Peg’s husband Robbie sat in the normally empty chair as if he’d done it every day for the past ten years, instead of living in a completely different town.
“Ye’ve met me da,” Patrick said shortly, sitting down at the table next to me.
“Um, not really.” My face heated in embarrassment at his blatant disregard of common manners. “I’m Amy. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Robbie,” he replied back with a nod, lifting his arm across the table to shake my hand. “It’s lovely to finally meet ye, too.”
“Brought some pastries home,” Peg announced cheerfully, bringing them to the table. “Didn’t realize our men would be here.”
It felt like I was in a Twilight Zone episode as all the people around me ate quietly as if it was any other day of the week. As if the last time we’d all been in the same room, Robbie and Patrick hadn’t been ready to come to blows and Peg hadn’t been on the cusp of a nervous breakdown. What the hell was going on?
“I’m glad ye two are gettin’ along,” Peg announced, looking between Robbie and Patrick.
Tension at the table rose as the two men glanced at each other, and I jumped in my seat as Peg’s fork went clattering to the tabletop. Her entire body stiffened as she looked back and forth between them. I didn’t understand what was going on, and all of a sudden I was really sick and tired of having no idea what was happening in my family. From the very beginning, I’d tried not to overstep, afraid that if I did my place at that table would disappear. But marriage, or perhaps time, had erased those worries. I wanted to know what the hell was going on. Now.
“No…Tell me ye didn’t, Robert,” Peg hissed. “Tell me ye didn’t bring our boy into yer bullshite.”
“Margaret—”
“Mum—”
The guilt shone plainly on both men’s faces.
“How could ye?” she screamed, making the hair on my arms stand straight up.
“We did not have a choice!” Robbie said back, pleadingly.
“There’s always a choice!”
“Mum—”
“Not a word out of ye, Patrick Gallagher!” Peg ordered, never looking away from Robbie.
“I didn’t know until it was too late.” Robbie insisted.
My mind was spinning and my stomach clenched as all three stood from the table. I was frozen in my seat as I watched it play out in front of me, terrified to know what they were talking about, but unwilling to try and calm the storm before I knew exactly what was happening.
“Ye could have done somethin’! Ye could have got him out!”
“Dere is nuttin’—” Robbie’s arm swung out, and I flinched in my seat at the movement, “Dere is nuttin’ I could have done. Dey would have killed me and pulled him in anyway, ye know dat I wasn’t on de best terms!”
“That’s not true!” Peg argued, wrapping her arms around herself and placing one hand over her heart. “I would have died. I would have killed myself if it meant that our son wasn’t pulled into this madness ye’ve been so intent on being a part of.” Her anguish was palpable, her small body shaking with anger as she took two steps forward and struck him across the face. “I begged ye!” Another slap. “I begged ye to keep him out of it!” Another slap.
Robbie didn’t do one thing in his defense, just stood there and let her beat on him as I watched in horror. When Patrick started to move around the table, yelling for his mom to stop, his dad just raised one arm, motioning for him to stay back. Peg was sobbing, and I’d never before seen her so out of control. Her husband was twice her size, but he did nothing to stop her, even as his face turned red with handprints and his lip split where her wedding ring caught it.
And still, I sat, frozen to my seat. I couldn’t make my body move. I couldn’t organize my thoughts into any semblance of order. They were just a jumbled mess of dawning horror and disbelief at what I was witnessing.
What in God’s name had Robbie pulled Patrick into?
Chapter 26
Amy
“What’s going on Patrick?” I asked as he pushed me into our room. The screaming had gone on and on, until finally, Robbie had pulled Peg into his chest, comforting her as she slumped against him. He’d lifted her and carried her into her room, closing the door behind them and we hadn’t heard a peep since.
Patrick hadn’t met my eyes after his parents had disappeared, and now he was moving around the room, grabbing a fresh button down shirt out of the closet and doing anything he could to refrain from looking at me.
“Get dressed. I’ll take ye to dinner.”
“I want to know what the hell is happening.” I insisted, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Get out of dat uniform and get dressed,” he replied flatly.
“What the fuck is going on, Patrick?” My voice was getting louder as he turned his back to me, his shoulders tight as he pulled off his sweatshirt and t-shirt. Suddenly, he spun to face me, giving me a glimpse of his bare chest that I didn’t have time to appreciate before he started speaking in a low, angry tone.
“Oh, now ye want to know? After all dis time, livin’ here and eatin’ our food and contributin’ absolutely nuttin’ to dis fuckin’ house except extra dirty laundry—now ye want to know what’s happenin’ around ye?”
My jaw dropped in surprise and my heart started to race as he glared at me. My stomach began to churn at the derision in his stare, and I honestly thought for a moment that I was going to vomit all over the bedroom… contributing even more dirty laundry to the house I gave nothing to.
What could I say to that? What words could I use to fight against something I’d been terrified would happen? I’d been so conscious of what I was doing every second I was at Peg’s. I’d cleaned and helped with the laundry and made dinner as often as I could, because I’d felt like an ingrate for not paying my share of the expenses. From the very beginning, I’d felt like a charity case, but I’d let them talk me into staying there because I’d had no other options and they’d assured me that they didn’t think of me that way.
