When she plunked her ass on her chair, I quit the program and shut down the computer. Macs breathed better after a shut down. I figured this would do them some good.
“What are you doing here, Ma?” I muttered. “Aside from listening to shit you shouldn’t be listening to.” A thought occurred to me. “Where’s the coffee?”
“Coffee?” she repeated blankly.
“Coffee.”
“It’s percolating.” She blinked at me. “Aoife’s the president’s love child?”
“Well, I don’t have DNA proof of that—”
“Finn sounded certain.”
I couldn’t argue—he did.
“Did you know who her father was?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Pretty annoyed that I missed that too, to be honest.” When she stared at her feet for a good couple of minutes, I reached out and grabbed her hand. “What is it, Ma? Does it matter who Aoife’s father is?”
Her smile was tight. “No. Of course not! It’s just… well, it’s big news, isn’t it?”
I snorted. “You going to go to the National Enquirer now?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” was her waspish retort.
“Well then.” I hitched a shoulder. “I don’t see that it matters.” It mattered if we needed to blackmail the president, but that wasn’t for her to know.
“No, I don’t suppose it does.”
Her faint words had me asking, “Ma? What is it? Why are you here?”
“Declan said you needed help with the ceremony,” was her faint reply.
“Oh.” I straightened up, relieved that was why she was here and not the other elephant in the room. “Sure. Yeah. You’re here to help?”
“If I can,” she rasped.
Doubly relieved by the reprieve, I beamed a smile at her. “Great. Just forget about that, huh? It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, does it?”
“No, son, it doesn’t.” She shot me a fake smile that was somehow worse than what she’d greeted me with at the front door. “Now, what can I do to get that brother of yours married off?”
Conor: May have a problem.
Eoghan: What kind of problem? Jesus, can’t you fuckers leave me to enjoy my honeymoon in peace?
Conor: What bit you in the ass?
Conor: Wait, you’re on your honeymoon. Guess that was a dumb question.
Conor: Didn’t see you as a bottom.
Eoghan: Leave my ass out of this.
Eoghan: And Inessa.
Eoghan: And what we get up to in bed. Jesus, Conor.
Conor: You’re a prude.
Eoghan: I’m not. I just don’t want to talk about this shit, and you and Declan have been fucking messaging me nonstop.
Conor: What am I supposed to do with my problem?
Eoghan: Send it to one of the others?
Conor: I can’t. Not really. Only you and Finn know this, and I don’t want him to know that I know, even though I’m pretty sure he knows that I know.
Eoghan: Well, that made sense.
Eoghan: What don’t you want Finn to know that you know?
Conor: Ma overheard your conversation.
Eoghan: Which conversation?
Conor: You know when you were telling Finn that you work for MI6 and that Aoife’s the daughter of the president?
Conor: Eoghan?
Eoghan: I’m here. Just trying not to think of ways to kill you from across the pond.
Conor: I’m safe unless you have a strain of Anthrax in your luggage.
Conor: Do you?
Eoghan: Do I what?
Conor: Have a strain of Anthrax with you?
Eoghan: No, they don’t let that kind of thing through TSA.
Conor: Life is so boring nowadays, isn’t it?
Eoghan: Yeah, it’s a real drag. So, Ma overheard the conversation? How did that happen?
Conor: Thought she was making coffee.
Eoghan: And she walked in?
Conor: Yeah.
Eoghan: What was she even doing there?
Conor: Wanted to talk about Dec’s wedding. You’re coming, right?
Eoghan: As if I’d miss it.
Conor: It’s going to be cool. Never planned a wedding before.
Eoghan: Better than planning the downfall of the Sparrows, I guess.
Conor: Actually, that’s easier.
Eoghan: Of course it is. And yes, I did just roll my eyes.
Eoghan: You’re a dumb fuck for thinking Ma wouldn’t walk in.
Conor: Got distracted, I guess.
Eoghan: Not like you.
Conor: Lot on my mind.
Eoghan: Want to talk about it?
Conor: No
Eoghan: Good
Conor: Lol. Anyway, you’re right. I’ll leave you to get on with your honeymoon.
Eoghan: Was that a guilt trip?
Conor: Don’t think so.
Eoghan: That you’re not sure is disturbing.
Conor: You know that’s my main goal in life.
Eoghan: Head case. Anyway, Ma is Ma. She won’t say anything aside from to Da, and if it’s about that, well, what can you do?
Eoghan: You’re supposed to report that kind of shit back to him like a good little soldier anyway, aren’t you?
Conor: I suppose so.
Eoghan: Such a sneak.
Conor: Says the guy who shoots people from rooftops.
Eoghan: Jesus, you heard that?
Conor: Oh, brother, I see all and hear all and know all. That you haven’t figured that out yet is more disturbing than anything.
Eoghan: I got two words for you, Conor.
Conor: What?
Eoghan: Fuck. You.
Part Three
Nineteen
Past
Lena
“You doing okay, Lena?”
From the backseat of the Jaguar, huddled in my coat, I grumbled, “What do you think, Michael? I’m casing the joint of a woman whom I think my husband had an affair with. Whom he had a child with. Do you think I’m having a great time?”
“Sorry, Lena.”
I heaved a sigh as guilt hit me. It wasn’t Michael’s fault that we were sitting here on this miserable as hell day.
It was unseasonably cold, enough that the rain kept showering on and off, which made it even harder to keep an eye on the tearoom where Michelle Keegan worked.
My hands shook from where they were buried in my pockets. It was a combination of the tremors that struck when I was off my meds, the desire to ring Aidan’s neck, and the cold that I was hypersensitive to.
Still feeling mean for snapping at him, I muttered, “It’s not your fault my husband couldn’t keep it in his pants.”
“No,” he conceded. “But I can still wish it hadn’t happened on your behalf.”
I heard his sincerity, and that made me feel guiltier. “Thank you, Michael.”
After another five minutes of staring at the front door of the establishment, he cleared his throat. “You wanna take your meds? I got them here.”
“I took them when you went to go find a restroom,” I lied.
When he heaved a sigh, I knew he was going to let the matter drop even if he didn’t believe me. Michael knew me well enough by now to know what I was like on and off my medication, but he also knew not to push his luck.