IRISH FIRE (25 page)

Brian fingercombed his hair and ran a hand up the side of his jaw, testing for smoothness. Deciding against a shave and the fancy cologne his sister had sent him for Christmas, he dug through his bottom dresser drawer for his favorite sweater, an oatmeal wool Aran, and pulled it over his head.

Hed wasted too much time at the off license debating between red or white wine and ended up buying both. If he didnt leave now, he would surely be late.

Caitlins house was two miles north of Kilcullen, a pleasant gray two-story with gables, white trim, and wide lawns. At his knock, Ben opened the door. Its Brian, Mum, the boy shouted over his shoulder.

May I come in? Brian asked.

Ben stepped aside. There are starters in the sitting room. Annie made them. Mum helped, the boy confided, so its okay to eat them.

Brians lips twitched. Such an uncharitable thought never crossed my mind.

Annie knelt beside a small table and set down the tray she had carried in from the kitchen. To Brians relief he was able to recognize nearly everything on it.

These are fried cheese sticks, Annie announced, pointing to several steaming brown wedges, and this is marinara sauce to go with it.

Ben immediately reached for one, dragged it through the sauce and popped half of it into his mouth. He was nearly at the sauce again when Annie stopped him. Dont you dare double dip or Ill tell Mum.

My sauce is all gone, he said, ever practical.

Thats what the plates are for. She left the room returning with a stack of five small plates, tiny spoons, and forks with three tines. You can use a spoon to put the sauce on your plate. Then you can dip all you want.

What an idea, said Brian, shrugging out of his coat and laying it over the back of his chair. The sauce is delicious, Annie. Did you make it yourself?

I made everything here, the child said proudly.

Ben reached for the carrots. Wheres the dip?

Annie ignored him. Would you like something to drink, Brian? Mum told me to ask you. Shell be out in a minute.

Brian handed over the wine bottles. Take these in to her. I wasnt sure what she was servin. Ill wait until she can join me. He looked around for Brigid. Is your grandmother here tonight?

I am. Brigid walked down the stairs choosing her steps carefully. She stopped Annie to inspect the wine labels. Very nice. Very nice, indeed. Show these t your mother, Annie. Shell know what t do with them.

Ive left Caitlin on her own, she explained when Annie had left them. She does a much better job in the kitchen than Ive ever done. I believe shes servin lamb tonight.

Brians stomach juices came to life. I look forward to it.

Caitlin stepped out of the kitchen, an apron around her waist and smiled. Hello, Brian.

He nodded. Thanks for the dinner invitation.

She addressed her son. Ben, this is the second time Ive asked you to come and set the table for dinner.

Something green held her hair up and back, away from her face. A few loose tendrils curled around her temples. Her neck looked impossibly long and creamy white. Brian wanted nothing more than to press his lips on the exact spot where her shoulder met her throat and kiss her. Damn Hillary Benedict.

Another mozzarella stick found its way into Bens mouth. A stern glance from Brigid sent him scurrying into the kitchen. Brian grinned. There was nothing like an Irish grandmother to turn a lad in the right direction.

Are you all right in here? Caitlin asked. Ive the salad to make and then I can join you.

Can I help you, love? Brigid asked.

No, thanks. Everythings nearly done. She smiled and returned to the kitchen.

Brigid sat down in a chair beside the fire. It seems we are in debt t you, Brian Hennessey.

You may feel that way, Mrs. Keneally, but theres no need. Im pleased no harm was taken.

No harm at all, thank God. Have you any idea how it started?

I do, but Im not at liberty to say just yet.

Brigid leaned forward. So, it wasnt an accident.

I never said that.

You didnt say it wasnt either.

She was quick. Brian would give her that. Older people were supposed to be less keen but there was nothing at all feeble about Brigid Keneallys faculties.

I know how t keep my mouth shut if thats whats worryin you.

I would never dream of askin you to do so, Mrs. Keneally. The fire marshalls will be done with their investigation soon and then I imagine the cause of the fire will be public knowledge.

Brigid fixed a cold blue stare on his face. Is my family safe, Brian?

They are, more now than ever.

She hesitated I believe you.

Something wasnt right. But?

I need a favor.

Hed been down this road before. What can I do for you, Mrs. Keneally? he asked warily.

