Quinn's Deirdre (13 page)

Quinn noticed. “Do ye have a headache?”
When she nodded, he clicked his tongue at her in an almost parental way. “Do ye
need something for it? There’s a shop not far where I can get what ye need.”

She shook her head. “I’ve got some
acetaminophen in my purse, but I could use a cold drink to wash it down.”

When he returned with the soft drink,
she took three tablets and pressed the cold plastic bottle against her head.
 
“Thank you.”

He nodded. “Ye should’ve said
something.
 
I can take you back to the
flat if you want.
 
Is it a bad one?”

“No, it’s not yet.” Quinn remembered,
then, she sometimes suffered terrible tension headaches, almost as severe as
migraines in their intensity.
 
His
familiarity comforted her in a warm blanket sort of fashion. “I’m just tired
and a bit nervous.”

“Don’t let my sister upset you so,”
Quinn said. “Would ye want to rest your head on my shoulder a bit? I see on the
board the flight’s been delayed so ‘twill
be
awhile
yet.”

“I’d love to,” she said and did.
 
Deirdre changed position and rested her head
against him.
 
Quinn tucked his arm around
her and kept her close.
 
She shut her
eyes and although she didn’t sleep, the meds kicked in and by the time the
boards displayed that the flight had arrived, her headache was almost gone.

To keep from becoming too uptight,
Deirdre stood at Quinn’s side as they watched the travelers exit to meet their
families or friends. As she watched people, she made up little stories about
them, pretended she knew why they were en route and where they were
headed.
 
As the tide of passengers flowed
toward them, she picked out Eileen, her auburn hair bright as a copper penny among
the drab jackets and coats.

She nudged Quinn. “There’s your sister.”

“
Aye,
and the
rest of them.
 
See how much
Sorcha’s
grown.”

He pointed out the child. The little
girl’s face lit with a beautiful smile and she dashed ahead, maneuvering
through the people with the swift ease of an eel, into Quinn’s arms.
 
He picked her up, kissed her cheek and held
her high. “How’s my pretty lass?” he said.

“I’m tired,” Sorcha cried. “Who’s she?”

Brilliant blue eyes, so like Quinn’s,
narrowed and glared at Deirdre. “Ah, I don’t suppose ye’d remember,
mo mhuirnín,
but it’s Deirdre.”

Deirdre riveted her attention on
Eileen.
 
Quinn’s sister moved through the
crowds with a sure stride, an ancient Irish queen or pagan goddess in the
flesh.
 
Eileen grinned when she spotted
her brother and made her way toward him, husband Neal trailing behind with
their youngest in his arms.
 
The little
boy, Brendan, clutched his mother’s hand as Eileen towed him along.
 
“Quinn, oh, dear Quinn, ‘tis grand to see ye
again,” Eileen said. “Ye’re lookin’ very well indeed and I’m glad to see it.
 
I hardly knew
ye
with a smile on your lips.
 
Yer eyes are
clear, not so puffy.
 
Ye must not be
drinking so much, then.”

Eileen’s blunt way of speaking hadn’t
changed, Deirdre thought.
 
She reached
for Quinn’s free hand and grasped it.
 
He
curled his fingers around hers as he answered his sister. “Nay, I’m not and
there’s a reason for that, Eileen.”

“Is there now? Did ye go to the AA after
all, the way I suggested? Or did ye start going to daily Mass as you should?”

I can’t
believe she hasn’t noticed me yet.

Quinn laughed. “No, neither one, though
I might bend my knees in church for I believe in miracles now, Eileen.”

“Miracles, is it?” Quinn’s sister said
with a toss of her head and a light laugh. “What class of miracles?”

Neal came to an abrupt halt behind
Eileen when he caught sight of Deirdre.
 
His eyes widened and he paled. “Jesus, Mary, and her husband Joseph,” he
cried. “I don’t believe what I’m seeing.
 
I know Christ himself could raise the dead, but I never expected to see
such in my lifetime.
 
