by Lisa Alber
Father Dooley had gotten it wrong when he’d said Danny would know what to say. Instead of a talk, Danny had plied the children with Easter baskets and their own egg hunt and Marcus’s famous Easter pancakes topped with jellybeans. Today was the best Easter Sunday of their lives, lootwise.
Footsteps clicked across the flooring, and he turned to see Merrit approaching with worry and nerves apparent in her clamped jaw and flushed skin. Mrs. O’Brien took one look at her, sniffed again, and abandoned her post to help organize the children.
Merrit caught Danny observing her and shrugged uncomfortably. She wore a fitted black dress that swung just above her knees, hair curled in loose waves and pulled away from her face, and enough makeup to make her unusual hazel-colored eyes glow. She cleaned up well but didn’t know how to walk in heels. She wobbled to a stop next to him. “Zoe did me up. I’ll be wearing flip-flops by the end of the day, you’ll see.”
“Where is she?”
Merrit pointed to one of the lounging circles, where Zoe sat talking to several other festival volunteers. “The latest on Nathan is that this morning I found him sleeping in Fox Cottage. He mentioned it being safer.”
“For who?”
“That was my first thought, too. None of this feels right, including Liam’s sudden good health. The other night at your house I meant to ask you if you could persuade him to see a new doctor for a second opinion.”
“I can do that.” It would be his pleasure, in fact, because Zoe’s healing hobby preyed on him, too. “Now, in fact.”
Liam sat at one of the communal tables with a cup of tea in front of him. Danny joined him and watched more children gather for the egg hunt.
“Quite the festivity you hatched,” Danny said.
“Ay, but Merrit brought it together. She had help, of course. Mrs. O’Brien is indispensable at such times. They’ve been working nonstop for the last two days.”
“And Zoe?”
“Ah, yes, Zoe.” He went silent. The tent shuddered with a wind gust that made the long poles squeal. “Merrit talked to you, I suppose.”
“She asked me to ask you to see a doctor. Humor her, would you?”
“There’s no accounting for it, but I’m improving. I feel better each day.”
“You can’t think it’s because of Zoe.”
More wind gusted. Outside, a solid grey sky promised more rain, and lots of it.
“You might have heard that Zoe claimed that she healed Bijou.” Liam sipped his tea. “I know how it sounds. Pure madness. I’ve been over it and over it, and I can’t figure out how Zoe faked it. She had a piece of glass with blood on it, and Bijou has a pink scar on one of her paws that Alan didn’t recognize. Explain that to me.”
“Perhaps the scar already existed.”
“How did Zoe know that?”
“That’s the interesting question. She noticed it previously, or even that day. Bijou loves to have her belly rubbed. She’ll display the bottoms of her paws to anyone.”
Liam looked skeptical. “All I know is that Zoe held Bijou’s paw the same way she holds my hand.”
Across the way, Zoe laughed with her companions. She’d piled her hair up in a messy ’do on top of her head with dangling curls brushing her shoulders. She was the living antithesis of the gloom trying to batter its way into the party. Like a spring nymph. Or maybe a spring siren.
“And,” Liam continued, “why would she stage such an elaborate demonstration for us?”
“Another good question. She could have said, ‘Fancy a healing session with me?’”
Liam grunted. “And received the full bolloxing for her efforts. I’m sure she’s tried that before.”
“With Nathan to begin with, and maybe her mother, too.”
“Ay, that may be the crux of her right there. Rejection.”
“Daddy issues?” Danny tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “Or mommy issues.”
“Issues, anyhow.”
“So am I to understand that you don’t believe she’s healing you?”
“I didn’t say that, but I’ll relent and see a doctor.” He grinned. “If Merrit approached you about it, she must be anxious, indeed.”
A kid flurry attracted Liam’s attention. The egg hunt was about to start, which signaled the opening of the Earrach Festival. Merrit reappeared, wearing not flip-flops but a pair of low-heeled ankle-strappy numbers on her feet. She clapped her hands and called for the children to line up along the rope. Mandy pulled Petey with her to the edge of the line.
