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“What?” Cathal asked. His eyes were closing. He was dozing off, finally, at the wrong time. He said something and the agent looked at Mary, alarmed.

“That’s Irish,” Mary said quickly, before he radioed someone to say an elderly man was having a stroke.

“What’s he asking me?” Cathal asked, clutching Mary’s wrist.

“He’s afraid you’re dehydrated. When’s the last time you drank water?”

“Do you mean on purpose?” That woke him up. “I’ve never purposely had a sip of water in my life. Can’t stand the stuff. I don’t believe a word of what they say about it.”

“See? He’s fine,” Mary said. “I’ll get him a juice from the vending machine.”

THEY HADN’T DISCUSSED WHO WAS paying for what and that was not a conversation Mary knew how to broach so she told Cathal she had to go to the ladies’ room and instead jogged over to the ATM and withdrew the maximum. Then she went to the money exchange window and converted her euros back to dollars. She had a credit limit of one thousand dollars on her Visa. They couldn’t take the wheelchair out of the airport so when the time came for Cathal to stand she hooked him firmly under his arms and heaved him up. They stood there for a moment until he was steady, like they were dancing. “Where’s your cane?” she asked, looking around, though she already had a sinking feeling. She didn’t remember him having it in Minneapolis, so he must have left it in Amsterdam, or else it had never made it out of Ireland.

“It was only a nuisance,” he said.

“But you need it,” Mary said.

“Well,” he said, in a tone that asked what could be done about it now? Outside was summer in Montana, the clouds fat with rain and slung low. Cathal drew a big breath and looked around. “This is exactly what I pictured,” he said. “Do you remember that night at Kevin’s?”

“Kevin’s?” Mary asked. “Who’s Kevin?”

“Oh,” Cathal said. “Sure, you wouldn’t remember that. I don’t think you’d have been there. You’re Macdara’s Mary. That’s right, isn’t it? Your father is Macdara?”

Okay, Mary thought. Okay. We might have a problem.

Once they found a motel that looked decent she told him to stay in the car until she came back. She checked in, ran the bags up to their room, and then she went to help him out of the car but he was asleep. She put her hand on his face and it felt clammy. He probably just needs a shower, she told herself. He definitely needs a good rest. It was the time difference plus all the sitting plus had he taken his medication? She’d go through his bag to find it. Finally, she got him inside. He asked for a cup of tea but she said he’d have to wait a minute, she’d have to figure that out. They’d passed a café, but maybe she should buy an electric kettle and decent tea bags and set up a tea station in their room. She offered to help him in the bathroom but he ignored her, so she stood with her ear to the door until she heard him moving in there. She’d buy a walker was what she’d do. They’d passed a drugstore, surely the people who work there would know where to get one.

“Are you out there?” he asked through the door.

“Yes,” she said.

“Give me a hand.”

When she opened the door, he was seated on the toilet, his pants around his ankles, his thin white thighs like spindles.

“Do you need help, um, cleaning up?” she asked as lightly as she could manage, averting her eyes.

“No!” he said. He had a towel over the part of him he didn’t want her to see. She heaved him up and leaned him once again against her body as she reached down and pulled up his pants. She felt the towel land softly on her foot. She didn’t bother with his belt. She helped him to one of the beds and eased off his shoes. His socks were new and still had a sticker on one of the toes. She started fussing with his sweater, which she imagined was itchy around his neck, but he swatted her away.

“Leave me be,” he said. And then he asked: “Where’s Mary?”

“I’m Mary,” Mary said, her heart hammering.

“I’m talking about Mary Joyce,” he said in an angry tone, the tone of a person who’d asked for something a hundred times but hadn’t gotten it.

“I’m Mary Joyce,” Mary said gently, and he lifted his head to look at her, to really scrutinize her. Then he let his head drop back to the pillow. He closed his eyes.

“Listen,” she said, trying a new tactic. She was in charge here. She had to show some authority. She was no little kid; she was twenty-two years old. “I think we made a mistake. Are you listening? I think I’d better call someone.”

She waited for him to argue but he was already asleep. She watched his chest to make sure it was rising and falling. She leaned down close to his face so she could hear whether his breathing was shallow or deep, not that she’d know what to conclude from either. When she felt sure it was just regular sleep, nothing to be alarmed about, she went down to reception and bought a pack of cigarettes from the vending machine. Their flight had landed around seven that morning and she had no idea how much time had passed since then. She only ever smoked if she was out very late or if she wanted to lose five pounds but this was an emergency.

She tapped out one cigarette and then realized she didn’t have a lighter. “Fuck,” she said to the big, rolling sky.

“OH MY GOD,” ANNIE SAID when she heard Mary’s voice. “Where are you? Is Cathal okay? Seamus called here literally in the middle of the night.”

“Put Dad on,” Mary said.

“Mom is—”