Ye’re not a ghost,
are ye?”

He addressed the last bit to Deirdre who
shook her head. “Hello, Neal. No, I’m not a ghost.”

A banshee worthy screech erupted from
Eileen’s lips as she turned her head.
 
Her eyes swiveled from Quinn to Deirdre and back. “It isn’t, is it? It
can’t be.”

“Aye, it’s Deirdre, alive and at my
side,” Quinn said, his voice resonating with a quiet joy. “Be happy for me,
sister.”

Eileen’s fair complexion turned crimson.
“Ye ask me to be happy for
ye
? I stood with ye when ye
buried her and yer heart with her.
 
I’ve
come this long way every year for a fecking Yank holiday and every vacation when
we could afford it.
 
I’ve lit candles in
church, prayed to the Virgin Mary every night, and worried meself near sick
over ye these three years past. Jaysus Christ, I’ve wept for yer sake, brother
of mine, often.
 
I did it all for love of
ye, Quinn, for the sake of yer bitch.
 
Now she’s never dead at all, which I don’t begin to understand, and ye
want me to be happy? I can’t, for right now I’d like to put me hands about her
neck and choke the life out of her, I would.
 
She hurt ye something terrible, and I don’t understand why ye’d have her
back, not when she left ye without a word or a by your leave.”

As she spoke, her voice soared in volume
until it echoed above the babble of the crowd.
 
Travelers paused to stare and heads craned to see the source of the
disturbance.
 
Each terrible sentence she
spat caused Deirdre to cringe.
 
As Eileen
spewed her hurt and rage, Quinn changed his stance until Deirdre stood more
behind him than at his side.
 
She leaned
against his back and peered over his shoulder. “Would ye hush for the love of
Christ?” he said. “Eileen, there’s much ye don’t understand.
 
I love her as ye well know.
 
I know now why she left and where’s she been,
but naught matters but that she’s here, alive.
 
Deirdre’s the reason why I’m myself again.
 
Can ye not find it in yer heart to be happy
for my sake and to try to treat her with kindness?”

Some of the color faded from Eileen’s
cheeks, but her mouth remained in a flat, grim line. “Ah, Quinn, ye’re not
thinkin’ man…”

His back tensed up, muscles rigid and
Deirdre knew he’d lost his temper, too.
 
One Sullivan angry was bad enough; two Sullivans in a temper would be
terrible. “Enough,” he roared.
“’Tis my business and
Deirdre’s but none of yours.
Ye either find the grace to be glad for my
sake or ye can turn around and take yer arse back to Ireland!”

Neal frowned and the two older children
lost their smiles.
 
The youngest, Nuala,
bawled, her face twisted into a horrible expression.
 
On impulse, Deirdre stepped forward and
plucked the toddler from Neal’s arms. “Hush, Nuala,” she said. “I know how you
feel and I’d like to cry, too, but it won’t help.”

At the sound of her voice, the child
hushed and stared at her, eyes round.
 
Then Nuala wrapped her small arms around Deirdre’s neck and clung to
her, possum style.
 
Deirdre hugged her
back, holding back tears with effort.
 
Although she’d expected Eileen’s wrath, it didn’t make it any easier to
deal with.
 
The last thing I want is to cause trouble between Quinn and
Eileen.
 
She may not like me, but she
loves him and he has affection for her, too.

Eileen went white to the lips at Quinn’s
command. “Ye don’t mean it, do ye?” she said after a moment’s pause. “Seeing
her alive is one hell of a shock, but I’ll try to make my peace with her if
it’s what ye want.
 
And I am glad, Quinn,
truly I am.
 
I can see with my eyes how
changed ye are, for the better.
 
For
that, I’m grateful and I’d shake hands with the devil himself.”

Quinn sighed. “I don’t want
ye
to go, Eileen, but ye can’t put me between the two of
ye.
 
I don’t know what ye have against
Deirdre, but ye’d best get rid of it.
 
Let’s put it aside and have the holidays, eh?”

