to do the same.
“So have you had a fine day?” his father asked once they’d sat.
“Fine enough, for we’ve had little rain,” he replied. It seemed a decent answer to give a publican well accustomed to chat about weather and sport. Da remained unsatisfied, though.
“Grand, then,” he said in a distracted way, then brushed an imaginary speck of whatever off the table’s glass top. After a moment, he gave up the pretense of casual behavior and fixed Liam with a level look. “I don’t want you to think that I’m not pleased to have you home, son, because I am. Still, it’s time to tell me why you’re here.”
Liam damn well refused to let his family have a hint of his crisis. He’d been the one to break free of the Rafferty mandate of shoulder-to-shoulder life in Duncarraig. He’d been the one to work from Aberdeen to Auckland. Knowing that after all of his successes, he’d come home this time a nearly bankrupt business partner to a modern-day pirate was something he chose to keep private, and for obvious reasons.
“There’s nothing wrong with a visit now and again, is there?” he asked.
“Not a thing,” Da agreed, “but visits don’t usually include enrolling a child in school and developing a sudden deafness when asked how long you might be staying.”
“I needed a change, that’s all.”
“You’ve not spoken of your work once since you arrived. No tales of deep-diving or of oil tankers pushed up on rocks and cargoes shifted in typhoons. And in three weeks, I have yet to see you take a phone call from Alex or call your secretary in Boston. I’ve not missed this, Liam.”
Liam shrugged. “I’m a bit burned out is all. A decade working without time to even stop and think can do that to a man.”
“It can, but three weeks is a long time to be smelling the roses, and with them not even in bloom.”
“Long, but needed,” Liam said, thinking to himself, and likely permanent unless I find the means to start again.
“You’re the best judge of what you need,” Da replied. “Just remember to get moving before you forget how. Cullen already has the job of lazy Rafferty quite well covered.”
Cullen did conserve effort better than anyone Liam had met. “His job is safe, Da.”
“So you’ve nothing else bothering you?” Da asked. “No reason you’d be working that jaw muscle? You’ve always done it when vexed, you know.”
Liam relaxed the best he could. “The aftereffects of Vi Kilbride, I’m sure.”
“She’s a challenge, that one,” his father agreed. “But the jaw-flexing has been going on longer than she’s been in town.”
Liam made a mental note to rid himself of the habit. It wouldn’t do to be perpetually transparent.
“Fatherhood, then,” he offered.
Da rubbed at his forehead with one hand. “No easy job,” he agreed, “but I’m thinking that’s not it, either. Liam, I can’t make you talk, and you’re far too old to be sent to your room for refusing to do so. The best I can do is tell you that my ears still work, even if my knees are going bad.”
“And I thank you for that,” Liam said. “But really, it’s nothing more than the usual grief, and nothing I can’t work my way around.”
Da smiled. “Spoken like a Rafferty.” He pushed back from the table and winced a bit as he stood. Liam hated to see this, for he still thought of his father as he’d been fifteen years ago, not now, with his bad knees and hair a solid silver-gray where it had then been a mix of light and dark.
“Now, then,” his da said, “it’s back to the pub for me before your mother misses me too much. And you might go chase wee Miss Meghan from the stairway where she’s been listening and tell her that there will be no more avoiding school, eh?”
Aye, the knees were bad and the ears just fine.
Liam saw his da off, feeling less put out by the attempted meddling than he thought he would. Perhaps he was mellowing, he thought. Or more likely, Da had hit on the
“So have you had a fine day?” his father asked once they’d sat.
“Fine enough, for we’ve had little rain,” he replied. It seemed a decent answer to give a publican well accustomed to chat about weather and sport. Da remained unsatisfied, though.
“Grand, then,” he said in a distracted way, then brushed an imaginary speck of whatever off the table’s glass top. After a moment, he gave up the pretense of casual behavior and fixed Liam with a level look. “I don’t want you to think that I’m not pleased to have you home, son, because I am. Still, it’s time to tell me why you’re here.”
Liam damn well refused to let his family have a hint of his crisis. He’d been the one to break free of the Rafferty mandate of shoulder-to-shoulder life in Duncarraig. He’d been the one to work from Aberdeen to Auckland. Knowing that after all of his successes, he’d come home this time a nearly bankrupt business partner to a modern-day pirate was something he chose to keep private, and for obvious reasons.
“There’s nothing wrong with a visit now and again, is there?” he asked.
“Not a thing,” Da agreed, “but visits don’t usually include enrolling a child in school and developing a sudden deafness when asked how long you might be staying.”
“I needed a change, that’s all.”
“You’ve not spoken of your work once since you arrived. No tales of deep-diving or of oil tankers pushed up on rocks and cargoes shifted in typhoons. And in three weeks, I have yet to see you take a phone call from Alex or call your secretary in Boston. I’ve not missed this, Liam.”
Liam shrugged. “I’m a bit burned out is all. A decade working without time to even stop and think can do that to a man.”
“It can, but three weeks is a long time to be smelling the roses, and with them not even in bloom.”
“Long, but needed,” Liam said, thinking to himself, and likely permanent unless I find the means to start again.
“You’re the best judge of what you need,” Da replied. “Just remember to get moving before you forget how. Cullen already has the job of lazy Rafferty quite well covered.”
Cullen did conserve effort better than anyone Liam had met. “His job is safe, Da.”
“So you’ve nothing else bothering you?” Da asked. “No reason you’d be working that jaw muscle? You’ve always done it when vexed, you know.”
Liam relaxed the best he could. “The aftereffects of Vi Kilbride, I’m sure.”
“She’s a challenge, that one,” his father agreed. “But the jaw-flexing has been going on longer than she’s been in town.”
Liam made a mental note to rid himself of the habit. It wouldn’t do to be perpetually transparent.
“Fatherhood, then,” he offered.
Da rubbed at his forehead with one hand. “No easy job,” he agreed, “but I’m thinking that’s not it, either. Liam, I can’t make you talk, and you’re far too old to be sent to your room for refusing to do so. The best I can do is tell you that my ears still work, even if my knees are going bad.”
“And I thank you for that,” Liam said. “But really, it’s nothing more than the usual grief, and nothing I can’t work my way around.”
Da smiled. “Spoken like a Rafferty.” He pushed back from the table and winced a bit as he stood. Liam hated to see this, for he still thought of his father as he’d been fifteen years ago, not now, with his bad knees and hair a solid silver-gray where it had then been a mix of light and dark.
“Now, then,” his da said, “it’s back to the pub for me before your mother misses me too much. And you might go chase wee Miss Meghan from the stairway where she’s been listening and tell her that there will be no more avoiding school, eh?”
Aye, the knees were bad and the ears just fine.
Liam saw his da off, feeling less put out by the attempted meddling than he thought he would. Perhaps he was mellowing, he thought. Or more likely, Da had hit on the
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