The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

her.” She rolled onto her back now, stared at the ceiling. “I only thought of me and what went on inside me when I was with him. Because of it I lied to you and to Dad. How can you trust me again after this?”
    “I’m not saying the lie was right, but I knew it was a lie when you told me.” She nearly smiled when Brenna’s gaze cut to hers. “Do you think I told my own mother that I was sneaking out of the house on a warm summer night to meet Michael O’Toole so he could make my head swim with kisses?” Her eyes warmed with humor and memory. “Twenty-six years we’ve been married, and five children we brought into the world, and to this day my mother believes I lay chaste in my bed every night before my wedding.”
    With a long sigh, Brenna sat up, and wrapping her arms around Mollie, laid her head on her shoulder. “I have a need for him, Ma, and it’s so big. I thought after a bit it would quiet down, fade back and away, then we’d both get back to how things were before. But it isn’t quieting down at all. And I’ve ruined it because I didn’t say to Katie, ‘This one’s mine, so find another.’ Or whatever I could have said or done. Now I can’t go back to him.”
    “Answer me this, as honest as you can.” Mollie drew her back, studied her face. “Would Shawn have looked in Mary Kate’s direction if you hadn’t been standing between?”
    “But that’s not the—”
    “Just answer, Brenna.”
    “No.” She let out a painful breath. “But he’d never have hurt her if not for me.”
    “Mistakes were made, there’s no denying it. But Mary Kate’s as responsible for her heart and its bruising as anyone. Martyring yourself won’t change what was or what is. Have a rest,” she said, pressing her lips to Brenna’s forehead. “You’ll think clearer when you’re head’s not aching. Shall I bring you some tea and toast?”
    “No, but thanks. I love you so much.”
    “There, now, don’t start crying again. Any more tears today and I’ll need an oar. Let’s have off your boots and tuck you in.”
    As she had with Mary Kate, Mollie fussed and stroked and settled Brenna under the covers. She sat a little while, and when Brenna was quiet, she rose to let sleep do a bit of healing.
    As she passed the window, she stopped, stepped back, stared down at the sight of her husband weaving and stumbling his way home.
    “Saints in heaven, the man’s drunk and it’s not yet noon.” She pushed at her hair. “What a family this is.”
     
     
     

 
SIXTEEN
     
     
     
    G ETTING READY TO go to work was quite an undertaking. He was dressed already, which was a fortunate thing. Shaving was out of the question. Even if he’d wanted to deal with scraping a razor over his tender jaw, he was just sober enough to fear cutting his face to ribbons in the process.
    So he left it as it was, and stumbling over his shoes, he thought it might be a fine idea to put them on.
    Bub, being the perverse creature that he was, took the opportunity to crawl all over him, then laid stinging furrows over the back of Shawn’s hand when he tried to push him aside.
    “Vicious bastard.” He and the cat eyed each other with mutual dislike and from a respectful distance. “I might have to take a swipe from Mick O’Toole, but I don’t have to take one from you, you black-hearted spawn of Satan.” He lunged, missed as the cat streaked away, and ended up rapping his already sore jaw on the floor. “Fuck me, that’s about enough.”
    With his ears ringing, he managed to get to his hands and knees. The fiend of a cat was in for dire consequences. Later. He’d let the fiend believe he’d won the war, then seek revenge at an unexpected moment.
    Still sulking over it, Shawn nursed his hand as he headed out of the house. As a matter of habit, he turned toward his car, then paused, balancing himself on the garden gate.
    He was certain he could drive. He was a man who could hold his drink, wasn’t he? For Christ’s sake, his name was Gallagher. But the way things were going, he’d likely run off the road and smash his teeth out on the steering wheel.
    Much better to walk, he decided. Clear his head, settle his thoughts. He started down the road, mindful of the ruts and bumps, singing to entertain himself on the journey.
    He stumbled a time or two, but fell only the one time. Of course, the one time was enough to have his knee find the single sharp rock in the bloody road. He was picking himself up from that, not