by Diane Kelly
“You had three parents who cared enough about you to do the right things for you,” he said. “Not many people are lucky enough to have parents like that.”
Including him.
Brendan pulled me to him, holding me tight. I rested my head on his shoulder, allowing myself to fully accept his embrace tonight. I needed it, needed to feel like I belonged somewhere, to someone. And I did feel like I belonged right there, in those strong arms. I belonged with Brendan. I knew it in my heart, in my soul.
Of course the Catholic Church would have something else to say about it. Could there be a chance the Church was wrong?
Brendan ran a warm hand down my hair, my back, resting it at my waist. “It’ll take some time to get used to this, Erin,” he whispered into my ear. “But remember. God put you here for a reason. Your Ma becoming pregnant with you was the wakeup call your father—your Da—needed to sober up. If not for you coming along, your parents may have split up, your family could have fallen apart. You are the glue that held everything together.”
It was true. Strange, but true. I wondered if any of the other strange things that had happened lately could also be true.
We stayed there, simply holding each other, for several minutes. I didn’t ever want it to end. Eventually, though, my legs began to grow numb from lack of movement and we ended our embrace.
I let myself put a hand on his cheek then, the prickly feel of his five-o’clock shadow reminding me that, whoever I was, I was here, now, with Brendan. And if things hadn’t transpired precisely the way they had—if my mother hadn’t made her mistakes, if my father hadn’t made his mistakes, if I hadn’t made my mistakes—I would not have been. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Bren.”
He put his hand over mine. “I feel the same, Erin.”
We looked into each other’s eyes for several moments, enduring the sweet agony of being together without fully being together.
Finally, Brendan exhaled sharply. “Sucks we can’t hook up.”
I managed a feeble smile. “No wonder you do so well with teens. You speak their language.”
Brendan managed a small nod. “Speaking of kids,” he said. “One of the full-time counselors at the juvenile detention center resigned. I’ll be helping out more for a while until they find a replacement.”
“They’re lucky to have you.”
“I’m the one who feels lucky. Working with those kids is the most fulfilling thing I do. In fact, I got a call today from one of the kids I counseled a few years back. When I first met him, he’d dropped out of high school and joined a gang. They were breaking into houses, stealing stereos and TVs, pawning them for money to buy crystal meth. Now he’ll be graduating from college in three months. Sum cum laude, no less. He even offered to come back and talk to the kids with me. Imagine the impact that would have.”
“Ya’ done good, daddio.” I chucked him on the arm. “He’d never have done it without you.”
“That’s what he said, too.” Brendan beamed. “But I didn’t want to brag. Pride is one of the seven deadly sins, you know.”
I shared a smile with him. “I don’t think it’s lethal in small doses.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
FALSE WITNESS
A half hour later, we’d finished off the bottle of wine. I still hadn’t completely come to terms with the truth of my ancestry, that process would take some time, but Brendan, as usual, had helped me put things in perspective.
I stood to go. “I better get home and get to bed,” I said. “The boss hates it when I’m late to work in the mornings.” Another old, lame joke, but one Brendan always graciously smiled at.
He walked me to my car, putting out a hand to help me in. I closed the door, started the engine, and unrolled the window. He leaned in the window, his eyes locked on mine, our lips only inches apart. “I’d give anything to be able to kiss you goodnight, Erin.”
“Me, too.” I sighed. “Maybe we can get a science lab somewhere to clone you. Then I can date your twin.”
“Now that’s a solution I hadn’t thought of. Of course the church would frown on cloning, too.”
“Of course. Darn.”
A blinding light illuminated my car. Both of us blinked against the sudden glare. Brendan stood, putting a hand over his brow to shield his eyes from the light. A car had pulled into the driveway behind mine. With the high beams on, it was impossible to see the make or model of the car or who was driving it.
“Caught you!” shrieked the shrill voice of Stella Nagley from the driver’s window.
