Liam Murphy, the man who had grumbled over his pints and pinched my arse more times than I cared to count, was gone.
I felt Jax step up beside me, his hand warm and steady on my back. “Let’s get you inside. Ronan, who do we call?’
“I called the garda. The doctor is already in there, so….”
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it impossible to speak.
Liam had been one of the cornerstones of Ballybeg, the kind of man you thought would live forever simply because you couldn’t imagine the place without him.
“He died while he was at a party at The Banshee’s Rest,” Jax said softly. “And I know he pinched your arse today. I saw him do it.”
I let out a sniffle and a laugh.
“He died happy, Dee.”
I nodded and let him hold my hand so we could go back inside the pub and say goodbye to an old friend.
We gave Liam Murphy a proper Irish send-off.
We held his wake at The Banshee’s Rest, and every inch of space was filled with people who’d come to say goodbye to him.
A photo of him—grinning broadly, a pint of Guinness in one hand and a bottle of Irish whiskey in the other—was propped up on the bar next to a small bouquet of wildflowers.
“So, what’s an Irish wake like?” Jax had asked me that morning.
“They’re loud, messy, filled with drink, stories, and laughter…and tears. You’ll love it.”
As we all toasted our drinks to Liam, the stories started to be told.
“Did I ever tell you about the time Liam fell into the Shannon and claimed he’d been trying to fish with his bare hands?” Liam Ryan said.
“Bare hands, my arse,” Seamus cut in. “The man was three sheets to the wind and chasing a duck, and you all know it.”
The room erupted with the kind of laughter that made your ribs ache.
I couldn’t help but smile despite the sadness twisting in my chest.
Liam didn’t have much family. He and his wife didn’t have children, and when she passed, he’d madeThe Banshee’s Rest his home, a lot like Angus and so many others had.
Family he may not have had, but he had all of us.
Friends had brought in trays of sandwiches and baked goods, and Ronan had made Liam’s favorite, shepherd’s pie and berry cake. Of course, there was whiskey and enough Guinness flowing to keep the entire village merry well into the night.
Jax watched the chaos with delight. “I love this. I love the joy.”
I glanced at him, catching the soft look in his blue eyes. “We grieve, sure, but we also celebrate. Liam wouldn’t want us sitting around crying all night. He’d want us laughing, telling stories, and drinking to his memory.”
Jax nodded slowly, his gaze sweeping over the room. “Yeah, he’d like this party and be annoyed he missed it.”
“He sure would.”
As the whiskey bottles were emptied, the mood shifted. The laughter softened, and the memories we shared of Liam became somber.
“He gave me money to buy a new oven when the old one broke down. He wouldn’t let me pay him back,” Cadhla said with a watery smile. “That was when I was young and scared and…alone, right after my divorce. He said I could pay him back by baking him apple tarts. So, I did, and the fecker told me it wasn’t half as good as his ma’s.”
The room chuckled.
Then, as was tradition, the room grew quiet, and someone began to sing.