Id like you t make an inquiry about Father Durans health?

It was a request he hadnt expected and his surprise showed.

Martin will tell you, she said.

Martin would tell you, too, if you asked him.

No. Brigid shook her head. I dont want t be the one askin.

He was about to cross the line and ask if there was a particular reason for such a question when Caitlin called them into the dining room. One glance at the feast she had prepared wiped all other thoughts from his mind. Caitlin, he said in awe, youre an artist.

She brushed aside the compliment but her flushed cheeks told him that his words had pleased her.

Sit down, Brian, Brigid said dryly, waving him into a chair. We eat like this all the time. If you came around more often every available woman in town wouldnt feel the need to feed you.

Caitlin sighed. Dont listen to her, Brian. Kathleen Finch tells me she gets more outrageous every year.

His chest ached with emotion. Give him another minute and he would embarrass himself. There was something about a table groaning with food, shining silver, well-scrubbed children and a woman, lovely and smart, talented and giving. He wanted it, all of it, even the omniscient old harridan who pretended ignorance when all the while she knew exactly what she wanted and exactly what it took to get it.

This was the answer, the master plan, the reason hed ended up here in Kilcullen. It all came down to this moment, this woman and all the years that would follow. Brian was thirty-four years old. Finally, hed found his destiny.

Hillarys BMW wasnt anywhere in sight when he pulled into his driveway. It was past nine-thirty. He waited until ten before dialing her number. She answered on the first ring.

Im here, Hillary. I cut my dinner plans short. Where are you?

I have a guest, she said, keeping her voice low. I wont be able to make it tonight. Tuesday will be better. Ill drive over Tuesday night.

You said it was urgent.

I dont care for your tone, Brian. Please remember that you work for me.

He could feel his jugular throb. That can be remedied.

She laughed, the false, tinkling laugh of a woman who knew she was being watched. Dont be absurd. Ill see you Tuesday.

He hung up the phone. Neeve padded in from the kitchen and rested her head on his knees. He stroked her where she was most sensitive, under her chin. She whimpered and he gave in. You win. Well go for a run. I dont know who needs it more, you or I.

M
ichael Duran was dead. Black clad mourners passed by his open coffin paying their respects in death as they had not in life.

Brigid sat in the back of the mortuary, her fingers frozen in the twisted strands of her rosary beads, her voice whispering familiar words of the litany that no amount of grief, or time, or resentment could wipe from her Catholic memory.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou
among women and blessed is the fruit of they womb, Jesus. Holy
Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of
our death.

Michael Duran was dead. Was it possible? How long ago had he come to Kilcullen? Thirty-seven years ago or was it longer?

Why must black be the color of death? Didnt they know Michael hated it? Wasnt it enough that he would rest in it for all eternity? Brigid wasnt enough of an optimist to believe that there was another option for Michael Duran. He was a priest whod lived a lie and was sorry for it, but in the end knew he would have done nothing differently. No white clouds and pearly gates for him, no rubbing shoulders with the likes of Saint Patrick and Thomas More. Michael was a flawed man, a man who stood on the fence to make his life comfortable. No amount of rationalizing would whitewash what he had done.

Martin looked visibly shaken, his handsome youthful face was gray with shock or grief, or both. But he performed his duties well. Assumpta would have been proud of him tonight, officiating at Father Durans rosary. Assumpta had always been reverent, too reverent, Brigid thought, but then one could never walk in anothers shoes.

There would be no wake. Michael Duran hadnt the soul of an Irishman. They wouldnt put him to rest as one. Brigids fingers tightened around her beads.
Hail Mary, full
of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou among women and
blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God,
pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.

Where was Michaels family? Hed mentioned a sister, Mary Rose. Perhaps she was dead as well. People didnt live forever. Her knees ached from kneeling. Martin had begun the Lords Prayer. Automatically, Brigid followed his lead.
Our Father, who art in Heaven hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us
this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive
those who have trespassed against us. Lead us not into temptation
but deliver us from evil. Our Father . . .

