Quinn's Deirdre (12 page)

“Eileen wanted to make it an occasion,”
Quinn said. “I think she meant to cheer me up, but it became a pain in the arse
more than anything.
 
Now it’s a bloody
fecking tradition. Do ye mind?”

Deirdre wrinkled up her nose. “I don’t
but I’m afraid of what she’ll say to me.
 
She’ll be angry.”

“Ah, it won’t last long,” Quinn said
with a confidence she couldn’t share. “Once she gets past mad, she’ll be happy
ye’re back, for my sake if no other.”

Maybe
, Deirdre
thought,
and maybe not
. “Will you
tell her before she gets here?”

He grinned. “No, I think ‘twill more fun
to surprise her.
 
Did ye want to visit
yer grandpa tomorrow?”

Glad to change the subject, she agreed.
“Yes, then I’ll call my aunts, I guess.
 
Did they come to the funeral?”

“Oh, aye, with bells on and dressed in
black,” he said. “They reminded me of crows.”

She thought of her aunts, two heavy-set
matrons and imagined them in stark black.
 
The image fit, she thought with a laugh. “God, I love you, Quinn,” she
said.

“I know.”

In the morning, they set out for the
long-term care facility where her grandfather, Aidan King, now lived.
 
Deirdre had called to confirm he remained on
site and hadn’t passed away.
 
Visiting
Gramps always proved harder than she expected because although he hadn’t
recognized her in years, seeing him triggered childhood moments.
 
Once, Gramps had been her buddy.
 
He’d taken her fishing a few times and she
remembered riding with him when he made his errands to the hardware store or
supermarket.
 
He always bought her a
Hershey’s chocolate bar, she remembered, but when his memory began to fade, her
parents put a halt to the outings.
 
Quinn
held her hand as they walked into the modern, one story facility.
 
His support made it possible for her to make
the effort, although she held her nose as they walked down the long, antiseptic
smelling corridor to Gramps’ room.

“He’ll be the easiest to visit,” Deirdre
told Quinn in a hushed voice outside the door. “I doubt he’ll know me and even
if by some miracle he does, he’ll never remember I was supposed to be dead.”

“They brought him to the funeral, yer
aunts,” he said.
 
His voice changed
timbre and roughened as he spoke.
 
She
glanced up at him and he shrugged his shoulders. “Remembering that day is still
hard, love, even though I know ye’re alive and with me.”

So many details and moments she knew
nothing about remained. “Sometime, maybe you can tell me about it,” she said.
“But if not, it’s okay.
 
It sounds so
weird to talk about my funeral.”

Quinn flashed a poignant smile. “Ye
don’t know the half of it.”

A staff member exited the room, her
patterned scrubs bright against the beige walls. “Oh, are you here to visit Mr.
King? Wonderful! Go on in, he’s up.”

The old man who sat humped over in a wheelchair
beside the room’s single window and stared at a bird feeder outside with little
interest didn’t resemble the grandfather she’d once loved.
 
Deirdre walked forward, alone and touched his
shoulder. “Gramps?” she said. “It’s Deirdre.”

He raised his head and turned it toward
her.
 
His blue eyes had faded over the
years, she noticed, and his blank stare held no sign of recognition.
 
Then he tilted his head to one side and his
expression flickered to life. “They said you were dead,” he said in a querulous
old man’s voice.
“Dead and buried.
 
Are you?”

Deirdre dropped to one knee beside him,
encouraged. “No, Gramps, I’m not.
 
I’m
alive.”

One work worn hand patted hers. “Well, I
vow and swear! Everyone said you died in that car wreck, but I’m glad they were
wrong, Mary.”

Mary.
With one
word he unraveled her hopes.
 
Mary had
been her mother’s name, the lovely woman the elders all swore handed her black
Irish beauty down to her daughter, Deirdre.

“I’m Mary’s daughter, Gramps,” she said.
“I’m Deirdre.”

