Emerald Isle (16 page)

“Thanks.”

As I watched him trot over to relieve Lolly of her hat case, I murmured, “I love you.”

Then I saw a second-floor window open—Birdie’s bedroom—and Gramps’s hat flew out. I ran to the house, praying the rest of him wouldn’t follow.

The suitcases were folded open on Birdie’s bed, and she was doing a final inventory when that ex-husband of hers stormed into the room.

She didn’t need to turn around to know it was him. The man was as predictable as gravity. He’d been using the same soap, the same shampoo, and wearing the same cologne for fifty years.

“Oscar, you lost the privilege to barge into my home when you signed those divorce papers thirty years ago.”

“Brighid, I’ve never hit a woman in my life, but I swear you’d test the patience of Jesus.”

Something in his voice forced her to turn around.

His face was beet red, and a large vein throbbed in his temple.

“Oscar, you don’t look so well. Perhaps you should sit down. I’ll get a glass of water.” She pivoted to head to the bathroom, but he cut her off.

His frame blocked the door, and he kicked it shut behind him.

Birdie had never seen him so angry. Well, perhaps once, when she made his mother cry by refusing to marry in her church, but not since.

“What?” She threw her hands in the air. She really had no time for this. Thankfully, she had already spoken to John the evening before. The council would arrange for his transportation as well, and Ivy was already in Ireland, at the Academy. “What are you so upset about? And make it fast, because I’m in a hurry.”

“Well, my darling, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your schedule. Where exactly is it you’re off to?” He shot a glare at her luggage.

He knows
, Birdie thought.
It’s about time he showed some interest.

She crossed her arms. “I refuse to play games with you, Oscar. Speak your piece or go.”

“Fine. How could you possibly refrain from telling me that our daughter is alive and well?”

Birdie looked at him, dumbfounded. “You can’t be serious. I did tell you. I told you over and over. I’ve been telling you since the day you asked me to marry you.”

Oscar shook his head, wagged a finger. “No, no, no. Don’t try to pretend that those”—he used air quotes, and Birdie wanted to break his hands—“feelings, spells, and magic-mirror meetings had anything to do with her disappearance.”

Birdie put her fists on her hips and cocked her head. “You know, Oscar, for such an intelligent man, you can be a ripe idiot. Not to mention a jackass.” She advanced on him, forced him into a chair near the bedroom window.

“Now, you sit there and listen to me,” she demanded.

She paced the length of the room, wringing her hands, wondering where to begin. She thought she had given him all the proof he needed, back when they were young, when they were in love. She had performed spells to enhance their lives, intensify their bond, even to boost success in his business endeavors. He probably wouldn’t be nearly as wealthy or respected as he was if it weren’t for her.

In the beginning, Birdie’s young groom had given the impression that he believed, that he understood who she was, and that he accepted all of it, no matter the consequences.
I love all of you, Birdie, every recess of your soul,
he had said. But it didn’t take long—perhaps until their fifth year of marriage—before she realized that Oscar was just patting her on the head to appease his bride as you would an imaginative child. He didn’t truly believe, which meant he would never be supportive of the lifestyle, and it cracked Birdie’s faith in him. In all men, truth be told. She had no use for that kind of nonsense.

Oscar was a good person, a decent man who adored his family and worked hard to provide for them. But the mate of a witch was required to be much more than that, especially the mate of a Geraghty.

The kind of man who doted, who wanted to solve his sweetheart’s every problem, who “fixed” things, was the worst kind of man for a Geraghty woman. For as noble as they were, they sucked the power from a witch, made her weak, dependent—vulnerable to attack.

A man who loved a Geraghty woman had to be loyal, trustworthy, receptive, and confident enough to live in the shadow of her strength. He had to embrace her independence—encourage it, even—especially when she felt
needy, when she wanted him to take the reins and guide her through the storm. He had to be masculine enough to understand that those were the worst times to do so, that she could stand on her own only through the challenges that tested her resolve.

Fifteen years after it started, Birdie’s marriage was over. She stopped trying, stopped caring, hoping that one day their children and their grandchildren would enlighten the man.

But alas, that had not been the case. He was sitting in her bedroom like a virgin on her wedding night, expecting answers. But Birdie didn’t have the time or the patience to explain everything she’d been explaining to him for decades.

Then she got an idea.

She snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it.” She directed him to twist his chair to face the scrying mirror. While the mirror did not accept messages, it did record all conversations between two parties.

She pressed a button on the bottom of the scrying mirror, tapped the options a few times, and played all the conversations of the past day and a half.

Oscar sat in the chair, statue still, until the last message ended.

Birdie looked at him expectantly.

“This is a gag, right? You’re punishing me because I didn’t make it to Stacy’s birthday dinner.”

Birdie strode over to him, snatched the hat off his head, opened her window, and tossed it out. Then she yelled, “Get out.” Pointed to the door.

Oscar stood up. “Now, just hang on a minute, Bird, give me a goddamn minute to process what you’re telling me.” He dragged his hands through his hair.

“You’ve had nearly fifty years to process what I am telling you. You chose not to.”

He sank back in the chair, stared at the floor. “So this council, have they been treating her well?”

Birdie told him all she knew about their daughter’s arrest and captivity, which wasn’t much. She explained that contact had not been permitted.

“And this was because Stacy was in danger. The man she killed, I mean. He was going to kill Stacy?”

Birdie nodded.

Oscar stood again and looked out the window. “But doesn’t that mean that Stacy may still be in danger? I mean, there must have been reason behind his intentions, correct? What if that reason still exists and someone else decides to act on it?”

Birdie scooted next to him, to see what caught his attention out the window. Anastasia was rushing toward the back door. Chance met her halfway, relieved her of her luggage.

