“Of course not,” Claire replied with a soft smile. “I’m really beginning to treasure my time with Kennedy. And your mom and I have developed a great rapport. We’ll have a lovely day.” A twinkle. “And if we run out of conversation, we can always discuss you. I’m sure I still have lots to learn.”
That had made Ryan laugh, and he’d taken a gulp of coffee and reached for a slice of pizza. “From what I understand, you’ve already made a dent in that with Kennedy.” As he spoke, his restless gaze shifted back to the computer.
“Go back to your magic-making,” Claire had urged him. She walked over only long enough to give him a tender kiss. “If anyone can make this happen, it’s you.”
Two and a half hours later, and with the way things were clicking, Ryan was starting to believe Claire was right.
He grabbed his cell phone, saw that it was now nearing seven thirty, and—after downing another slice of cold pizza and swallowing two more gulps of now-cold coffee—he called his mom’s home line.
“Hello?” Maureen sounded guarded, and more than a little beat.
“Hey, Mom, it’s me.”
His mother sighed. “Yes, I’ve been expecting your call.”
“Huh?”
“Claire beat you to the punch. She called a little before seven, told me you were inundated, and asked if Kennedy and I would enjoy a visit from her.”
Ryan blew out a breath. “When it comes to people and feelings, she thinks of everything.” A pause. “Do you think Kennedy will be okay with that?”
“We’ll make sure she’s okay,” Maureen replied. “She knows you’re intently trying to bring her mother back, and to investigate who killed her father. Yesterday, you told her that you might not be able to get back here right away. She’ll understand why. And, other than you, Claire is the best medicine for her. Not to mention, I think Fiona will be dropping by, as well. You know what good friends she and Claire have become. And they both care deeply for Kennedy. So we ladies will have a very pleasant day. We’ll also do some planning. We want to try to make it an as-close-to-festive-as-possible St. Patrick’s Day for Kennedy. She obviously can’t attend a parade, the way she ritually did with Caitlin and Shane, but we’ll think of acceptable substitutes. We’ll bake. We’ll do some crafts. So don’t worry. We’re fine.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Ryan replied. “The three of you are making me feel a little less guilty.”
“Don’t feel guilty,” Maureen said. “Just do what’s necessary.” A pause. “What about tomorrow? Nolan, Garret, Fiona, and your dad and I will be here for St. Patrick’s Day itself. Will you be able to join us?”
Once again, Ryan hedged. “Yes, and no,” he finally said, watching his words very carefully. “I’ll have to miss most of the day’s festivities, but I’ll be there in time to dig into your famous corn beef and cabbage. Oh, and tell Dad to save me some Guinness straight from his kegerator; I’ll need it. I’ll also bring Claire; I’ll even make her wear green.” His voice broke a bit. “I know that’s not ideal, but can we make it work? I wouldn’t do this to you—to any of us—if it weren’t urgent.”
Maureen didn’t miss a beat. “You’re on to something, something significant. And you can’t tell me what it is.”
She was greeted by silence.
“That’s the only answer I need,” she said. “Do what you must. And may God guide you and help you answer Kennedy’s prayers.”
The McKay Residence
East 236th Street
Woodlawn, Bronx, New York
Thursday, March 16, 2:15 p.m.
Maureen sat back on the sofa, watching Fiona sitting cross-legged on the carpet, showing Kennedy how to make a shamrock charm bracelet. Claire was seated on the sofa next to Maureen, smiling as she watched Kennedy’s intent expression as she followed Fiona’s instructions.
“She’s got talent,” Claire noted. “Maybe Fiona will have a junior partner one day.”
Maureen chuckled. “Given how busy Fiona is, I’m sure she’d welcome an artistic addition. Soon—but not too soon. Childhood lasts for so brief a time. Kennedy should enjoy it…” Her voice trailed off, a shadow of pain crossing her face. “I don’t know what I’m saying. Kennedy’s happy childhood is gone. A cold-blooded killer shattered it, took away the foundation of her life. How can she ever—?” Maureen broke off, blinking away the tears that had formed in her eyes.
Claire covered Maureen’s hand with her own. “No, things won’t ever be the same for Kennedy. But we’re going to do all we can to restore a portion of that childhood.”
Maureen shot Claire a quick glance. “Ryan is working on that right now.”
Claire didn’t respond to that. But she did tackle another area. “Mrs. McKay…”
“Maureen,” Ryan’s mom corrected her. “I think we’ve more than arrived at that informality.”
A nod. “Thank you. Maureen, I’ve found a professional who I think is the ideal child psychologist for Kennedy to see. Her name is Dr. Melissa Zitter. She’s trained in childhood trauma, and has dozens of exceptional reviews. Several of the psychologists I’ve worked with in my pre-FI life recommend her highly. If you’d like I can contact her myself to initiate the process and tell her to expect your call. Or you can just dive right in, use the professional reference names I’ll give you, and do it yourself.” A slight pause. “But even after Caitlin is back at home, Kennedy will need some counseling. As you said, she needs as much of her childhood back as possible.”