The gates of hell had opened and let loose one of the devil’s wrinkled minions. I banged my forehead on the steering wheel.
“And to think I’d wished her a speedy recovery,” muttered Brendan. He stood and walked toward her car. “Hello, Mrs. Nagley. Out and about already?”
“I saw what you two were doing!”
We’d been doing nothing but talking. Talking about wanting to kiss each other, sure, but not actually doing anything wrong.
By that time Brendan had reached her window. He put his hands on his knees as he crouched down to be at eye level with her. “You saw us talking?”
“You were doing more than talking,” she said. “You were kissing. You had your head in her window!”
I fought the urge to put my car and reverse and back over the bitch. Of course my tiny Tercel would be no match for her tank of a Dodge.
“Now, Mrs. Nagley,” Brendan said. “I assure you the two of us were not kissing. I was merely telling Erin goodbye.”
Yeah, I thought. Get your eyes checked, you nosy old biddy.
“I smell wine on your breath, too. I’m calling the bishop!” With that she stomped the gas, forgetting she hadn’t put the car in reverse yet. She slammed into my bumper, jolting me forward. She didn’t bother to stop and see if she’d damaged my car before she threw her car in reverse and backed out of the driveway at warp speed. I heard a creak, then a clank, and felt my car shift as my back bumper fell to the ground.
Still standing at the end of his drive, Brendan watched Stella Nagley’s taillights disappear. He turned his face to the sky and threw out his arms. “If that’s a sign, Lord,” he hollered into the night, “I’m not sure what the message was supposed to be!”
This was bad.
This was real bad.
Aw, hell.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 22ND
THE TRUTH HURTS
The following day, Brendan dropped Seamus off at my shop around nine on his way to juvie. He told me he’d received an urgent call from the bishop that morning. They’d scheduled an emergency meeting for later in the day. Although the bishop declined to tell him what the subject matter of the meeting would be, we all knew Stella Nagley was the reason for it. That self-appointed, self-righteous busybody. Thanks to her, three strategically placed wire coat hangers were now holding my back bumper on my car.
I was so worried I could hardly work. Good thing Seamus was there to take up my slack, especially since the shop was unusually busy. Word had spread that a real live Leprechaun was working at the County Cork Cobbler, and people came by to take a gander at Seamus, bringing their shoes with them. Who would’ve guessed that being stalked by a freaky little faerie would be good for business?
During our lunch break, I drove Seamus to the jewelry store to trade in some of his gold. I waited in the car while he went inside. I had no idea how much gold he’d sold to the jeweler, but he came back with a stack of twenty-dollar bills at least an inch thick.
He waved the bills at me. “Would ye look at this? Cha-ching! Now I can take Tammy to dinner at one of those five-star restaurants.”
No doubt the two of them would be enjoying their elegant meal atop booster seats.
Afterwards, back at the shop, he spent an hour on the internet ordering shoemaking supplies, not content with simply repairing shoes. Fine with me. Even with the surge in business, there wasn’t enough repair work to kee
p us both busy, especially since Seamus worked so quickly. If he wanted to sell a line of custom-made shoes from my shop, who was I to stop him?
Brendan didn’t call me that day. I was afraid to call him, wondering if his phone records would be reviewed by the diocese. Damn that Stella Nagley, bearing false witness right through her false teeth. We’d broken no rules. Sure, we’d both wanted to break them, had talked about breaking them, but we hadn’t actually done so. This whole thing had me feeling upset, dirty. But how can it be wrong and dirty to care about someone? To love someone with all your heart? All your soul? To feel like you’d die without them?
To feel that God had sent that person to Earth just for you?
Seamus rode home with me and Riley after we closed up the shop. He was more than happy to eat Ma’s leftover colcannon.
“Haven’t had good Irish food like this in weeks,” Seamus said from his seat at the kitchen table as he scooped up a mouthful with his fork.
“Glad you’re enjoying it,” Ma said.