Brigid closed her eyes and clutched at the words, familiar and comforting in the face of her tragedy. For it was a tragedy. It signalled the end of an era, an irrevocable closing of a chapter that had finally been set in ink, never to be revised or improved. She brushed away a tear. It was time for Michael Duran to have his day of revelation. She never doubted that it would come. Shed hoped for more time, just a few more years until her own life wound to a close. But it was not to be. Michael would have the last laugh, only this time no one would be laughing. Perhaps she deserved it to end like this, after the way shed treated him. She only hoped for Annies sake, and for Bens, that Caitlin would forgive her.

Even with her eyes closed she knew the exact moment her daughter had slipped into the seat beside her.

Brigid opened her eyes and forced a smile. I didnt expect you t make it.

Im sorry to be so late, Caitlin whispered, but I couldnt get Ben to bed, and then Davy was late. He said he wouldnt mind staying with the children. She looked around. Everyone is here.

Brigid didnt miss the venomous look Lana Sullivan had directed at Caitlin. Now, what ailed the girl? Aye, she said dryly. The passing of a priest doesnt happen every day, thank God.

You didnt like him, did you, Mum?

Frowning, Brigid shook her head. This isnt the place.

Martin turned in their direction, smiled, and blessed the congregation. The rosary was over.

As always, the inhabitants of Kilcullen drew together when one of their own expired. It had taken his demise to do it, but Father Duran had finally been admitted into the inner circle. Gathering together on the steps of the mortuary, the priests mourners discussed his passing.

Caitlin pressed her mothers gloved hand. You look tired, Mum.

John OShea interrupted them. Will you be openin the pub for a few hours, Brigid? Kathleen said if you werent feelin up to it, she would unlock the cafe.

Brigid hesitated. A few hours meant half the night. She wanted to mourn Michael in the peace of her own house. If she had been a relative or even a close friend they would understand. But she was neither of those. They knew nothing of what had really happened that autumn thirty-odd years ago and she had no plans to tell them.

Caitlins arm closed around her shoulder. Mums been up the last few nights with Annie. She hasnt caught up on her sleep yet.

Dont think twice about it, said Kathleen. Lana and I will manage. She nodded at the girl hovering on the edge of a group of four. You dont mind puttin in a few extra hours, do you, Lana? Caitlin wants to take her mum home.

Lanas cheeks were a bright pink. Of course I dont mind. Its up to the poor peasants of Kilcullen to give the princess whatever she wants. Isnt that right, Caitlin?

Brigid felt her daughter stiffen. Her hackles rose. She reached up and pried away the fingers clutching her shoulder. Leave off, Caitlin, youre killin me, she grumbled. Then she turned to Lana and without raising her voice, pitched it for all those around them to hear. Will you watch your mouth, child, or will you be needing a good bar of soap to wash it clean?

Lana sucked in her breath and looked to her family for support. The Sullivans were there in full force but no one stepped up to defend her. Without a word, she turned and walked away.

Kathleen sighed. Im not sayin she didnt deserve it, Brigid, but how will I manage without any help?

Caitlin spoke up. Ill help you, Kathleen. Let me walk home with Mum and then Ill be back.

Barbara OShea, Johns youngest daughter, stepped forward. Theres no need for that, Caitlin. We know what its been like for you and Mrs. Keneally with the fire at the stud farm nearly taking our Annie. Ill help Kathleen tonight.

Brigid relaxed. Despite her Claiborne marriage, Caitlin wasnt without friends in Kilcullen.

Does anyone know how it happened? Caitlin asked after shed checked on the children and come back downstairs to find her mother and Davy Flynn sharing a pot of tea.

Brigid was unusually silent, her eyes on the flickering flames and the curling squares of new peat shed added to the fire.

I hear they couldnt get his heart to start up again after the bypass surgery, Davy volunteered. Imagine, a man like Father Duran, strong as a horse, dyin on the table like that.

I wonder why he did it? Caitlin said.

Her mother looked up. Did what?

I wonder why he took such a risk at his age.

He was just past seventy, Caitlin, the same age I am, Brigid admonished her. Im not ready t step one foot into the grave. Most likely they promised him a few extra years. Anyone starin death in the face would take such an offer.

I suppose so. Caitlin looked unconvinced.

Brigid patted the space on the sofa beside her.

Caitlin sat down beside her mother. I knew him all my life, she mused, yet I dont feel like Ireally knew him.

