“Aunt Maureen, this is Maggie. Maggie Byrne,” I say.
She pads closer and clasps the older woman’s hand. “I’m very fond of your nephew. Thank you for raising a rascal.” She winks.
A smile races across my lips.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Maggie. Declan always mentions you when we talk. Surprised we never crossed paths back in Boston when you kids were in high school. It’s almost as if he was hiding you from me.”
The room is silent for a moment, reminding me that I’m holding my breath.
Maggie says, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise. I thought you were going to thank me for raising a gentleman and I was going to call malarkey on you.”
“You mean caveman?” Maggie jokes.
They both laugh.
“Declan, I like this lass. She’s a straight talker.”
“That she is. Also, she’s the one who’s teaching me to be a gentleman.”
“Will Wick Hightower be at the Super Bowl this year?” Aunt Maureen winks at Maggie.
“You know the offensive coordinator?” I ask.
My aunt smiles demurely. “Dinner and conversation have been had. Memories made. But I don’t think I’ll be there this year.”
“I’m not entirely sure we’ll make it either. Half the defensive line is injured or still recovering,” I reply, meaning to make my aunt feel better, but realizing a moment too late that I probably drew more attention to her ailments.
“Don’t be thick. Sure, you will. The Bruisers quarterback has an arm like a canon and can scramble like Tarkenton.”
“Fran Tarkenton?” I ask, shocked that my elderly aunt knows that legendary football reference.
“We met when I was on the London-Chicago route, years ago.” Her cheeks take on a healthy glow.
“And let’s not forget they have a great wide receiver.” Maggie leans into me with a smile.
Her gaze meets my aunt’s and floods me with warmth. What was I expecting coming back here? A stiff beating? Retribution for all the ones I’d given? I don’t know, but it wasn’t this.
Maggie sits down in a folding chair next to my aunt’s bed while I remain by the door.
“Oh, good, she’s going to stay. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, too, Declan? I’d like Maggie to know what kind of tangle she’s getting herself into.”
“I have some idea,” Maggie says.
“Is that so?” Aunt Maureen asks with an arched eyebrow and a playful smile.
“But I wouldn’t object to getting the full picture,” Maggie adds.
“A captive audience. I like it.” Aunt Maureen coughs.
“Can I get you some water?” I ask.
“Nope. I’m fine. You get used to the interruptions. Now, where was I? Oh yes, a story about our wee Declan.”
I know what’s coming and wave my hands as though trying to avoid an oncoming vehicle. “You don’t have to do that, Aunt Maureen.”
“Oh, but I do.” Mischief scrolls across her features.