The brief window open for connection
closed as her grandfather’s expression went blank.
 
He swiveled his gaze away from Deirdre and
said nothing more.
 
Quinn offered her a
hand to rise and she did.
 
Deirdre made
two more efforts to get through to Gramps, but he didn’t respond.
 
Funny, Deirdre would’ve sworn an hour ago
that she didn’t care but unshed tears formed a knot in her throat.
 
“I guess we can go,” she said when it became
obvious her efforts had failed. “I’ll call the aunts, I guess and maybe Tamara
soon.”

Quinn nodded and draped one arm around
her shoulders. “Ye’re hurtin’, I know,” he said. “But though it may be little
comfort, my people can be yours too.
 
Uncle Des already is and Eileen, she may come around yet.
 
And if she ever meets
ye
,
Ma’ll love you like a daughter, same as she does all the rest.”

She swallowed the tears. “Maybe,” she
said. “There’s no doubt about Desmond.
 
How many kids were there in your family? Six?”

“Seven if ye count me. I have two sisters,
Eileen and Elizabeth, and four brothers, Sean, Declan, Tom, and Brian,” Quinn
said. “I won’t even try to name the wives or the grandchildren for sure I’ll
forget someone’s name. There’s a lot of Sullivans not to mention the
O’Haras
, the
Hanlons
, Scanlons,
and the
Riordans
.”

Deirdre laughed. “Are you sure there’s
room for one more?”

He came to a halt on the walk outside.
“Always,” he said. “There’s a question I want to ask ye and since we’re close
to the subject…”

Deep within, her heart trembled.
 
She could guess the question, one they’d
skirted around in the past.
 
I want him to ask me but not here.
 
Deirdre glanced at the medical facility and
shook her head. “I want to hear it,” she said.
“I can’t tell
you how much but not here, Quinn.”

His brows knitted together into a tight
frown, then cleared.
 
“Ye’re right,” he
said and his breath made a frosty puff of air between them. “I almost lost my
head.
 
Woman, ye do that to me.”

She liked that. “You don’t mind, do
you?”

His grin emerged, broad and bright as a
rainbow. “I don’t,” he said.
“Not at all and never.”

“Then ask me later,” Deirdre said. “I
imagine you know what the answer will be.”

Quinn smiled. “Ah, I have no doubt but
I’ll enjoy the asking.”

And she knew he would, indeed.

Chapter Eight

For the first time in the history of his
County Tyrone pub, Quinn decided to close for Thanksgiving.
 
He put a notice up on the door so customers
would know the doors wouldn’t open from the Wednesday before through Friday.
 
Business as usual would resume Saturday.
 
Desmond shook his head when he heard.

“Ye’d best hope they’ll come back, the
regular customers,” he said. “Closing on Thursday, I see but the other days? I
think ye’re mad.”

Deirdre hid her smile.
 
She’d said almost the same thing when Quinn
first suggested it, but he’d convinced her it would be fine.
 
When Quinn glanced in her direction now, she
winked.

“I’m doin’ it for the family,” he said
in explanation. “No one much will come on Thanksgiving anyway and the few who
might, we’ll ask them in to join us.
 
On
the damn Black Friday, most will be out shopping until they drop over, though I
won’t be among them.
 
We’ll open back up on
the weekend.”

“Ye’re takin’ a chance, lad, but ‘tis
your business.”

“Aye,” Quinn said. “When does my sister’s
flight arrive tomorrow?”

“’Tis tonight, lad, at seven o’clock,”
Des said. “I told
ye
so.
 
After seventeen hours on the way, two stops
made, she’ll be in no mood to arrive the day before, so she’s comin’ in today.”

“Jesus, I thought ‘twas tomorrow,” Quinn
said without heat. “I’ll have to make arrangements, then.”

“Where’s she going to stay?” Deirdre
asked.
 
“Not here?”

Since the pub boasted Quinn’s small flat
and Des’ room, nothing more, she doubted it.
 