Danny smiled, knowing that his scrappy daughter had figured out they had a better chance of finding eggs if they focused their efforts along the edge of the marquee. He willed himself to enjoy this moment with them. The Ellen topic could wait.
Merrit held up the rope and a pair of gardening shears. Together, she and the children counted down from ten. The children screamed at the tops of their lungs. “Ten!”
“Nine!”
More people entered the marquee. Children tussled to stand in front. The marquee shook under threat from the wind.
“Eight!”
“Seven!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Danny spied Zoe waving at someone while shouting down the numbers with everyone else.
“Six!”
“Five!”
Danny followed her gaze to see Sid with his placid smile contemplating the festivities from the corner of the marquee, unobtrusive and unnoticed. He waved back at Zoe.
“Four!”
“Three!”
Liam nudged Danny with his elbow. Nathan hovered near the entrance. His lips moved in words aimed at no one. In his corner, Sid watched Nathan.
“Two!”
“One!”
Merrit cut the rope with a snap of shears, and in the ensuing chaos of screams and squeals and cheering adults, Danny lost sight of both Sid and Nathan.
seventy-one
After the egg hunt and words of welcome from Liam, Merrit parked herself in one of two chairs in her matchmaking station. A red velvet cordon marked it off and dozens of balloons floated overhead. After her kerfuffle with Mrs. O’Brien, Merrit had let her have her way. All the fanfare and tradition she desired. Now Merrit felt like a sideshow freak rather than the main attraction. One of those odd-looking, lonely ones gawkers loved to stare at from afar.
On the bright side, she wasn’t nervous anymore. It didn’t look as if she would be in demand. The childless adults began gathering mid-afternoon when the bar opened. Mrs. O’Brien had ordered Merrit’s station to be positioned within spitting distance of the alcohol, which didn’t surprise Merrit.
She was allowed to leave her little prison, of course, but for the moment she preferred to sit here, removed from the chaos. Elder Joe flashed through her mind. His pronouncement about sheep and lambs still bothered her.
Marcus appeared out of the crowd and joined her. “You look thoughtful; a nice look for a matchmaker.”
She scooted closer to him. “You caught me pondering something Elder Joe said before he died. I thought it might be a clue to his death, but I can’t remember his exact words—something about lambs and sheep. ‘You won’t be a sheep if you’re not a lamb’?”
Marcus slapped his thigh with a burst of laughter. “Bloody beautiful, that. Let me guess, ‘hung for a sheep as a lamb’?’”
“That’s it. ‘Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb,’ she said. What does that mean?”
“It goes back to the days when stealing a sheep or a lamb was a capital offense. What were you talking about when EJ said it?”
“He’d invited me to have tea with him, but I begged off. He accused me of being ‘that way.’”
“Ay, that Elder Joe had his own way of talking. It doesn’t make no bother, what he said. Why should it?”
“But it is bothering me.”
“Well then.” He hesitated. “People can tell you’re not invested in your life here. You’re aloof. By the lamb business, he meant if you’re going to live here, the
n go all the way in as a sheep, not a lamb.”
“That makes no sense.” She waved her arms to encompass her matchmaking station. “I’m more here than I sometimes want to be.”
“Bingo. You think others don’t feel that?” He patted her arm. “No use spitting tacks over it.”
“Spitting tacks.” Another Irish-ism to store into memory. “Let’s change the topic.”
“Easy enough. What’s the craic with the matchmaking?”
“I don’t know whether to be insulted that no one has talked to me or relieved. For some reason, I’d thought this might be the day I’d be reborn in the eyes of the locals.”
“It might help if you smiled and called attention to yourself.”
In other words, she thought, participate as a sheep, not a lamb, which was the opposite point she’d tried to make to Mrs. O’Brien and then to Liam when she’d offended them: this was not her way. Someone like Zoe would relish putting on a show, but not Merrit.
“Give them time to get used to you,” Marcus said.