My eyes filled with tears as I began to gather the few pieces of laundry off the floor, in some sort of small attempt to make amends.
I just had to do more, I thought, my movements jerky. I just had to help out more, and then when I started my job the next week, I could help with the bills, too. I didn’t want to be a burden. Did Peg feel that way, too? Oh, God. I was so fucking embarrassed. It was humiliating.
I glommed onto his words about my lack of contribution, completely disregarding the rest of our conversation. That was my fear—that I was taking advantage of someone that was spectacularly good to me, and eventually, they’d realize that I wasn’t worth the time or energy.
I didn’t even realize that he’d manipulated me in order to turn the conversation in a different direction. I don’t think he’d anticipated my reaction though, because soon he was talking to me, trying to get my attention, but I couldn’t hear him over the words in my own head.
I stuffed the dirty laundry into the hamper near our bedroom door as I strode out into the kitchen and began to clean up the plates and silverware on the table. I could get that cleaned up before Peg came out of her room, then she wouldn’t have to do it. I turned on the sink and began to fill it with water for washing, and opened up the small fridge to see what Peg had planned for dinner. Some sort of casserole sat along the bottom shelf, and I felt a pang of anxiety that it was already prepared, but pushed through it. I could put it in the oven for her. That would help.
As I stuffed the dirty dishes into the sink and began to wash them, I heard Patrick come into the room behind me and I stiffened. I didn’t want to talk to him. I was embarrassed and angry and ashamed that he thought I was taking advantage of them. I just wanted to be alone, so I could finish those dishes and then maybe dust the front room. Peg had a ton of little figurines and things that she rarely had time to dust—I could do that.
“Amy,” he called quietly, and I remembered a different time that he’d come to
me while my hands were in the kitchen sink.
“I need to finish these dishes,” I answered. “Peg’s already made a casserole, so I’ll just put that in for dinner. No use wasting money.”
“It’s not a waste of money to take me wife out for dinner.”
I laughed nervously. “Peg already went to the trouble. Plus, I have some things I need to do around here tonight.”
“Yer almost done wit’ dose dishes. Come on, put on a pretty dress and I’ll take ye out.”
His hand came out to squeeze my shoulder, and I pulled away roughly, my hands never pausing on the dishes. “I have other things to do, Patrick.”
“More important den spendin’ time wit’ de husband ye haven’t seen in a mont’?” he asked incredulously.
I wanted to go with him. I wanted that so badly. But his words had pushed some sort of trigger, and the thought of taking a night for fun made me feel crazy with anxiety. I needed to clean the house. I needed to contribute, to be better.
“Maybe tomorrow.”
“No, get dressed. We’re goin’ now.”
“Tomorrow, Patrick.”
“Now, Amy.”
I shook my head, refusing to argue with him anymore, and then suddenly I was pulled away from the sink and flipped over his shoulder. He carried me into the bedroom while I pinched at his back, too conscious of Peg and Robbie in the next room to yell at him like I wanted to.
“I told you I don’t want to go to dinner!” I said after he’d put me down in our room and closed the door behind him. “I told you I have things to do!”
“Dey can’t wait until tomorrow?” he asked calmly, watching me closely.
“As you so eloquently put it, I’m not contributing. I’m dead weight, right? So, no, I don’t want to go out to dinner and waste more money.”
“Dat wasn’t what I meant!”
“It’s what you said.”
“Mot’er of God! Yer de t’ickest woman I’ve ever met!”
“Then go back to your other life if I’m so stupid!”
My words fell like an anvil between us and the room went silent. We were staring at each other, and I was wondering how the hell everything had gone so lopsided when Patrick’s hand began to clench at his side. Over and over again, it clenched and relaxed as I watched.
“You’re clenching your fist,” I said quietly.
“I’m not goin’ to hit ye.” He sounded disgusted at the thought.
“No, I know that.” I shook my head. “You do it when you’re upset.”
His hand instantly went limp at his side.
“Yer not dead weight.” My head was nodding before he’d finished his sentence and he became frustrated at the placating movement. “No! I didn’t mean it dat way… but, fuck Amy!”
He moved to the bed and fell heavily onto it, sitting with his elbows on his knees. He looked so exhausted that way, so weary. I wanted to hold him, but I wasn’t sure that he’d even let me, so instead I sat down next to him, and the few inches between us felt like a mile.
“Ye’ve been so bloody oblivious,” he said quietly, turning his head to look at me out of the corner of his eye. “I shouldn’t have brought ye into dis.”
He was beginning to scare me. “Tell me what’s going on, Patrick.”
“I tried to stay away from it. I swear it,” he said lifting his hands, palm up in supplication. “I wanted to make a better life for us. A different life.”
“I like our life,” I assured him almost pleadingly. Was he going to leave me? I didn’t think I could bear it if he did.
He shook his head, looking down at the floor again before he started to speak.
