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat.
Upon first meeting Kylie over two years ago, Vi had become the official arts ambassador to Gaelscoil Pearse, where Kylie taught. Once Vi was to school, she loved working with the children, but of late it had grown harder and harder to get herself there.
Everyone around her was rolling in fertility the way Roger would in rabbit droppings. She was tired of hearing about birth and offspring and annoyed with herself for feeling so cross. Kylie pregnant, Catherine twice so, and Liam with a child. The last was the coldest cut of all.
Tired beyond thought, Vi pushed away from the table and checked in the fridge for a bedtime snack but found its shelves empty of quick edibles.
“Barren, eh?” she said to Nan and the other spirits watching over her. “Sharp. Grand joke, indeed.”
No doubt about it, the dead had nasty senses of humor.
Chapter Four
The ambitious man is seldom at peace.
—I RISH P ROVERB
V i staggered downstairs at nearly ten the next morning, her crimson silk robe wrapped haphazardly about her, and her hair still in sleep tangles. She’d been restless past three o’clock with thoughts of Liam—a circuit of “what ifs” that had led her back to where she’d started:
“Do you have any idea of the hour?” her mother hissed from the entry.
“It’s not yet tomorrow, I’d wager.”
“You should have let us know you’d be this late. Your da’s been worried.”
“Sorry, Mam. I meant to call.”
“Then next time, you’d best do it.”
Vi apologized one more time. All she needed was the bellyful of Chablis and she’d be that muddled teen again, a stage in her life she could do well without. Vi shooed Rog inside and edged past Mam, wishing her a restful sleep.
“At this hour, it will be more of a nap,” Maeve said before going upstairs.
Vi shook her head. Liam’s offer of a place in Duncarraig was developing a fine appeal.
She went into the front room and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. He absently patted her hand where it rested on the arm of his chair.
“Danny called while you were out. He wants you to give him a ring,” Da said without once turning his eyes from the golf tournament he was watching.
“It’s getting late. I’d best do it in the morning.”
“He said he’d be waiting up for you.”
“Well, then…” Vi went to the kitchen phone and dialed her number back in Ballymuir. Danny picked up almost immediately.
“I’ve missed your voice,” she said, feeling some of the night’s tension leave her.
“Well, you also missed Pat cutting his finger at work.”
So much for finding peace. “Was it bad? He wasn’t using that horrible band saw again, was he? After the last cut, Michael promised me he’d keep him from it.”
“He was, but it’s not bad at all. I wasn’t even going to tell you, except I knew you’d give me hell when you got home and saw him.”
“Which I might do yet.”
“You’re acting a bigger baby than Pat did. He was stitched, given some antibiotic cream, and sent home. Jenna stopped by, and Kylie’s here now, asleep in front of the fire. The reason I’m calling is because her students want to do something special for her before the baby’s here, and were hoping you’d give a hand.”
Lord, more cooing and ahh-ing when she’d already reached her limit.
“So long as they can wait till I’m back,” she said aloud, for sharing bitterness was something she’d never do.
“And when will that be? Not that we’re missing you, but we like having Rog about.”
She laughed at that male evasion of love. “Soon. A fortnight more at the most.”
“Then I’ll pass along word that you’re in.”
“Fine, then. Now you’re not hiding the truth from me about Pat?”
“You’ll know if you come home to a spare finger under your pillow, won’t you?” With that, her blood-thirsty brother hung up.
Vi pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat.
Upon first meeting Kylie over two years ago, Vi had become the official arts ambassador to Gaelscoil Pearse, where Kylie taught. Once Vi was to school, she loved working with the children, but of late it had grown harder and harder to get herself there.
Everyone around her was rolling in fertility the way Roger would in rabbit droppings. She was tired of hearing about birth and offspring and annoyed with herself for feeling so cross. Kylie pregnant, Catherine twice so, and Liam with a child. The last was the coldest cut of all.
Tired beyond thought, Vi pushed away from the table and checked in the fridge for a bedtime snack but found its shelves empty of quick edibles.
“Barren, eh?” she said to Nan and the other spirits watching over her. “Sharp. Grand joke, indeed.”
No doubt about it, the dead had nasty senses of humor.
Chapter Four
The ambitious man is seldom at peace.
—I RISH P ROVERB
V i staggered downstairs at nearly ten the next morning, her crimson silk robe wrapped haphazardly about her, and her hair still in sleep tangles. She’d been restless past three o’clock with thoughts of Liam—a circuit of “what ifs” that had led her back to where she’d started:
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