“Glad you’re eating my share,” Riley said, taking a huge bite of the frozen pizza Ma had made for him instead.
After dinner, Riley, Seamus, and I headed to the rec center for dance class. Brendan’s car was already in the lot when we arrived. Anxiety skittered through my stomach. What happened at his meeting with the bishop today?
Brendan was alone in the multi-purpose room, on the floor in his sweats and T-shirt, performing a hurdler’s stretch. After dropping our bags in the corner and changing into our dance shoes, Riley and I joined Brendan on the floor. His gaze met mine, his eyes full of sadness and rage. What did it mean? I wanted to know and I wanted to know right then, but I couldn’t very well raise the issue in front of Riley.
“Mind if I join in?” Seamus asked, taking a seat on the floor with us. “I’m quite the dancer, if I don’t say so meself. We Leprechauns invented Irish step dancing, you know.”
Riley bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Somehow I don’t exactly picture you as the Lord of the Dance.”
Seamus took Riley’s jibe in stride. “Just you wait, lad. You’ll see. Michael Flatley stole his best moves from me.”
Seamus hadn’t been exaggerating. During our routine, he’d joined in with Riley and Brendan, leaping just as high them despite his tiny stature, his technique perfect, his rhythm precise. When the song ended, he refused to stop, ripping off his shirt and revealing a chest and abs that were undeniably ripped. Who knew?
The kids in the class clapped a beat and Seamus pranced about the floor, ending with a high leap, then rushing forward, falling to his knees, and sliding toward us. When he slid to a stop, he threw out his hands. “Ta-da!”
I pointed at Seamus. “I’ll work that stunt into our performance at the Irish Festival.”
***
When dance class ended, Riley stepped into the gym to shoot a few baskets with the very same boys who’d been in his face only a few days ago. Boys. Go figure. Seamus excused himself to watch Riley, seeming to sense that Brendan and I needed time alone.
The two of us stepped outside the building. The evening was cold, but fortunately there was no wind. The industrial lights hummed over our heads, accented by an occasional car engine or honk from the road.
“What happened at the meeting with the bishop?” I asked.
“It didn’t go well, Erin.” Brendan looked down and rubbed the back of his neck, a sure sign he was upset.
We stood in silence for a moment before Brendan looked up at me. “I told Bishop Hogan the truth about what happened.”
“I’d expected nothing less.” Brendan was nothing if not honest.
“I told him that Stella Nagley was mistaken in what she saw. That you and I were not kissing.”
“Did he believe you?”
“I think so,” Brendan said.
Relief surged through me. “Then you’re in the clear, then.”
Brendan shook his head. “I told him the truth, Erin. All of it.”
“All of it? You mean-”
“About me and you. How we feel about each other.”
The silence that fell between us might as well have been the blade of a guillotine.
I could hardly breathe. Surely after such a shocking revelation, that Brendan and I had feelings for each other, forbidden feelings, the consequences would be dire.
“But you told him nothing happened. And you told him nothing ever would, right?”
Brendan shook his head. “I couldn’t tell him that.”
“Why not?”
Brendan looked at me, his face contorted with emotion. “Because I’m not sure it’s the truth.”
“What are you saying, Brendan?”
“I’m a man of God, Erin. But I’m still a man. A human being. With weaknesses. I couldn’t guarantee that I’d be able to fight these feelings forever. If anything, my feelings for you are growing stronger every day.”
My mind whirled, unable to handle the complicated mix of emotions Brendan’s words stirred in me. Joy. Guilt. Fear. I was thrilled Brendan’s feeling for me were deepening. But at the same time I could tell those feelings brought him confusion, frustration. The last thing I wanted was to be a source of shame or pain for the man I loved.
Brendan shook his head. “Is this what God wants? For me to feel like a naughty child caught with my hand in the cookie jar?”