He wasnt an easy man to know, observed Davy. I dont think he had a real friend in all of Kilcullen for all his bein the pastor of Saint Patricks for forty years.

Thirty-seven, Brigid corrected him.

Whats that, lass? Davy turned his good ear in her direction.

Hes been at Saint Patricks for thirty-seven years, she repeated.

I didnt think you liked him, Mum.

What makes you say that?

Caitlin shrugged. Nothing concrete, really. Its just that when we ran into him you made excuses to leave.

Brigid laughed through stiff lips. I suppose it looked that way.

Davy drained the last of his tea and stood. Ill be on my way, Caitlin. Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Keneally. Dont get up. Ill find my way out.

Brigid turned down the lamp so the room was dim and shadowed with firelight. She liked to watch the flames leap and dance. Wood snapped. Rain slanted down through the chimney, sizzled, smoked, and rose again something else entirely. She loved the smell of turf, the popping wood, the hiss and crackle and smoke, the anonymity of her face in the shadows, her hands empty and idle in her lap. He had blocked arteries, she said into the darkness. He was a smoker when he was young. We all were. But he waited too long to stop.

Maybe something was wrong with his heart as well, said Caitlin. He should have come out of it.

Michael Duran couldnt be counted on to behave predictably.

I cant imagine why you would say that. There was an odd note in Caitlins voice. Hes never been anything other than the consummate parish priest, only more intolerant and superior.

Brigid couldnt help defending him. You liked him well enough.

Only lately. He lightened up a bit during the years I was gone.

Hes gone now. Its bad luck to speak ill of the dead.

They sat in silence for a while longer. Caitlin spoke first. Are you all right, Mum? Youre unusually quiet tonight.

Brigid intended to assert that she was well enough for seventy-one and lay her daughters suspicions to rest but the words wouldnt come. Instead she surprised herself. I feel like a drink, somethin bubbly and dry.

Champagne? Well have to drink the whole bottle.

If we dont finish it, Im sure you can find another use for whats left. Didnt you say somethin about salmon with champagne sauce?

The cheapest champagne Ive seen in your cellar is forty pounds a bottle. I cant pour that over fish.

Why not?

Mum. Now Caitlin sounded exasperated. You cant have changed that much.

Im seventy-one years old, Caitlin. If I cant drink good champagne with my daughter before I pass on, what have I worked for all my life?

So, thats what this is about. Father Duran is dead and you think you havent much time left.

Brigid stood. Somethin like that. Dont go anywhere. Ill be right back.

The champagne she preferred was a
Blanc de Blanc
from California, a dry, small-bubbled, crisper version than the more traditional French variety. Her gnarled hands struggled with the cork but at last she managed it and the satisfying pop exploded in her ears. A misty residue escaped from the bottle, hovered around the top and disappeared. Brigid balanced on a foot stool and chose two Waterford flutes from the top cupboard. Carrying the bottle and a towel in one hand and the flutes in the other, she returned to the sitting room and poured two glasses. Small bubbles, she noted with satisfaction. A good champagne guaranteed to make the following morning a pleasant one.

Caitlin sipped from her glass. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. This is delicious, she said, reaching for the bottle to check the label.

Its been around for some time, only not so much in Europe. I dont believe it had a market outside of the United States until a few years ago.

You like this, dont you, Mum?

Brigid could barely see her daughters face in the firelight. Like what?

Caitlin waved her hand to encompass the room. This life. Running the pub and the store, sampling new champagne, living here in Kilcullen.

Brigid thought a minute. It was true, with provisions. I like it much more now that youre here. I was goin through the motions until you came with the children. Now I have the three of you t look forward t. She bit her lip. Vulnerability made her uncomfortable. She plunged forward anyway. You will stay the night, wont you? The children are already asleep.

Caitlin nodded and rested her head on her mothers shoulder. I wish I could tell you for sure whether or not we can stay here in Kilcullen. The hearings coming up. I should know after that.

When do you leave for Kentucky?

The day after tomorrow.

I thought it wasnt until next week.

Mr. Marston wants me to meet his associates in Lexington before we go to court. I think its a good idea since theyll be handling most of the case. He thinks a lawyer from Kentucky will have an advantage over one with an Irish accent.