Chapter 1
one
DUBIN, IRELAND
AILEEN BARR MORROW
“Please, Charles. I don’t want to ruin Bébhinn’s wedding for Margaret. Let’s wait to tell her until after,” Aileen pleaded with her husband.
Her husband stroked her cheek and gave her a loving smile. Aileen had loved this man since her first year at university, and she still loved him fiercely, even though she wanted to take off her shoe and hit him upside the head with it.
“I would like nothing more than to give you anything and everything you want, Aileen, but we’ve told Mirren, and she agreed that Margaret should be told immediately, or we risk hurting her feelings.
Hiding things from our youngest daughter is never a viable option,” Charles argued in his sensible professor’s voice.
“We’re leaving the morning after the wedding for America, leaving no time to speak with her then. I’ve tried to get you to tell our daughters for three weeks.” He nudged her side with his elbow, a wordless reminder that her procrastination was the reason that had put them on an untenable timeframe.
“I know,” Aileen sighed, her breath shaky in dread.
“Mags is fearless like her mother, sassy, too, but I don’t want you to think I’m complimenting all the backtalk you women have subjected me to over the years.”
That made Aileen chuckle, which was Charles’ intent. She pressed her hands together in her lap and attempted to regain a modicum of her normal self-assuredness.
“If we sit outside her house any longer, she’ll accuse us of sexual deviancy in a car. Best get to it, then.” Charles said with finality while squeezing her hands between his own.
He got out of their rental car and, like the gentleman he was, came to her side and opened the door and helped her out. He grabbed their overnight bags and wheeled them toward the beautiful townhouse that their daughter lived in with her best friends.
Only one friend now, she supposed, Aileen’s niece, Blair. Bébhinn O’Faolain and Gray MacGregor lived with their partners. The O’Faolains assured the remaining girls that they would, under no circumstances, want or expect the remaining two girls to move out.
Before Hugh O’Faolain’s passing, he’d purchased the two twin townhouses for his daughter, grandchildren, and their friends while they attended Trinity College. Aileen and Charles would have made it work, but it was such a blessing to have a safe home for their youngest daughter.
Charles knocked, and they smiled at each other when they heard slapping footsteps racing toward the door.
Margaret threw open the door and laughed in delight as she hugged her parents tight. “I missed you guys! Can you believe little Bébhinn is getting married? Though I suppose it’s crazier to think that Gray is already married and has two children.”
Charles managed to drag their bags over the threshold while their daughter hugged them and danced and huffed her amusement.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Mags said for probably the third time, warming Aileen’s heart.
“Blair is already with Uncle Coll and Aunt Cat and Josephine and Thomas at the O’Faolains.
They’re all waiting for us for drinks before we load up in several vans that Rowan rented to take everyone to the party at Three Wolves Distillery.
You’ll die when you see the fancy cocktail dress I’m wearing tonight and the one for the wedding tomorrow.
“Surprise! I made them. I know, I know,” she bowed in faux modesty, “I made them, so of course they’re amazing.”
Despite the horrible news Aileen was there to deliver, she couldn’t help but laugh at her daughter’s exuberance. Her youngest daughter’s over-the-topness was probably Aileen’s favorite part of Margaret’s character.
They moved into the living room while her daughter regaled them with her new passion for making clothes that she could then hand-embroider.
“Wearable art. Basically, a twofer,” Mags laughed, excited about her newest artistic adventure.
“That’s brilliant, sweetheart. You are so talented. You’ll have people falling over themselves to wear your one of a kinds.”
Charles joined the girls after he took their luggage to Gray’s old room, where they would get dressed for the evening ahead. “Diversifying your brand already, Mags?” he teased. “Are you sure you shouldn’t have majored in Business instead of The History of Art & Architecture?”
“No way, Dad. History is in my blood thanks to you. Besides, I get a lot of embroidery inspiration from the past. Now, if you guys are ready, why don’t we change and head to the O’Faolains?”
Aileen surreptitiously wiped her sweating palms across her jean-covered thighs. Charles glanced her way once, then twice when Aileen hadn’t made a move to interrupt their daughter.
He had to be furious with Aileen for leaving this until the last minute, and yet Charles loved her still, faults and all. He bit his tongue and bided his time. Because of that, because he was unfailingly her staunchest supporter, she managed to drum up a modicum of his courage.
“Mags,” Aileen interrupted her daughter, “before we do that, would you sit with Dad and me for a moment? There’s something I need to speak with you about.”