Faye had caught Maeve’s eyes before and tried to tell her then that her secret was safe. No one had to know. Faye would say it one time, then it would be forgotten. She lowered her voice. “Was Wendy Walker with you when you saw him?”
Maeve nodded.
“And did you see anyone else tonight other than her?”
Maeve shook her head.
“Listen to me. There was no earlier tonight. You did not go to the party. Nothing at all happened. Nothing. You make that clear to that girl and don’t speak about any of it again. Not to anyone.” Despite herself, she thought of the phone call, of what Conor said he saw. That was dead now too. “And that includes Daddy. It would break his heart, you understand that, right?”
Maeve nodded.
“Get your pajamas on. Quickly. And brush your teeth.”
She turned her attention to Molly. Her little face was ashen. “Pix.” Molly sat up, and Faye zipped her lip with an invisible pull. “Not a word. It’s very important. Not a single word. Never, ever speak of it. Mama and Daddy will take care of everything. That man fell. That’s all. He fell. You understand?”
Molly’s eyes were wide, glassed. She nodded, the barest gesture. Her mouth opened and closed twice, like a fish out of water.
“You do it, honey,” Faye said. “Zip that lip.”
Molly lifted her hand slowly, drew her pinched fingers across her mouth.
Faye touched her cheek. “That’s a good girl.”
Maeve whispered, “Is he . . . ?”
Faye squeezed between the girls. She wished her arms were wings, that she could fold her daughters beneath them. “Yes,” she said. “He’s gone. He can’t hurt us anymore.”
The sheriff arrived with the ambulance, lights blazing in the night. Maeve stuck to the script when the police asked questions. Molly, obedient, didn’t say a word, didn’t shake her head yes or no. “She slept through the whole thing,” Faye said.
William answered their questions with earnest ease.
“Honestly,” he said, “I don’t know what brought him here tonight. We’ve known him a long time. The families were connected back in Ireland years ago.”
The sheriff took perfunctory notes. No one seemed much interested in the details of the common story. An ex-con, a known drunk and pain-in-the-ass dead at the bottom of a flight of stairs. No sign of foul play, no bloody knuckles or torn clothes, no weapons. Only distraught parents and children in nightgowns, cheeks tight with dried tears.
Conor O’Kane went out on a stretcher, black boots poking out from under a white sheet, his hands empty. Faye and William, Maeve and Molly, watched from the open front door until the police car and the ambulance pulled away, sirens silent, emergency lights dark, and all was quiet.
William rolled up the stained rug to carry out to the trash. Only then did Molly speak. “My magic carpet.”
“We’ll get another one, honey. I promise,” Faye said, though she could see the defeat in Molly’s eyes. She loved to play the game, especially with her big sister or with Faye if Maeve wouldn’t give her the time. Molly would sit on the rug, whatever playmate straddled behind her. With an old vase for the lamp to rub between her palms, she’d say something like, “My carpet is a hot air balloon!” or “My carpet is a bird!” and then whisk them away to magical places, weaving stories of colorful beasts, of planets and stars, seas like the bluest diamonds, impossible mountain peaks—flights of imagination and wonder. If only we could fly to a place where Conor O’Kane had never darkened the doorway, Faye thought.
“No,” Molly said, resigned. Her eyes drifted to the splintered railing, darting as if a murder of crows circled above. She flinched, then furled into herself. “It’s ruined.”
Faye and William lay in bed, grave still. “Is this the same day, or is it tomorrow?” Faye whispered. If not before, she knew she was old now.
“It’s tomorrow.”
She sighed. “Okay, good.”
“They’ll come for his car.”
“We’ll need to call Papa in the morning. Or maybe go over. That’d be better.”
“Suppose Glenda’d be next of kin if they really did get married.”
Faye thought of the three brothers. They had seemed inseparable, but of course, that was false. Distance or death separated everyone eventually. She did not want to think on him anymore. And yet. “I wonder if he ever told Jean what happened between him and his family.”
“I can only imagine.”