Birdie hadn’t considered what Oscar was suggesting. She had always believed that the man had come after Anastasia because he felt he was a Seeker, and with her out of the way, he could secure a point for nomination for the role. There were three stages at which one was brought to the attention of the
council. Birth, one’s teens, and one’s thirtieth year. Only then could the confirmation be deemed official. But many Seekers faced tasks along the way, which only enhanced their chances of proving to the council who they truly were. After that, it was rumored, the locket would be presented.

Except Anastasia was already wearing it.

Or perhaps Birdie had been mistaken. Maybe it wasn’t the Seeker’s locket after all, but a piece of jewelry given to the girl by a friend for her birthday.

“Birdie?” Oscar said.

Birdie snapped her head his way. “I don’t know. It’s possible, I suppose.”

“Then no.” Oscar shook his head. “I can’t let her go. I’ve lost so much, Birdie. I can’t lose her too.” He walked to her, placed his arms on her shoulders, and held her gaze.

The stale scent of remorse hung in the room. Echoes of loss, regret, and what-might-have-beens vibrated the walls.

But Birdie had no time for nostalgia.

She wriggled free of him. “It’s the only way, Oscar. You don’t know these people. We have to follow through with our promise.”

“We can go to the police, tell them everything.”

She railed at him. “Tell them what? Think, Oscar. This is a world that conflicts with the one you know. If you do anything of the sort, there is no telling what they will do to both our girls.” She narrowed her eyes, slicing the air with her assertion. “That’s not an option.”

Oscar slapped his knees. “Well, then, there’s only one thing left to do.”

Birdie looked at the father of her daughter.

“I’m going with you.”

He strolled out of the room, cell phone in hand.

Birdie’s mouth hung open as a wave of Old Spice followed Oscar out the door.

Chance was loading my bags into Birdie’s car when my grandfather banged through the screen door.

Gramps winked at me. I was about to say something, but he held up a finger. That’s when I noticed the phone covering his ear.

“Yeah, Roger? Listen, buddy, I need a favor.” He slipped around the burning bush and disappeared behind the house.

Birdie soared through the door next, her head swinging every which way. She saw me and said, “Where is he?”

Not knowing what was going on, and not wanting to get bumped farther up Gramps’s shit list, I said, “Who?”

Birdie waltzed toward me. “You couldn’t have waited until your mother was home, hmm? You had to tell him?”

“Whoa.” I put my hands up, blocking her aggression. “I had no idea he didn’t know about Mom. I can’t imagine why you never told him, Birdie.”

“What?” She prickled, smacked her lips together, then sucked in some air. “I did tell him, but you don’t know the man like I do. He’s bullheaded, and…”

She must have seen the confused look on my face, because she flung her arm in the air and said, “Never mind. I’ll explain later.”

Couldn’t wait for that conversation.

She rushed off toward the front of the house. I silently rooted for Gramps.

Chance jogged over to me. “Birdie have any bags?”

“Upstairs, I’m sure. I’ll help you.”

We came down with Birdie’s suitcases a few minutes later, and walked into a heated argument.

“You are not coming.” Birdie looked as if fire would shoot out her ears at any moment.

“Yes I am. It’s all arranged.” Gramps pivoted to Chance. “Hey, Chance, set those down and give me a hand with the bags you put away, will you? We won’t be taking Birdie’s car.”

Chance started for the Cadillac.

Birdie said, “You will do no such thing, young man.”

Chance hesitated, looked from one to the other.

Gramps pooh-poohed Birdie with a flick of his wrist. “Pay no attention to her.”

Chance trotted forward and opened the car door.

“Chance, who do you think could disrupt your life more?” Birdie asked this from where she stood on the back patio.

Poor Chance didn’t know what the hell to do. His gaze darted to my grandmother, and then beyond. My guess was he was looking at the back step, probably recalling Leo wrapped up like an egg roll the night before. He shut the door.

“Come on, boy, you’re not afraid of an old lady, are you?” This from my grandfather.

All three Geraghty Girls reeled at Gramps. It was fifty degrees and overcast, but Chance started glistening like he was sitting in a sauna.

I waved an imaginary flag. “All right, that’s enough. All of you.” I headed for Chance, passed a stern look from Birdie to Gramps along the way, and hissed, “You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”

Chance shook his head and smirked.

I reached up to kiss him. “I appreciate you helping out at the asylum, but I think they all need a medication adjustment. Probably best if you go.”

“You sure?” He shifted his eyes past me. “You’re outnumbered.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I’ve got this.”

He squeezed me tight, said he’d miss me, and I told him I’d call as soon as I was able. I watched him head down and around the driveway of the bed-and-breakfast and toward the cottage where his truck was parked.

He waved as he drove off.

A stretch limousine rolled into the driveway then. The driver got out and said, “Pickup for the airport?”

“We’ll just be a few minutes.” I tilted my head toward Birdie’s car. “But you can grab the bags in the backseat.” I ran back to the house.

Birdie and Gramps were still bickering.

“Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” I asked.

Gramps jumped in to plead his case before my grandmother had a chance to open her mouth. “I’ve arranged for transportation for all of us to go to Ireland.”

Birdie crossed her arms, darted her eyes to Gramps. “You’re not going.” Her eyes slid to me. “He could jeopardize everything. There’s no telling how he could bungle this.”

I wasn’t sure why Birdie objected to Gramps’s tagging along, but I suspected I didn’t want to know, that it was between the two of them.

“She’s my daughter too,” Gramps said.

The hurt in his eyes was heartbreaking, but there was determination there too. Was it redemption he was chasing? For what? He couldn’t have prevented what had happened to my mother any more than the rest of us, my father included. It wasn’t right to leave him in the dark on this. Gramps loved us—all of us—and he’d always been there, whenever or wherever we needed him.