Quinn's Deirdre (21 page)

Desmond’s
steak pie turned out delicious, the crust flaky,
the
meat tender but although all of them scarfed up every scrap, no one offered
compliments.
 
By the time the meal ended,
Deirdre knew more than she’d ever wanted about her cousin Tamara’s failed
marriage, her teenage niece’s drug problems, and Kevin’s struggles with
alcoholism.
 
Quinn said little, but his
steady presence kept Deirdre grounded. When her aunts rose to leave, she was
glad.

“Well,
thank you for having us,” Aunt Frances said. “You’ll have to come over sometime
and be sure to invite us to your wedding.”

“I will,”
Deirdre said.
 
If I live long enough to be married, anyway.

“Oh, yes,
you do that,” Aunt Angela said.

Kevin
lingered long enough to kiss her on the cheek.
 
Once, they’d been close but now he seemed a stranger. “Well, Deirdre,
welcome back,” he said. “I’ll see you around.”

“Let me
show you out,” Quinn said but all three shook their heads.

“Oh, we’ll
find the way,” Kevin said.
 
“Thanks
again.”

Their
voices carried over the lunch time din of the pub and snatches of conversation
floated back to Deirdre’s ears. “There’s more to it than that, I’m sure,”
Frances said. “We’ll never know the whole story, you can count on it.”

“I know we
won’t,” Angela replied.
“And such food!
Why it was
awful and I’m not sure how fresh it was, either.
 
I know I’ll suffer for eating it later, but
what else could I do?
Their comments rankled, but Deirdre laughed when she heard the last bit from
Kevin. “You go on, I’m going to have a drink before I go, just one.”

They
hadn’t changed, she noted.
 
Her nearest
kin carried their misery with them wherever they went.
 
They chased away happiness in their ongoing disappointment
with life. No one ever reached the high bar the aunties set or realized the
right goals.
 
They were omnipotent and
knew everything.
 
Like the Fates, they
thought they could influence lives and change directions, but all they
accomplished was driving people far away.
 
Others, family or friends, either retreated at a fast pace or joined
them in their self-
imposed
 
and
never-ending suffering.

“They just
finished bragging how well he’s doing, going to AA,” she said with a laugh. “I
fear he’s fallen down on it.
 
I should be
sad, but I don’t want to cry any more. I’d rather laugh.”

Quinn
laughed, too, the first time he had in days. “Aye, they make a person laugh or
cry, and we might as well laugh while we can.”

“They
haven’t changed.”

“Did ye
think that they would?”

“I guess I
hoped maybe they might.”

He stood
and stretched. “I’m still stiff from the accident,” he said.

“How’s
your head today?”

“Not bad
at all, no more than a dull ache and that’s as much from being tired as anything,”
Quinn said. “Ah, well, ye’ve my family as yers now so it’s not the worst of
it.”

“I’m glad
I do,” she said. “I need to go help Uncle Des, I suppose.
 
After that, what?”

Quinn
curled his lip. “I don’t have any idea.
 
Wait, I suppose.”

“So you
still have your bad feeling?”

“Aye, it’s
never gone away and ‘tis just as strong as before the thing with the car.”

The
constant tension and strain were evident.
 
Quinn remained paler than normal and the bags beneath his drooping eyes
were puffy.
 
Deirdre noticed how jumpy he
was, startled by the slightest noise or unexpected event. “If you want to go
upstairs and rest, I’ll watch things down here with Des,” she said. “You look
so tired, Quinn.”

“That
would be because I’m dead on my feet, woman.
 
But I won’t go without
ye
.
 
I doubt I can sleep at all, and I know I
wouldn’t relax with you down here alone.”

“Des is
here.”

“I know,
love, but I need to be with
ye
.”

“We can’t
both go,” Deirdre said.

“Maybe
we’ll close early tonight.
 
The weather
is calling for snow, I think. If there’s no business, we will.
 
I’d like nothin’ better than to have you make
me some supper for the two of us.”

“I’d love
that.
 
What would you like?”

“Could ye
make the chicken and dumplings you used to fix?”

“Of course.
 
I might need to go to the
store, though.”

He
frowned. “Why? I’m sure there’s chicken in the kitchen.
 
What else do ye need?”

“Flour,
shortening, onions, salt, pepper, maybe some celery,” she said, imagining the
recipe in her head. “Two eggs, too.
 
And
a hen would be nicer than a plain chicken.
 
It makes a richer broth.”

Quinn
contemplated what she’d said for a moment. “Ask Des what he has,” he said. “If
ye must go, I’ll take
ye
, but I’m none too happy about
the prospect.”

Although
she understood, Deirdre sighed with irritation. “We can’t stay here and never
go anywhere forever, Quinn.”

His
temper, until now restrained around her, exploded. “Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph,
don’t ye think I know it? Woman, yer car’s beyond fixing, I’ve got a knot on me
head, and it’s far from over yet.
 
I’ve
the weight of the
feckin
’ world on my shoulders, and
I’m balled up so tight I can’t even take a shite.
 
I’ll take
ye
to the
bloody market and hope nothing happens, but I’d like to keep ye alive,
mo chroide,
and meself as well.
 
And now my head’s
poundin
’
like a drum on parade day.”

Using his
fingers, he rubbed his forehead, eyes closed. “Oh, Quinn,” Deirdre said. “I
know.
 
Waiting is hard on all of us and I
know you’re worried.
 
