The Crow of Connemara by Stephen Leigh

late 1980s, and they’d added a black wrought iron fence with stone pillars along the sidewalk. To Colin, the fencing and general appearance of the house’s facade had always felt cold and imposing, an attempt to intimidate any visitor.
    That had always seemed to match his father’s outward appearance as well.
    Aunt Patty greeted Jen and Colin as they entered, hugging each of them warmly. “Where’s Aaron?” Aunt Patty asked Jen.
    â€œHe knows we’re going to discuss Dad’s situation, and begged off—said it should be a private family matter. Rebecca didn’t come either?”
    Patty nodded. “Like Aaron, she thought this should just be a family matter. Your Aaron’s a smart boy. I think you might have a good one there.”
    â€œSo far I think so, too,” Jen answered. “Where’s Mom?”
    â€œMaking sure the table’s set. We’re still waiting for Tommy and Carl.”
    â€œThat Harris guy is going to be here?” Colin asked, and Patty pursed her lips as if she was tasting something sour.
    â€œTommy wanted him here, evidently,” Aunt Patty told him. “After all, he is—was—your Dad’s campaign manager, and what we decide here will certainly affect that.”
    Jen nodded. “I’ll go in and see if Mom needs help with that table.”
    â€œMake sure I’m sitting next to you,” Colin said to Jen. “Between you and Aunt Patty would be ideal.”
    â€œI will.” Jen went off down the corridor. Colin lingered with his aunt. There was an 8x10 portrait of his father in a frame sitting on one of the tables in the front room. He stared at it, seeing his father as he remembered him, the smile on his face looking somewhat artificial under the stern eyes.
    â€œIt’s a lousy homecoming, isn’t it?” Aunt Patty commented behind him. “I’m sorry, Colin.”
    â€œNot your fault.” He stared into his father’s eyes.
    â€œHe loved you. Your mom does, too.”
    â€œYes, and they both showed it so well.”
    He felt Patty’s hand on his shoulder, and he turned to her. Her head was tilted, her gaze now edged. “You’re being too harsh on them, Colin. Especially with your mother. She’s really hurting right now, more than you can imagine.”
    He wanted to apologize, to tell Aunt Patty that she was right and he understood what she was saying, but the words were jammed in his throat and something else slipped out. “Love is a lousy word,” he answered. “We have way too many definitions for it, and nobody knows what it really means.”
    â€œToo many definitions for what?” The door had opened again, and Tommy and Carl Harris stood in the doorway. They were both dressed in suits—Colin had worn jeans and a button-down oxford shirt. Tommy cocked his head in Colin’s direction.
    â€œNothing,” Colin told Tommy. “Nice suits. Don’t you guys ever take a day off?”
    â€œThere are no days off in politics,” Tom answered. “At least, that’s what Dad always said.”
    Yes, and look where that’s got him . . .
Colin smiled, holding back the comment. “Do you wear them to bed, too?” he asked, but Aunt Patty stepped in before Tommy could answer.
    â€œI think dinner’s about ready. Why don’t we all go in?” She allowed Tom and Harris to precede them, and took Colin’s arm as they passed. “You know, you have the most open face in the whole family. I can practically see what you were thinking,” she whispered.
    â€œSorry.” Then: “And sorry for what I said before, too. I know you’re right. I do, it’s just . . .”
    She patted his arm. “No need to apologize. Like I said yesterday, I’ve always told Mary you were more an O’Callaghan than a Doyle.”
    â€œAnd how did Mom react to that?”
    Aunt Patty laughed,