Night of the Blackbird Read online

  “I know you do, Mum. But today…” Moira paused, feeling a bit guilty. Her mother was vindicating her desire to be a housewife, confessing to manipulation, and she was manipulating things herself.

  “Mum, I still say there’s no job in the world harder than yours. The coffee is going, and that’s the thing we all need first. Now, I want you out of your bathrobe. I’m taking you out to breakfast this morning.”

  “Moira! The children are here, your sister, brother—”

  “I don’t mean any insult, but Granny Jon can cook, and Danny will come up, and Siobhan and Colleen are here—not to mention the fact that it would be good for Patrick to try cooking for a change. I’ve an urge to get away with just my mother, to have you all to myself.”

  “But, Moira—”

  “Please.”

  “I’ll just tell your father.”

  “We can leave a note.”

  “Moira, I have to change out of me robe anyway.”

  “You’ve got a point. But hurry, please.”

  Katy did as she was asked, flushing like a schoolgirl. Moira wasn’t sure whether to feel guilt or pleasure that her scheme seemed to have made her mother so happy.

  Jacob Brolin was staying close to the New England Aquarium, just outside Little Italy. Moira told a little white lie, assuring Katy that she’d heard of the hotel’s restaurant and that they were known to prepare very special eggs Benedict, which she’d been harboring a craving for the last few days.

  “You know, Moira Kathleen,” Katy said as they sat, “I can cook eggs Benedict. You only needed to say you wanted some.”

  “Oh, I know, Mum. Like I said, I wanted to get you out.”

  Moira looked around the dining room, wondering if Brolin and his party would come down to breakfast. This was really a wild shot. He would probably order room service.

  She realized suddenly that her mother had put down her menu and was studying her, sliding her reading glasses down her nose and watching her suspiciously.

  “Moira Kathleen.”

  “What, Mum?”

  “There are no eggs Benedict on this menu.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “You’re not a good enough actress for your mother, girl.”

  “No, Mum, I thought that—”

  “Don’t add insult to injury, daughter. What are we doing here?”

  She leaned forward. “All right, Mum. I thought that we might run into Jacob Brolin here.”

  Katy put down her menu. “Why didn’t you just try calling him?”

  “I’m not with one of the networks, or even a major cable channel, Mum,” Moira said. “And…I kind of wanted to do this on my own, too.”

  Katy nodded. “All right. Why didn’t you just ask me to help you scope out the situation?”

  “I really haven’t had any time with you alone, Mum,” Moira said earnestly, giving her entire attention to her mother.

  Their waiter arrived, wishing them both a good morning and asking if they needed more time.

  “Not at all,” Katy said. “A strawberry waffle, coffee and orange juice. Moira?”

  “The egg scramble with cheese and ham, coffee and juice, please,” Moira said. When the waiter left, Moira leaned toward her mother. “Mum, I…honestly, I needed to be with you.” That was surprisingly true. She hadn’t wanted to be alone with her confusion regarding last night. And she hadn’t wanted to be in the house if Michael and Josh had arrived early with ideas for the day’s filming or eager to hear what she wanted to do next. They had lots of tape. Plenty for an hour’s show, even if they decided not to do a live segment on Saint Patrick’s Day. Which, of course, the Leisure Channel was expecting.

  “Are you all right, Moira?” her mother asked.

  She squeezed her mother’s hand across the table. “A little confused, Mum, that’s all.”

  “Danny?”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “No, you’re practically rude to him.”

  “Mum, you like Michael, right?”

  “He’s trying very hard. And he’s handsome indeed. Probably more so than Danny, though I am prejudiced toward the Irish lad. You say he’s dependable and he works hard, and he likes the theater and music and a ball game.”

  “Yes. He’s willing to try anything. He’s polite and courteous, and in the same business I am.” Moira fell silent as their waiter arrived with juice and coffee. When he had gone, Katy leaned toward her.

  “You make it sound as if you’re dating off a computer matchmaking program.”