I’ll go ask Des now
and if he has everything, we won’t need to go.”

Desmond produced
it all, everything but a hen. He
offfered
a nice, fat
chicken instead.
 
“I’ve got it all under
control here if ye want to go upstairs and cook,” he said. “Take yer man with
you, too.
 
Gerry’s on the bar and we’ve
enough servers for the moment.
 
‘Tis
snowing already and I’ll put a notice on the door soon saying we’ll close by
five.”

He must
have heard Quinn’s outburst. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll
manage.
 
Quinn can’t go on this way and
neither can ye.”

On
impulse, she hugged the older man and after his astonished expression, he
laughed. “Ye’re good to have around, Deirdre.
 
And never fear, this ‘twill all end soon enough and we can go on with
livin’.”

God, she
hoped so.
 
“Was Quinn like this, after he
thought me dead?”

“This and
worse,” he said. “In some ways, though, this is harder on him.
 
He mourned
ye
and
blamed himself amongst the grief, but now he must keep ye safe.
 
He knows he can’t fail, so he frets.
 
Go on, now, it’s almost two.
 
I can manage till five.
 
Take your chicken and things with
ye
.”

“Thank
you,” she said again.

“Oh, Deirdre?”
Des
said,
his
voice too casual.

She
paused. “What is it?”

“Ye used
to be a reporter so ye should be right good at digging up information, eh?”

“Well,
yes, I suppose I am.”

The old
man grinned but without joy. “Then I need
ye
to find
the Achilles heel of yon fella who’s against ye.”

Deirdre
didn’t quite grasp what he meant. “I’m not sure what you mean, Des.”

“Find out
who matters to the leader, love,” he said. “And tell it to me.”

Uncertain
what difference it might make, she nodded. “Sure, I will.”

 
Arms full, she headed to the rear dining
room.
 
Quinn sat at the table, a glass in
his hand.
 
He glanced up, bleary-eyed and
sad.
 
Deirdre smiled. “Des had everything
I need, so we won’t need to go.
 
Plus,
it’s snowing and business is light. He said we can go upstairs and he’ll close
early.”

She
thought he’d argue, but he didn’t. “Glory
be
, then,”
he said. “Let’s go.” He picked up bottle and glass,
then
they walked together up the narrow back stair.

Deirdre
closed the drapes and turned on a small lamp.
 
She put classic Tommy Makem on the stereo and sat down beside
Quinn.
 
He draped his arm over her
shoulders and she snuggled against him. “Want something for your headache?”

Quinn
filled his glass with whiskey and raised it. “’Tis all the medicine I need,
this and ye.”

“All right.
 
Why don’t you kick back
while I cook? It’ll be awhile.”

“I will,
then,” he said. “Give me a kiss, then.”

“Gladly.”
She turned to meet his kiss, his mouth warm and tender against
hers.
 
A rush of love surged through her.
“Quinn, I love you so much.”

His absent
smile flickered to life for a moment. “
Ta
ghra agam
do,
mo chroide.”

As she
puttered about the kitchen, a task which she normally enjoyed and found
contentment in, Deirdre’s uneasiness grew.
 
A prickling sensation from the back of her neck down her spine reminded
her of a Shakespeare quotation,
by the
pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.

She lacked
Quinn’s otherworldly perceptions, but Deirdre sensed approaching trouble,
too.
 
In her case, it was instinct not premonition,
but
a wariness
crept over her.
 
It drowned her positive outlook and caught
her breath short.
 
Focus
, she told herself,
focus
and forget about it
.
 
She barely
remembered her mother, but she did recall something her mother used to say,
something her dad often quoted. “Don’t borrow trouble, sugar, it comes fast
enough all by itself.”

Once the
chicken and dumplings simmered in the pot, she washed all the dishes and
utensils used in preparation.
 
She sat
down at the kitchen table with her laptop and did a little research.
 
It didn’t take long to find what Des wanted
to know, so she made a mental note of it, to tell him later.
 
Then Deirdre checked on Quinn.
 
He slept, head cocked over on one shoulder in
a parrot-like fashion while the soft yet powerful voice of Tommy Makem sang in
the background.
 
She tossed a blanket
over Quinn and sat down beside him, allowing the music to pour over her,
soothing and comforting, as a balm for her troubled spirits.

The music
worked and when Quinn woke in a much better mood, it helped Deirdre more.
 
He ate two bowls of the dumplings with more
appetite than he’d shown since before Thanksgiving,
then
praised her cooking skills.

“Ye’ll
make a fine wife,” he said, both serious and teasing.
 
His eyes twinkled, something she loved to
see.

“I plan to
do my best.”

“Aye?
Let’s see how ye kiss,” Quinn said.
 
She came to him and he stood to take her into
his arms.
 
Their mouths fused together,
hot and potent, and without bothering to clear the table, they headed into the
bedroom.
 
He made love to her, the first
time since they had been run off the road, and it was so sweet, she wanted to
cry.
 
When she came, her body bucked
against his until they shuddered together in the ultimate orgasm.
 
Afterward, they lay twined together, talking
and touching in the darkness.

As
beautiful as their loving had been, Deirdre suffered from a wild
restlessness.
 
This must be the way birds feel when it’s time to fly south.
 
Or what it’s like to be in the certain path
of a tornado or hurricane.
 
I feel
helpless and frozen in place, waiting for something dark and dreaded to devour
me.

Deirdre
didn’t like it, not at all.