The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

crumble.
    Choices, she thought, of where to begin the repairs and how to go about them. Each choice took steps, and only she could take them. Best if she began now.
    She slipped out a few minutes before the service ended. That way she avoided anyone who wanted to chat or gossip or ask after her family. She drove home, a bit nervous in the stomach regions, but with her mind made up as to which step to take first.
    “There you are.” Mollie, dressed for church, met her at the door. “I heard you go out earlier.”
    “I’ve been to Mass.”
    “Oh, well, the lot of us are about to go ourselves.”
    “Mary Kate’ll have to go later.” Brenna moved in and started up the stairs. “She can use my lorry.”
    “Brenna, I want no fighting in this house on the Lord’s day.”
    “There won’t be,” Brenna promised. She had a mind to fight elsewhere, should it be necessary.
    She got to the top of the steps just as her father came out of his room. His face was red and glowing from his shave, his hair showing the forks of his comb like little furrows in a sandy field. Her heart all but broke with love for him.
    “Dad.”
    It was awkward, and he imagined it would be so between them for a little while yet. But there were tears swimming into her eyes. That he couldn’t bear. “Your mother’s gathering us up for Mass.”
    “I’ve already been.”
    “Ah, well.” He shifted his feet. “I’m after an early start in the morning. Those back steps of O’Leary’s finally fell through, as we’ve been telling them they would. Of course, O’Leary fell through with them, which is no more than he deserves for letting them rot as he did. We’ll start there first thing.”
    She understood that either of them could have dealt with the job alone. That he was having them work together healed the widest crack in her heart. “I’ll be ready. Dad—”
    “We’ll be late for Mass if you don’t shake out the lead,” Mollie called up.
    “Tomorrow’s as good as today,” was all Mick said, and touched his hand lightly to Brenna’s arm as he passed her.
    She took a deep breath. “Not for everything,” she muttered, and pushed open the door to her sisters’ room.
    Alice Mae sat patiently on the side of the bed, her good shoes polished, her hair brushed to a rose gold gleam. Mary Kate primped in front of the mirror, adding a coat of mascara to her lashes. Her eyes were still a little swollen from weeping, but her mouth formed a thin sharp line when she saw Brenna.
    “Alice, darling, Ma’s calling. Go on now.”
    Mary Kate gave her hair one more toss. “I’m coming with you, Alice Mae.”
    “No, you’re not,” Brenna corrected and stepped in front of the doorway. “You’ll have to make a later Mass.”
    “I don’t have to do anything you say.”
    “You can come with me and have this out away from the house, as I’ve promised Ma there’d be no fighting in it. Or you can sulk day and night like a child. If you want to be a woman, Mary Kate, I’ll be in my lorry waiting.”
    It took less than five minutes for Mary Kate to saunter out of the house and climb into the lorry. She’d added lipstick, Brenna noted as she zoomed out into the road. She couldn’t understand why so many females saw paint as a kind of shield or weapon.
    Then again, she knew her ancestors had painted themselves blue before screaming into battle.
    As she figured it as neutral turf, or if anything leaned a bit toward Mary Kate’s side, she drove to the cliff hotel and parked. She got out and began to walk, knowing her sister would follow.
    “And where are you going?” Mary Kate demanded. “Somewhere you can toss me off a cliff?”
    “Somewhere I think the both of us will respect enough not to start pulling hair or punching.”
    They followed the path, crossing the cliffs, where the air still had a bite. It seemed winter wasn’t quite ready to surrender to spring. But there were wildflowers beginning to show their faces and tuneful birds that sang out as high and loud as the crying gulls.
    She passed the ruin of the cathedral once built in the name of Saint Declan and moved beyond his well, beyond the three stone crosses, toward the ground that held the dead and their markers.
    “This is holy ground,” Brenna began. “And I’m standing on it when I tell you I wronged you. You’re my sister, my blood, and I didn’t consider your feelings, not as I should have. I’m sorry for it.”
    It threw Mary Kate off, and that alone was