  “But I’m not, Mum. I’ve enjoyed him. Enjoyed being with him, I mean. I like the theater and all, too. He’s a great companion.”

  “So is a Great Dane.”

  “No, he’s nice, he’s fun…I’ve really enjoyed being with him,” she repeated without conviction.

  “And…” Katy said, then hesitated, shaking her head. “You’re hedging, daughter. All right, this isn’t something you want to discuss with your mother, so I’ll go first. Your father is a great companion, but I can tell you quite frankly that I…that I also find him quite exciting.”

  “What?” Moira said, startled.

  “Well, I wasn’t born yesterday. And I like to think I raised children with morals, but being compatible sexually is not a bad thing.”

  “Whoa, Mum,” Moira said, laughing, then shutting up as their food arrived.

  “This isn’t a bad place. They’re fast and efficient,” Katy said.

  “I’m so glad you like it, at least.”

  “Thus far,” Katy said, cutting into her waffle. “If we’re talking, let’s talk. Don’t go being all horrified that I like your father. We’re not that decrepit yet. Honestly, child, where do you think you and your siblings came from? I do realize that children don’t like to think of their parents in such a light—”

  “No, I certainly know where we came from, it’s just that…”

  “I don’t want you sharing more than necessary with me, no details, daughter. I’m just trying to really understand your dilemma”

  “I’m attracted to them both,” Moira said. She leaned forward, speaking more softly. “Does that make me bad, Mum?”

  “My dear child, I adore your father, and we’ve had a good marriage. No, we don’t burn with passion the way we did when we were kids, but we’re comfortable together, and we do still have our moments. No life is a mass of excitement hour after hour, there’s always the mundane. But we do have our moments, and we cherish them still. And that’s what’s kept us together sometimes when we’ve disagreed and been at one another’s throats. It’s human nature, girl. You may be attracted to more than one man. It’s when you make a commitment that it must be real. And there’s your man.”

  “What?”

  “There’s your man. Brolin. He just walked in with what looks like a group of four prizefighters. Don’t spin around too obviously.”

  Despite her mother’s words, Moira spun around instantly.

  “I said not to be so obvious,” Katy protested.

  “Sorry.” Moira picked up her juice and sipped it, trying to appear casual. “Mum, I should do this, right?”

  “You’ve had a TV show some time now. How have you approached those other celebrities?”

  “Until recently, Josh called. Lately it’s been Michael’s job. And usually we focus on little bits and pieces of Americana, with far more average—though wonderful—people.”

  “You’re not afraid?”

  “I’m just not sure how to approach him.”

  Katy set down her glasses and napkin and rose. “Excuse me, then.”

  “Mum,” Moira began. But her mother was already walking to the table. Moira noticed that, as harmless as her mother appeared, the men with Brolin immediately rose.

  Moira rose instantly to follow her mother, ready to fiercely protect her should the need arise.

  “Excuse me,” Katy said very politely. “Jacob, it’s Kathleen Kelly. Do you remember me?”

  Brolin rose wit
h a huge smile. He was a big man. Not just tall, but big. Iron gray hair, deep blue eyes. A face filled with character. Wrinkled like a bloodhound’s, yet somehow still very pleasant.

  “Kathleen!” he said, and, stepping past his bodyguards, he took her mother’s hands.

  “Then you do remember me?”

  “Of course, how could I forget?”

  Moira stood stone still a few feet behind her mother.

  “I knew you were here, of course. I’d meant to stop by Kelly’s—after Saint Patrick’s Day.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. I’d heard you’d married Eamon Kelly and moved to the States. Kelly’s is known in the homeland, Katy. My, you haven’t changed a bit.”

  “Ah, well, that’s kind, but it’s been over thirty years.”

  “I still say you haven’t changed a bit.”

  “Jacob, come now. We both look a great deal more…tired,” Katy said, and laughed. Moira stood dumbfounded. Was her mother flirting? No, not really, but…

  “Katy, did you come here to find me?” Brolin asked.