This sucked, especially since his hand had never actually been in the cookie jar. At worst, he’d only eyed the cookie jar. Heck, he hadn’t even peeked inside, had never tasted even the smallest crumb.
“What’s going to happen?”
Brendan shrugged, his shoulders slumping as if bearing the weight of the world. “I don’t know, Erin. In situations like this they sometimes transfer the priest to another parish. Other times they ask for his resignation.”
I didn’t like those possibilities. If Brendan were transferred, I’d lose the man I loved, lose his comfort, his companionship. If he were asked to resign, he’d lose the position he’d worked so hard for.
Either way, we’d end up losing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
SATURDAY, MARCH 13TH
LAST DANCE
The following days were pure torture. The fear of Brendan’s punishment from the church hung over us like a black shroud. I continued to work on my routine for the wet T-shirt contest, the guilt and shame building to an almost unbearable level in me as the date of the event grew closer. The only bright sign in my otherwise dark world was Blarney. Though I knew the tumor could not have been cured, the dog hadn’t suffered a single seizure since the day Seamus had chanted over him. He was eating well, enjoying playtime with Riley. The darn dog had even resumed his nasty old habit of digging up the flowerbed in the backyard. My poor pansies didn’t stand a chance.
Things with Brendan and me were at an unbearable impasse. Since I’d told Brendan my true feelings, put them out in the open, I found it all the more difficult to fight them. I cried myself to sleep every night, sobbing, sometimes screaming, into my pillow. My heart ached for him. My body ached for him. But what’s more, my very soul ached for him.
Things were going great for Seamus and Tammy, though. The two of them were dating exclusively now, spending a lot of time together. The two of them had what Brendan and I wanted but could never have. As happy as I was for the couple, it was hard to see them sharing their happiness, enjoying time together so easily, so freely. Why couldn’t Brendan and I have what they had?
Life wasn’t fair.
Seamus had begun his custom shoemaking business out of my shop and, though he’d had only a few takers so far, the customers had loved his shoes, complimenting him on their comfort and style. Seemed every day someone new came by to order a pair. At least someone was having some good luck.
***
The Saturday before Saint Patrick’s Day dawned bright. Riley and I rushed around the house, checking and double-checking to make sure we had packed everything we needed for our performance at today’s
Irish Festival in Dallas. We met in the front hallway to run through our final pre-performance checklist.
“Shoes?” I asked.
Riley rummaged through the duffle bag, counting pairs, ensuring we’d packed them all. “Check.”
“Socks?”
He rummaged some more. “Check.”
“Costumes?”
He stood and peeked inside the garment bag hanging from a hook on the back of the front door. “Got ‘em.”
“Music?”
He unzipped the CD case and thumbed through the discs. “All here.”
“Looks like we’re good to go.”
Brendan and Seamus arrived at the house at ten, Seamus dressed in the Leprechaun garb he’d been wearing the first time I saw him, when I’d thought he was nothing more than a garden gnome. No doubt the crowd would love him. He was a great addition to our dance team, adding a whimsical touch to our otherwise precision-like performance. Tammy showed up not long after wearing her denim mini-skirt, a long-sleeved white tee with a green shamrock on the front, and a green newsboy cap, looking absolutely adorable as always.
When everyone was accounted for, we piled into the cars for the half-hour drive to Dallas. I drove Ma and Da in my Tercel, while Riley rode with Brendan in his truck. Tammy and Seamus followed in her Volkswagen, the tops of their heads barely visible over the dashboard.
Because it was a long trek from the parking lot to the entrance to the fairgrounds, we’d brought Dad’s wheelchair today. Brendan pushed my dad through the lot and into the grounds. I tried not to notice how Brendan’s muscles flexed as he wheeled my father along. Something about the sight of the two of them together warmed my heart. Too bad Brendan would never be an official son-in-law to my Dad.
We spent a couple of hours touring the festival, enjoying Irish folk and harp music, lunching on corned beef and lemon curd pie, which tastes much better than it sounds.