Pulling on knee-high brown boots over leggings that hugged generous hips, Keelin threw on a long fair-isle cardigan, and picked up the book. She dug in her closet for a wool scarf and gently wrapped the book before tucking it in her leather satchel. It was time to hunt down her mother. Then she would deal with the implications of this gift.
CHAPTER 2
Margaret Grainne O'Brien lived in a two-story brownstone in the coveted Beacon Hill neighborhood of downtown Boston. Keelin enjoyed the cobblestone streets and the cherry blossom trees in the spring. She hated the severe lack of parking and the minuscule living spaces that the high-rent neighborhood offered. Wondering, again, why anyone would pay an obscene amount of money to live in seven hundred square feet of space with one parking spot, Keelin rang her mother's bell.
"Keelin, darling! What are you doing here?" Margaret asked. A coolly lovely blonde in her late forties, she was dressed for tea in a pale gray cocktail suit with a deep pink shirt. Pearls winked at her ears and a leather watch peeked discreetly from her sleeve.
Margaret ushered Keelin in and began making distressed noises.
"Keelin Grainne. Are you wearing leggings outside of the house again?" Margaret asked.
"Mom. Stop. Everyone wears leggings. And mysweater is long. They are like tights but with even more coverage." Keelin rolled her eyes and stomped to her mother's front room. Graceful, arched windows boasted a view of fashionable shops. Keelin settled on the settee and actively hated the room. Everything was white and gold. Too much opulence, she thought.
"Mom. We need to talk." Keelin reached into her bag to pull out the book.
"You're pregnant! I knew it. I knew that Todd was bad news. What were you thinking?"
"Whoa. What? No! Mom, ugh, God, just stop. Gross. I never slept with Todd to begin with. You set me up with him, which should have told you that he was not a good match for me. Would you please just stop with trying to set me up?" Keelin said. It was a constant aggravation for her. Margaret enjoyed arranging blind dates with the sons of the town's elite. Keelin loved her too much to embarrass her and ditch out on the dates. Inevitably, every Todd, Chad, and Spence she dated failed to get her juices flowing. Idly, she wondered if she even had any juices anymore. It had been so long since she had truly been passionate about anything except her work.
"Thank God. I would hate to tell Shirley that her son was a jerk. Now, why are you here in the middle of the day? Shouldn't you be working on an application?" Margaret said. She was referring to Keelin's internship applications. Keelin had been working for the Boston Aquarium for the past few years and had wanted to branch out for a while. Her secret dream was to finish her masters degree in marine biology and to work on a research-and-dive team. She hoped to get aboard a research vessel as an intern over the summer.
Keelin decided to go for impact. She reached into her satchel and withdrew her scarf-wrapped bundle.
"Keelin, when will you get rid of that ugly scarf? It is so Irish," Margaret said, her disdain evident.
Silently, Keelin unwrapped the bundle and placed the book on the table, watching her mother closely. Margaret's eyes widened slightly and then returned to normal.
"Why, whatever is this old book? Is this for school?" Margaret asked. Keelin noticed that her normally pale mother's cheeks were flushed and her hand played a tap-tap-tap rhythm on the Eastlake side table.
"Mom. You know what this is. I need answers," Keelin said.
"I have no idea what you mean. It is an old book. Lovely, actually. I see books like this in the antique shops. You should place it on display," Margaret said. She refused to meet Keelin's eyes and glanced quickly at her watch.
"Darling, I am so sorry, but I have to meet Mrs. Thatcher for tea. We are going over plans for the book club's charity fundraiser. I mustn't be late," Margaret said as she stood.
"I don't think so. Sit down," Keelin said.
"Keelin. What is wrong with you? Do not speak to me like that." Margaret stood her ground.
You could take the Irish out of Ireland, Keelin mused.
"This is your mother's book. My grandmother. I can feel it. I know it. This arrived today. Does this mean she is dead? Do you even talk to her anymore?" The questions tumbled out. Keelin didn't mean to sound accusatory butthe old bitterness welled up in her throat. She'd always hated how Margaret had isolated her from learning about her Irish roots.
Sighing, Margaret walked to the wet bar and poured herself a whiskey, neat. Shocked, Keelin watched as her mild-mannered mother downed it in one gulp.
"I knew that this time would arrive," Margaret said. Her shoulders were tense and she stayed focused on the wet bar.
"Um, yeah. No kidding. The letter said, 'It is time,'" Keelin said. "Care to elaborate?"
"This is the reason that I left your father, the town, and have never returned to Ireland." Margaret's back was still turned. "I had hoped this day would never come."
CHAPTER 3
"Okay, drama queen," Keelin said. "Let's bring it down a notch. This is all a little much for me."
A small smile flitted over Margaret's face as she turned to face Keelin. "You were always so irreverent. Part of me has always wished that I could be the same."
Keelin was shocked. Her mom admired what she so chastised? Interesting, she thought.