“Me da wasn’t always a part of t’ings,” he began. “When he and Mum got toget’er, he was workin’ odd jobs in Scotland. But a while after dey were married, me nan got sick and me da brought Mum down here to live wit’ her until she’d passed. Mum says dat de plan was for dem to stay just until Gran didn’t need dem anymore, but after a while, dey’d built a life here. Da was workin’ at a factory and Mum was home wit’ me, and dey’d made friends and dey were comfortable. Out of nowhere, Da began comin’ home talkin’ about how t’ings were goin’ to change. Makin’ radical statements dat she’d known had come from someone else.”
I laid my hand on his back as he took a deep breath, and that was all it took before he was pulling me into his lap and scooting toward the wall so he could lean against it.
“Me da fell in wit’ some men dat me mum didn’t approve of. Dangerous men who were willin’ to go to any length to get what dey wanted. De worst t’ing about dose men was de power dey held. Generations of men who believed de same t’ing, who used dere money and connections to fight a silent war against dere enemies.”
He was silent for a while, lost in his own thoughts. “I still don’t understand,” I whispered, feeling like an idiot.
“He’s IRA, Amy.”
“What?” the word was a breath, with no sound behind it.
“Me fadder has supported and worked toward a united Ireland for as long as I can remember.”
“But—”
“Look around ye. Every person ye’ve met, every person ye’ve passed on de street and have seen at de grocery store—dey all have clear ideas about de situation here. Ye may not know dem, and dey may not broadcast dem, but dat doesn’t mean dat dey aren’t givin’ every last bit of pocket change to support de cause dey’re behind.”
“Okay, so it’s not a big deal then, right? I mean if everyone is supporting one side or the other, than why is it such a huge deal that your dad supports the IRA?”
Patrick grabbed my chin in a harsh grip and pulled my face toward his until we were practically nose-to-nose. It didn’t hurt, but the meaning behind the motion was clear. He wanted me to pay attention.
“Me fadder is not a ‘supporter.’ Me fadder is IRA. He makes t’ings happen. T’ings ye’ll never know about unless ye see dem in de newspaper.”
The realization came in small increments as he stared into my eyes, until all at once I realized why Peg had lost it in the kitchen.
“You’re IRA,” I whispered in horror. “You’re doing those things.”
“Until de day dey put me into de ground,” he confirmed with a slight nod.
Chapter 27
Amy
I stared at Patrick for a long time, cataloguing the freckles and the scruff of his five o’clock shadow and the blue eyes that saw everything. All things that I’d fallen in love with, and all things that didn’t mean a single thing when it came down to real life.
Real life was hard. It wasn’t only the actions that you followed through with, but also the ones you didn’t. Real life was finding a small glimmer of hope when the world seemed to be falling around you. Real life was bills and housing and food on the table. Real life was knowing that the person you love and crave beyond all others had gotten himself into a situation there was no way out of, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.
“Lie wit’ me,” Patrick said quietly, pushing me off his lap.
We were silent as we undressed each other slowly, leaving on nothing but our underwear before climbing into bed. His hands were gentle as they pulled me against him and dragged the blankets up to our shoulders.
“What are we going to do?” I asked quietly after a few minutes.
“Continue on as we have been,” he answered, rubbing his thumb over my anchor tattoo.
“Are you going to finish school?”
He didn’t reply right away, and I slid my cheek against his body until my chin rested on his sternum. His eyes were sad as they met mine.
“I’ve already quit.”
“Why didn’t you tell them no?” I asked in frustration. He’d been so proud to be almost finished with school. He’d worked so hard for it, and then suddenly, all that work had been for nothing.
“Dese aren’t men ye say no to,” he replied calmly.
“But they left you alone before—”
“Dey must have been waitin’ for de right moment.”
“Let’s just leave. We’ll go to the US.”
“Wit’ what money? Dis is our life, Amy. Dis is our home.”
“But what if—” His head jerked hard to the side, cutting off my words. That subject was closed.
“Are you going to get in trouble?”
“Only if I get caught.”
“What have you done?” Panic was rising in my belly as different scenarios ran through my head. My Patrick wasn’t a criminal. He was smart and kind and funny. He had a passion for the written word that astounded me, but was adamant that he had no talent of his own. He had a temper, but I’d never seen him become violent. He took care of his mother. He had more confidence than any man I’d ever met, and was so sure of himself that it translated into an acceptance of others.
“Do not ask me dat,” he replied, cupping my head to turn it toward his face. “Not ever.”
“Patrick?” I whispered.
“Not ever, Amy,” he insisted. “Don’t look for answers, ye’ll not like what ye find.”
My eyes filled with tears, and I tried to blink them away. “I’m scared.”
“Ye don’t ever have to be scared again,” he replied instantly. “I’ll not let anyt’in’ happen to ye.”
“I’m scared for you.”
He sighed, and looked away from me, his eyes landing on the ceiling above us. “I’ll be alright,” he stated quietly. His hands began to clench and unclench in my hair.
“You’re clenching your fists again, Mr. Gallagher,” I said, leaning heavily into his body.
“I’ve tried to stop doin’ it.” His hand softened on my hair. “I don’t even realize I am, half de time.”
“Maybe you should try to do something else. Something less noticeable.” I crawled up his chest until we were nose to nose, my arms bent and resting on top of him. “Like this.” I tapped my fingers softly against his breastbone.