“Ah, Christ, no,” he said and rolled his eyes. “They’ll stay at a hotel
not far from here, a chain one not a luxury one.”

“Thank God,” Deirdre replied. “Did
anyone tell her yet about me?”

Quinn and his uncle exchanged matching
expressions. “Ah, no, we thought it best to wait and surprise her.”

Deirdre fumed.
 
“I don’t really think so.
 
Maybe she’d get less pissed off if you
mention it first.”

“I doubt it, love,” Quinn said. “I want
ye
to come with me to meet her, though.
 
I need the moral support.”

She folded her arms and glared.
 
“I’ll go but don’t expect me to like it.
 
Is Neal coming?”

Eileen’s husband, Neal, was as kind and
even tempered as his wife was mercurial.
 
She liked Neal and he’d be ready to diffuse any difficult situation.
“Aye, of course, and the three kids, too.
 
You remember Sorcha, I suppose?”

Sorcha had been an adorable preschooler
when Deirdre last saw the child. “Yes.
 
And the baby, what’s his name? Brendan?”

“Aye, that’s right. There’s a new baby
as well, another girl named Nuala.
 
She’s
not quite two.”

As much as she and Eileen had circled
one another like rival cats ready to fight, Deirdre had adored the
children.
 
As a lonely only child, she’d
craved siblings and had to make do with cousins.
 
She’d longed for her dad to marry again, but
he hadn’t.
 
Deirdre loved babies and
harbored a secret wish she’d have some of her own, someday.
 
The prospect of seeing the kids tempered her
irritation about meeting Eileen. “I bet they’re precious,” she said.

“Aye, since they take after me, ye know
they are,” Quinn returned and they all laughed.
 
Deirdre caught his arm and kissed him, slow and sweet.
 
He pulled her into his embrace and gave it
back, hotter and harder until Des whacked him on the back.

“Jaysus, lad, not in
front of the payin’ customers.”
Des snorted. “Besides, ye’ve got to
fetch yer sister soon.”

“Aren’t ye goin’ too?”

His uncle shook his head. “Someone’s got
to mind the pub, Quinn Sullivan, and it might as well be me.”

Although the flight wasn’t scheduled to
arrive until seven, Quinn suggested they leave around four.
 
Deirdre protested, but he explained his
reasoning. “We’ll fight the traffic there ‘
cause
it’s
rush hour already,” he said. “Then we have to park, slog through the terminal and
then wait.
 
I’ve done this before, ye
know, and just before the holiday, it’ll be a mad house.”

The always busy airport teemed with
people, coming and going.
 
Deirdre stuck
close to Quinn, wary they’d get separated in the crowds.
 
He navigated a path to a waiting area outside
security. They found an empty bench and sat.
 
“Now we wait,” Quinn told her, raising his voice so she could hear over
the din.

“Good thing we went to the supermarket
this morning,” Deirdre muttered.
 
They’d
bought a huge turkey, a ham, and a goose because Irish bred Quinn said he
preferred it.
 
Deirdre had filled the
cart with the makings for old-fashioned cornbread dressing, pumpkin pie, and
green bean bake.
 
She added the other
items absent from Desmond’s otherwise well-stocked kitchen where they would
cook the feast, she and Uncle Des.
 
“We
wouldn’t have time tonight.
 
Will
Eileen’s’s
family want supper?”

“They’ll be jet lagged and want their
tea,” Quinn said. “I thought we’d take them back to the pub and they can order
from the menu if they want, then we’ll drop them at the hotel.”

Deirdre added the hours until she would
be alone with Quinn, able to slip out of her shoes and be comfortable with a
long suffering sigh.
 
She’d risen early
to do the shopping, helped Des with prep before the noon rush, and obsessed
about Eileen’s visit until her head ached.
 
A lack of sleep worrying over how the visit would go added to her
fatigue.
 
She rubbed her forehead with
two fingers and willed the pain to stop.