The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

Magee.”
    “You and Dad would know best about such matters. But . . .”
    “But?”
    “It seems to me that one of the handles we’re looking to grip would be what we’ll make out of the deal. In pounds, yes, but also in how this project of Magee’s will enhance the pub.”
    “That’s a fact.”
    “So the trick would be,” Shawn said after a contemplative sip of beer, “how to gain information without giving so much of it in return.”
    “Dad’ll be working on that in New York.”
    “Which doesn’t stop us from working on it here.” As easy a mark as Aidan, Shawn fed Finn another crisp. “What we have in our happy little family, Aidan, is the businessman”—Shawn tipped his beer toward his brother—“that would be you.”
    “So it would.”
    “And,” Shawn aimed a finger at the ceiling, “upstairs we have two lovely women. One, gracious and charming, has a shyness of manner that masks, to those who don’t look close enough, a clever brain. The other, flirtatious and beautiful, has a habit of wrapping men around her finger before they realize she has a steel spine.”
    Aidan nodded slowly. “Go on.”
    “Then there’s me, the brother who doesn’t have a brain cell working in his head for business. The affable one, who pays no attention to money matters.”
    “Well, you’re an affable enough sort, Shawn, but you’ve as good a head for business as I do.”
    “No, that I don’t, but I’ve enough of one to get by. Enough of one to know it’ll be you Finkle concentrates on.” He gestured absently toward Aidan with his beer as he thought it through. “And while he’s doing that, the rest of us can surround him and poke in, so to speak, in our own fashions. I think by the time the deed is done, we’ll know what we need to know. Then you make your deal, Aidan. And Gallagher’s will be the finest public house in the country, the place they speak of when they speak of Irish hospitality and music.”
    Aidan sat back, his eyes dark and sober. “Is that what you want, Shawn?”
    “It’s what you want.”
    “That’s not what I’m asking you.” Before Shawn could lift the bottle again, Aidan gripped his wrist, held it firm enough that Shawn cocked his head in question. “Is it what you want?”
    “Gallagher’s is ours,” Shawn said simply. “It should be the best.”
    After a moment, Aidan released him, then restless, rose. “I never figured you for staying.”
    “Where would I go? Why would I?”
    “I always thought there’d come a day when you’d figure out what you wanted from your music, then you’d go to get it.”
    “I have what I want from my music.” As the crisps were no longer coming his way, Finn settled under the table at Shawn’s feet. “It pleasures me.”
    “Why have you never tried to sell it? Why have you never taken yourself off to Dublin or London or New York to play in the pubs there so it can be heard?”
    “It’s not ready to sell.” It was an excuse, but all he had. The rest, at least, could be plain truth. “And I’ve no yearning to go to Dublin or London or New York, Aidan, or anywhere to sing for supper. This is my place. It’s where my heart is.”
    He settled back, absently rubbing Finn’s side with his foot. “I’ve no wanderer’s thirst inside me like you had, or like Darcy and Ma and Dad. I want to see what I know when I wake in the morning, and hear sounds I’m familiar with. It centers me, you see,” he went on while Aidan studied him, “to know the names of the faces around me, and to be home no matter where I look.”
    “You’re the best of us,” Aidan said quietly and made Shawn laugh with both surprise and embarrassment.
    “Well, now, there’s a statement for the ages.”
    “You are. You’ve the heart that draws in the land here, and the sea and the air and holds it with respect and with love. I couldn’t do that until I’d gone off to see all I could see. And when I left, Shawn, I’m telling you I didn’t think I’d be back. Not to stay.”
    “But that’s what you did, what you’ve done.”
    “Because I came to realize what you’ve always known. This is our place in the world. By rights, if we went by heart instead of birth order, you’d head the pub.”
    “And run it into the ground within a year. Thanks, but no.”
    “You wouldn’t, though. I haven’t always given you the credit you deserve.”
    Shawn turned the Harp over in his hand, eyed it thoughtfully, and sent the dog at his feet a wink.