When Quinn opened his arms wide, his sister
stepped within their circle and they hugged.
 
Neal grinned and took his youngest daughter from Deirdre.
 
“It’s high time someone spoke back to her,”
he said with obvious approval. “I’m glad as glad can be that ye’re back.
 
I’ll ask ye no questions—Quinn’s right, it’s
yer
business and his.”

“Thank you,” Deirdre said. Quinn and
Eileen hugged,
then
burst into laughter.
 
She grinned, glad.
 
When Quinn pulled her into the embrace, she
resisted for a moment,
then
yielded. For his sake,
she’d make up with Eileen and maybe, fingers crossed, they could be
friends.
 
Or at least get along.
 

Their large group moved en masse,
chattering and full of cheer, as they retrieved luggage and made their way out
to the parking area.
 
While everyone else
watched for the bags, Deirdre excused herself to visit the nearest ladies
room.
 
On the way back, the overwhelming
sensation of being watched crawled up her spine and she turned around,
wary.
 
Across the way among the crowds, a
man stood apart, hands thrust into his pockets.
 
He wore a tailored suit jacket, Brooks Brothers or Botany 500, she
guessed and a bright blue satin tie.
 
Although he resembled a male model on the cover of
Gentlemen’s Quarterly,
Deirdre recognized him.
 
The hard, cruel eyes and narrow mouth hadn’t
changed over the past three years.
 
His
face had haunted her nightmares for too long not to know it.
 
Oh,
Jesus, he’s the same man who threatened me outside the courthouse.
 
Any hope he failed to recognize her ended when
he winked, then stretched his lips in a wicked parody of a smile.

Her lungs ceased working and her throat
tightened until she couldn’t draw a breath.
 
Deirdre’s heart picked up pace and beat with a faster rhythm, pounding
so hard she wondered if she might be suffering a heart attack.
 
Her headache returned with force and her
stomach rolled.
 
She froze in place,
unable to make her legs work.
 
I think I’m having a panic attack.
 
I’ve never had one but if I’m not, then I’m
dying.

When she glanced back, the man had
vanished.
 
Deirdre forced her lungs to
breathe and searched for Quinn.
 
When she
saw him, head tossed back with laughter, she almost cried.
 
If she told him now, all the joy would be
leached out of the celebration and replaced with fear.
 
I’ll
wait until Eileen goes home, then I’ll tell him.

Quinn saw her.
 
He said something to his sister and made his
way through the crowd to Deirdre. “Did ye get lost?”

She made a valiant effort to pull
herself together and failed. Her hands trembled. “Uh, no,” she said.

He frowned, eyes dark with concern.
“What’s wrong? Is it yer head again?”

Deirdre latched onto the excuse as a
lifeline. “Yes, my headache’s back and my
head’s
really
pounding.
 
I’m sorry, Quinn.”

“It’s not yer fault,” he said. “Come,
woman, let’s get home.
 
Ye look like ye
need to be in bed.”

Once Quinn’s family had been loaded into
the pub’s van, he helped Deirdre climb up beside him.
 
She shivered from anxiety, not cold, but he
noticed. “Are ye sure ye’re not coming down with something?”

“I’m not,” she said. “It’s just a
headache.”
 
The lie churned in her gut,
hotter than a burning ember, too much like the lie she’d told him on the day of
the trial.
 
She’d kept the truth from
Quinn then and they had both suffered for her mistake.
 
I’ll
tell him this time, after the holiday celebration.
 
I don’t want to be the death’s head at the
feast.

His eyes fastened on her, intent.
 
“I’m troubled,” he said after a few moments.
“I hate for
ye
to be sick, but it seems as if there’s
more and ye’re not tellin’ me.
 
Ye won’t
lie to me again, will ye,
acushla?”

If she didn’t tell the truth now, the
potential for irreparable damage existed.
 
Pain gripped her head in a tight vise and she decided to tell him. “I
won’t.
 
I wasn’t going to lie, just wait
until after the holiday so it wouldn’t ruin things.”