“Words are cheap where you come from.” She tips her chin at Cat. “Now tell me the truth. All of it.”
So Cat does. She tells Noreen about the summer in Sicily, and I’m surprised how little she knows. How willing she was to take on a child without any explanation. Then she tells her aboutBelfast and a father who bargains in blood. About Tiernan, the price on my head, the lie she told me, and the life she saved.
Noreen doesn’t soften, not at first. She listens like a ledger, like she’s adding and subtracting in air. When Cat finally finishes, the cottage is very quiet. The goats complain again just outside and a hint of that laughter still rings in the air.
“Mmm,” Noreen says finally. “Bad choices and good reasons. It seems as if that’s the family trade.” Her gaze flicks to me. “You already left once.”
“I did.” The words are heavy. “I won’t again. I swear to it.”
“You can’t promise that to a child,” she counters. “But I suppose you can try like hell to keep from breaking what loves you.” It lands like a hammer to the head.
I shift uncomfortably for a second then gather my resolve. “I love Caitríona, always have, and I already love Livia. I will never leave either of them again. I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for my past sins and keeping them safe.” Then I turn my gaze to Cat. “If she’ll have me, of course.”
Cat’s eyes spark with unshed tears.
Noreen turns to the window and lifts her chin. “Livia! Come inside,a stór! Bring Aisling with you.”
A stór.My Gaelic is shit, but even I know that one.My darling. Treasure.
The back door bangs and sunshine in yellow wellies barrels in with the neighbor girl behind. Livia pulls up short when she sees us, curious, fearless. Her hair is copper spun with fire, and her eyes are a tangle of my sea green and her mother’s sky blue. She’s smaller than the ache I’ve been carrying and yet, somehow fills more space.
“Auntie Cat!” she crows, and my heart breaks in the most miraculous way. Cat drops to her knees at once, arms wide. Livia crashes into her, goats and pigtails forgotten. They sway together like they’ve been two pieces of the same thing all along.
I swallow the noise in my throat and fail miserably. Noreen hears it anyway. She inches closer and her hand finds my elbow and squeezes once. I can’t tell if it’s a warning or a mercy. “You stand where I can see you,” she murmurs, “and you keep your hands in your pockets until I say.” Then, a small nod. “Go on, then. Look at the girl.”
I do.Dio, I do.
Livia leans back from Cat and notices me like a hawk notices a silver trinket. “Who’s that?” Her question holds no fear, light brows furrowing as she regards me.
Cat glances at her great aunt, and Noreen, queen of this small country, decides. “That,” she replies in a much too brisk tone, “is a friend who’s been away too long.”
Livia weighs her words, then steps forward three determined strides until the toes of her wellies touch my boots. She tips her head, studying the scar on my cheek like an interesting puzzle. “You’re very tall,” she blurts.
I huff a laugh that tastes like heaven. “I get that a lot.”
“Do you like goats?” she presses.
“I’m open to negotiations.”
She grins, satisfied. “Good.” Then she looks over her shoulder. “Auntie Noreen, can we show him the babies?”
“In a minute,a stór, I need a word with Auntie Cat first.”
The neighbor girl, a slip of freckles and pigtails likely just shy of ten, tugs at Livia’s sleeve. “Come on now, Liv, don’t forget about the castle,” she announces. “It still needs a moat.”
“Building proper moats is hard,” Livia informs me gravely, then trots outside with Aisling to educate the goats.
Noreen waits until the door closes and the yard swallows their chatter. Then she faces us again, softer but not soft. “You’ll tell her the truth.” Not a question.
Cat’s hand finds mine, slipping her fingers through my own in a knot. “We will.”
“And you’ll let her decide what to do with it.” Another non-question.
“Agreed,” I reply.
Noreen studies the seam of our hands like it’s an answer she can grade. At last, she nods, the verdict rendered. “Then you can have the sitting room,” she announces. “I’ll make tea. I’ll take Aisling to her ma and give the goats a stern talking-to.” A flash of something like humor. “And God help you if either of you makes that child cry.”
She’s gone before we can thank her, leaving the door ajar and a path straight to the small backyard kingdom.