  She shook her head. “I was just having breakfast with my daughter. I’d love you to meet her. In fact, she’s been meaning to call you.”

  “Oh?” Brolin looked past Katy and saw Moira standing there. He smiled broadly for Moira. “Why, she’s just like you, Katy.” He strode past his bodyguards, taking Moira’s hands and giving her a kiss on both cheeks. “Now, lass, why were you going to call me?”

  “I, uh, I’d love to have a few words with you on tape for an American travel show, Mr. Brolin,” she said. “We’re trying to show the magic of Saint Patrick’s Day in America. Actually, a lot of it is focused on the old saying that everyone is Irish on Saint Patrick’s Day.” She paused, wondering if she was babbling. She had been taken by such surprise. Did her father know Brolin, too? If he did, wouldn’t he have mentioned it when Seamus and Liam had been talking about the man with such awe?

  Brolin looked to one of the big men at his side. “We can fit something in somewhere, can’t we? We will. Call the hotel room tomorrow and we’ll set you up. Will you and your mum join us?”

  “I’m afraid we can’t, we have to get back,” Katy said. “But indeed, Jacob, we’d be more than thrilled to have you as our guest when your obligations are finished here.”

  “How are things at Kelly’s Pub?” Brolin asked.

  “Busy. You know a pub on Saint Patrick’s Day,” Katy said.

  He nodded. Moira was surprised to realize that he was studying her. “Well, now, that’s fine. And yes, I’d love to visit you and Eamon and your family.”

  “Then we’ll be seeing you, Jacob.” She smiled at his guards. “Please excuse the interruption.”

  Jacob Brolin kissed Katy’s cheek, and Katy took Moira’s arm. “Time to leave, I think,” she murmured, starting out of the dining room.

  “Don’t forget to call, Moira,” Brolin called.

  Moira stopped to turn back. “Thank you.”

  “Come along now,” her mother said. “In all these years, you’ve surely learned how to make a proper exit.”

  “I didn’t finish breakfast.”

  “I’ll make you eggs Benedict. This is our exit.”

  “Mum! Our exit is going to be rather embarrassing if I don’t pay the check!”

  “Oh. Oh, of course,” Katy said, then stood by the table as Moira summoned the waiter and left the money.

  Out on the street, Moira looked at her mother. “I—I had no idea you knew him.”

  “I don’t really know him. We met, many years ago.”

  “Was he…was he…?”

  “Was he what?”

  “I don’t know. Like a great love in your life long ago or something?”

  Katy shook her head impatiently. “You’re mocking me, daughter.”

  “No, Mum—”

  “The younger generation always thinks they’re the first to discover sex and passion, but it’s been going on for centuries, Moira.” She started down the street toward the subway station.

  “Mum, I was about to tell you that I was impressed—”

  “Well, don’t be.”

  “Mum, he’s a very important man.”

  “He’s a man like any other. He just knows both sides of the problem.”

  “But how did you meet him? I thought we were from Dublin? And you’ve never been involved in politics.”

  Katy looked at her with sheer exasperation. “You’re from Boston, you live in New York, and you’ve traveled all over. And you know something about the American Civil War. Fathers fought sons, brothers were against one another, families were divided.”

  “Yes, but they were fighting for a cause, for something that had more to do with what they believed than where they were born—”

  “Trust me, the fellow fighting for his plantation, his income, cared where he was born, and believe me on this—every man has a cause. Life is what it is. Catholics have married Protestants. People move. People living in the tiniest town in Limerick might be politically active, while a man living in Belfast might wear blinders and walk to and from work daily, not really caring who’s in power, just so long as he can take his vacation in Spain. Moira, do you know why we came to the States?”

  “Dad wanted a pub in America. The economy wasn’t great at home, and he’d read about America all his life. It was a dream and a new beginning.”

