“Exactly. Let the baby help you pick the dresses out. Ash’ll like that, and she’s good for it. I like her style.”
“Oh, my God, you’re the limit. She’s so spoiled already. And am I the one telling the little lamb she can’t go to the party?”
“No, I’ll do it.” He takes a piece of fried ham from the serving dish and pops it in his mouth, chewing twice and swallowing. “That second night in New York, I’ll come and have dinner with you guys.”
“Aye, all right. They’ll be easier to handle if they know you’re coming.”
He smiles. “Hey?”
“Yes, what is it now? You want me to buy some gold fairy wings for Ashling and a little tiara?” she asks tartly.
He chuckles and says something in Irish. “Let’s get a whiskey, yeah? You and me, next week?”
“Right. Love to,” she says, and there’s no tartness whatsoever. “You stay well.”
“You, too.” He ends the call and tosses his phone on the counter.
I can’t help but smile. His easy affection for his family and the normalcy of the morning are such a contradiction from last night. Is it really possible to balance things so effortlessly?
“I didn’t realize how close you were to your sisters. When anyone mentions you, it sounds like you’re always with Connor and Sasha Stroviak.”
“I mostly am.”
“How old were you again when your father died?”
“Thirteen.”
“The FBI says he taught you things from a young age.”
“As a dad does for his son.”
Within that answer there’s Ireland, and the Boston Irish Mafia too.
“Like how to shoot?”
He nods, taking his dish and coffee to the table and beckoning me to join him.
“How old were you the first time you fired a gun?”
“Six, I think. Maybe seven.”
“Jesus.”
“Just a twenty-two, with his hands around mine. Before, he put his guns on the top of a tall bureau. None of us were allowed to touch them. But I begged him like little kids do, until he caved like parents do when kids ask enough times. And when he was teaching me, I played it very serious because I could tell he wasn’t convinced it was a good idea. I usually told jokes and clowned around, but not during target practice. When armed, I was a little man and the spitting image of him, right down to the walk.” Laughing softly, he shakes his head. “I learned that from him too. He handled tough situations by flattering people or mimicking them in ways that put them at ease or charmed them. Then he’d buy them a whiskey and tell a funny story, and that was all it took for him to get in with someone for life. At his wake, the place was bursting. People lined the streets outside, waiting for space to come in.”
“That’s what I remember. Whenever he came to St. Mary’s for something, a crowd would form around you guys. The other thing I remember is the little white flowers held by a barrette in your mom’s and Kathleen’s hair. They always wore matching dresses and those flowers to church and assemblies. I don’t remember Ashling. Did she have it too?”
“No, she was just a baby then with wispy baby hair. Ma pinned the sprig of flowers to her dress, I think. That was for my dad. He brought flowers home at least once a week for my mom and called her and the girls his fairy princesses.” Trick rolls his eyes, but smiles. “When Ma started using the little white flowers in their hair, he loved it. So she never stopped.”
“So sweet.”
“At times. There was dark with the light too. As there always is.”
“When your dad died, why did they move and leave you behind?”
“I sent them. To keep them safe.” A hardness enters his expression as he takes a swig of coffee. “Don’t get friendly with Jack Murphy if you see him around.”
Watching his face, my brows furrow. He sent them? As a boy, he made decisions about where his family lived? What about his mom? I want to ask him about it, but I’m afraid I know where the discussion will lead and I’m not ready for that.