Merrit let that statement go. Time didn’t have the same meaning for the Irish as it did for her. “How about you? Do you want to get married again? I’ve wondered.”
He pursed his lips. “I haven’t given it much thought.”
Liar, Merrit thought. “You’ve mentioned Edna Dooley before. Father Dooley’s sister, right?”
Marcus smiled, looking nostalgic. “Ay, quite a bit older than he, she being the eldest of the Dooley pack and he the youngest. She’s a good soul.”
Merrit pretended to remember something. “As a matter of fact, she’s one of the volunteers helping Mrs. O’Brien.” Without being obvious about it, she observed Marcus as he straightened his posture. “Could you do me a favor?” she said.
“Anything.”
“Fetch me a plate of food? No hurry, though. There’s a lot going on.”
Marcus would know what she was about as soon as he arrived at the food tables and discovered Edna Dooley overseeing the caterers, who had arrived not long ago to augment the potluck with platters of finger foods.
Danny’s children ran by with their faces painted like cats. They bumped past Nathan, who grabbed a tent pole for support. Merrit stood and stretched and, catching Nathan’s eye, beckoned him to sit with her. He obliged with a blank, faraway expression. Once seated, his gaze prowled over the people passing back and forth in front of them.
“Where’s Zoe?” she said. “She promised to be my first client. Not that she needs me. She has no trouble meeting men.” She paused but couldn’t think of a subtle way to drop Sid into the conversation. “Like her friend Sid.”
Nathan stiffened.
“He’s here, isn’t he?” she said.
Nathan nodded.
“Please don’t do anything stupid. Promise me.”
Nathan nodded again. He clenched his hands and set his jaw as a wind gust battered the marquee.
“Stay here,” Merrit said. “You need food. Promise me you won’t move.”
Nathan’s head jerked in what Merrit took to be yet another nod of assent. She weaved her way toward the food tables, passing Marcus and Edna Dooley. She couldn’t hear her own thoughts over the sound of the wind and the rat-a-tat of a fresh bout of hail.
Merrit shoveled meatballs and mashed potatoes onto a paper plate and gathered utensils, all the while scouting the area for Danny.
Mrs. O’Brien stepped up beside her. Avoiding eye contact, she announced that she’d called the marquee company. “Someone needs to secure the marquee against the wind.”
“Thanks.” Merrit spoke fast before Mrs. O’Brien walked away. “Thanks for everything. Really. Even the matchmaking station.”
Merrit beelined to where Danny sat with Mandy and Petey in one of the lounge areas. The children waved and showed her their various prizes and eggs and Easter chocolates, delight overcoming even Mandy’s resistance to Merritt. Danny stood.
“Sid and Nathan are here,” Merrit said. “That can’t be good.”
“I know. I’m keeping an eye on him.” He indicated Sid standing in the alcohol line. “I’ve lost Nathan, though.”
“He’s with me, but I’d better get back to him. He’s almighty tense.” Wind batted hail pellets against the glass next to them. “The noise is putting him more on edge.” Merrit turned and almost bumped into Joe Junior.
“I fancy giving your matchmaking skills a try,” he said.
“Later, okay? I promise.” She dodged around the drinkers in the bar quadrant. But when she reached her matchmaking station, Nathan was gone.
seventy-two
Wind and hail pummeled the marquee on all sides. The racket made Nathan want to dig his ears out of his head, anything to make the irritant go away. He veered away from the crowd near the bar and circled toward the stage area, where musicians set up their equipment and Zoe kept up her usual stream of conversation.
He backtracked in the opposite direction. The peck peck peck of hail against the windows ground into his head, almost but not quite drowning out the voice—
Can yoouu kill, can yoouu kill
—that propelled him forward. He’d seen Sid but had decided to wait for the best moment. A rending crash sent up a collective scream that propelled Nathan under the closest table. He hugged himself, rocking, persuading himself that the apocalypse wasn’t upon them. Today was Easter Sunday, a day of rebirth. His rebirth.