  “All that’s true. But we married, and moved, after a cousin on my father’s side was killed. She should have known what she was in for—she was active in a violent group. She inflicted her share of violence and received it in return. That’s what your father couldn’t bear. A life in which children were taught to hate. She was a kid when she was killed, Moira. Twenty-one. I wanted revenge, but your father had the kind of courage to say no and walk away. And he’s lived with that kind of courage every day of his life, teaching you all that a man’s color, race or religion doesn’t matter, just the mettle of the man. Brolin, too, learned that kind of commitment. He wasn’t always lily white, but he learned his lessons the hard way. I’ve watched his career from afar. He’s one of the few people in power to realize that hate can be taught, that it’s passed on from generation to generation. He knows that even if you can’t erase decades—or centuries—of bloodshed, oppression and, on both sides, cold-blooded murder, you can work hard to create a new world where men and women talk instead of shoot.”

  Moira stood openmouthed, staring at her mother, stunned.

  Katy went up the subway stairs and started down the street. Moira followed her. “Mum, where are you going?”

  “Walking. I—I want to go see your brother’s boat.”

  Moira followed her. “Mum?”

  “What?” Katy snapped.

  “Um, if you really want to see Patrick’s boat, we have to cross the street and go that way,” Moira said.

  Katy spun and stared at her, smiled, then laughed out loud. “Sorry,” she murmured.

  Moira walked up and hugged her mother. “I always loved you for breakfast every morning, for harping at us to get out of bed for school, for being there with tea and whiskey when we had colds. I loved you for down pillows and fluffy comforters, and for being the world’s greatest mum. And I never doubted that you were smart, but I never knew how very wise you were, and just how incredibly wonderful. Forgive me for not seeing all that you were.”

  Katy pulled away from her, patting her cheek. “There are tough choices in life, daughter, always, for everyone.”

  “Tell me more about Brolin,” Moira said. “How did you meet him?”

  Her mother hesitated, then said, “My cousin died. She had been living in Northern Ireland, and I met him at the funeral. It’s not a time I like to remember. Come on, let’s get going. I want to see that boat. It’s March now, we’ll be able to get out in it soon enough. Sometimes I wish we’d moved to Florida. I do love the water. And Patrick has been out checking that boat over so many times this year. He’s getting restless
, I think. He does love the ocean. And I’m glad. It keeps him coming in to Boston.”

  They had reached the dock leading to Patrick’s boat. One thing she’d always known about her mother: she could out-move a power walker. Moira was almost breathless.

  “The gate is locked,” Katy said with dismay.

  “I doubt it. The people around here are fairly casual.” Moira pushed the gate open. “See…it should be locked, but it never is.”

  They walked down the dock. A sharp wind blew in. March was always an unpredictable month.

  “Ah, there she is,” Katy murmured.

  The boat was called Siobhan. She was beautiful and sleek, freshly painted, with sails and a motor. Patrick had only had her pulled out of dry dock a few weeks back, anticipating the coming of good weather.

  Moira saw that, beneath the tarp Patrick had over the helm, there were a number of boxes. “I guess he’s been out here, stocking her up,” Moira murmured.

  “Well, of course he’s been out here. It’s where he said he was going. Why did you say that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think Siobhan has been worried about him a few times. He’s getting involved with that group supporting orphans. At least, that’s what he’s been saying.”

  Katy spun on her. “If that’s what he’s been saying, that’s what is. When you love someone, you trust him.”

  “Of course,” Moira murmured.

  “You’re talking about your brother, Moira.”

  “Hey, don’t worry, I love my brother. I just hate to see any trouble between him and Siobhan.”

  “They’ll weather this. They’re lucky. They were young when they met. But they really love each other. Sometimes, it isn’t easy to trust someone. But when you make it through, well, then you know your heart has been in the right place.”

  “Mum, don’t worry. I always defend Patrick. I haven’t wanted to deck him in almost ten years now.”

  Her mother smiled but stared at her very seriously. “Let your brother manage his affairs. You’ve got to worry about your own situation now, don’t you? What do you feel, Moira? Thinking isn’t a bad thing, but what you feel is usually much more important.”