Several pairs of legs rushed past, toward the stage. Nathan peeked out from under the table to see a gaping hole in the marquee and the musicians scuttling around to move their equipment away from the incoming hail. A section of canvas snapped back and forth, and the wind gusted through the hole with an eerie moan.
Now was his chance, while everyone was distracted, before his head split open. He ducked out from under the table. In front of him, Sid leaned against one of the marquee’s tent poles, smiling at him, waiting. Nathan’s resolve shriveled. Sid had been one step ahead all along.
Nathan dug his hands into the deep pockets of the coat Zoe had bought him. Sid’s lips moved, but Nathan lost the words to the wind and hail and yelling voices. He stepped closer, flexing and unflexing his hands in his pockets.
“I’m glad you rang,” Sid said.
A mess of lights and paper globes fell onto the stage. Another collective scream sliced into Nathan’s head.
“Annie was dear to me,” Sid said. “As dear to me as she was to you.”
Nathan opened his mouth and clamped it shut again. Don’t talk. Let him dig his own grave. Nathan inched forward.
“We’ve had a misunderstanding,” Sid said. “I don’t want to be on the wrong foot with you.”
Too late for that. Nathan would have liked nothing better than to leave this all behind, but now he couldn’t. Because, if he did, the voices and the terrors and the images would eat him alive. He stepped closer.
“The thrust of it is that—”
Sid lowered his voice, and Nathan strained forward to hear him. His vision blurred, and the racketing wind swept into the marquee and pounded itself against the back of his skull. In his pocket, Nathan clamped his fingers around the knife. Sid’s words turned into the wind pounding against his skull, into the static and crackle overtaking his mind, into the snap of breaking reality.
And he’d been here before, been here before, been here before.
seventy-three
Danny let the children run off with the other kids and their mothers to ogle the unfolding drama at the other end of the marquee. He stepped aside for men carrying a ladder and circled toward the communal dining tables. He’d lost Sid in the shifting crowd but caught him again beyond the food spread. Sid stood calm in a sea of chaos, smiling while everyone else wore varying expressions of concern or awe. He spoke into Nathan’s ear. Nathan’s lips retracted into a grimace and his knees locked as if to pounce. He looked like a rabid dog.
Danny quickened his pace. Mrs. O’Brien stepped in front of him. “Do something,” she said. “Th
e festival is ruined.”
“I can’t now,” Danny said. “Excuse me.”
Mrs. O’Brien’s hectoring voice receded behind him. Danny broke into a sprint, or tried to, but he bumped up against people every other step. Marcus beckoned him, but he shook his head and called for him to mind the children.
Nathan leaned forward from the waist and Sid continued talking. Danny dodged around a table and along the edge of the marquee. Hail bounced off the glass beside him, and the marquee swayed and squealed from the wind assault. A layer of hail had already gathered on the tables.
“Nathan!” Danny called.
Nathan pulled a knife out of his pocket, but instead of lunging at Sid he whipped around, back toward the stage.
“Someone grab Nathan!” Danny yelled. “I’ll be talking to you,” he said as he passed Sid.
Nathan disappeared into the crowd gathered around the stage. On the ladder, Alan struggled to cover the hole with a large tarp.
“Excuse me, out of the way,” Danny repeated.
Someone screamed, and several people scattered, driving Danny backwards a few steps. He shoved his way against the crowd and stumbled forward to see Nathan honing in on Zoe.
“Jesus, stop him!” Danny said. “Grab him.” He barreled forward, not caring who he knocked aside in the process.
“Dad?” Zoe said.
She stood her ground as Nathan lunged toward her. Her eyes widened when he raised his arm, knife glinting under the faery lights. Danny arrived shoulder first and shoved Nathan to the ground. Nathan went down easily but didn’t want to stay down. He struggled against Danny with wide eyes and mouth forming an O of terror.
Danny stooped with knees on Nathan’s chest and worked the knife out of his hand. Nathan’s struggles turned desperate. Danny fought to keep Nathan’s heaving body from toppling him over. His wretched wails rose toward the ceiling.