Page 78 of Priestly Sins

“Nothing, man. I’ll take care of it and keep you posted.”

“How’s the family?”

“Good. Trey has decided the terrible twos now last until five. He demonstrated this at Eliza’s first birthday party on Saturday when he shoved her face into the cake.”

I chuckle.

“It’s funny. Now. But Sherrilyn didn’t think so for sure. He spent most of Sunday in some kind of time-out or time-out from time-out. Seriously. Sooner or later, some school will say he’s a deviant and he’ll be their handful too. Geez!”

“So, he’s you, just shorter.”

“Fuck off!”

I laugh out loud at that one. A year ago at this time he’d have never said that.

“Thank you,” I add, my tone serious. “Can’t thank you enough for everything.”

The knot in my throat expands, thwarting my ability to continue. I can’t swallow past it so my silence continues.

“Love you, too, man.”

His laughter is the last thing I hear before he disconnects.

* * *

Growingup Irish in Boston of all places, I thought I knew how to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. Turns out I had no clue.

This is Ireland’s Mardi Gras, Rio’s Carnival, and China’s New Year all wrapped up in one giant party.

Sirona, Killian, and I head for Galway, with Clara, wearing her hot pick sweat suit, in tow for our first ever Galway Paddy’s Day parade. My only stipulation in the whole thing was that Clara not wear green. She will be pissed when we get there and realizes I’ve thwarted her ability to blend in to forty thousand attendees. And that is why I made the stipulation. I’ve used crowds and drinking before to my advantage. With the arson to my U.S. house last month and the corresponding message left with it, I’m taking no chances with my girls. They’ll be mine officially soon. No need not to refer to them that way now.

Killian is along because firstly it is the celebration of all things Irish and the man is nothing if not Irish. Secondly, I’ve mentioned to him that Enzo’s successor is trying to fuck with me—succeeding, actually—from afar and that I want my family’s security and safety while protecting them from fear and worry.

Eventually I’ll have to clue Sirona in on my fear but today is not that day. We’re here to celebrate.

We arrive early, and it’s a good thing. We have to hike a fair way to the parade. Clara rides my shoulders, brown curls bouncing with each step I take. From her vantage point, she can see the crowd milling about and it takes less than a minute for her to complain that she didn’t wear the right outfit.

“I’m sorry, pretty girl. Looks like we all messed this one up.”

“Not all of us,” Killian mumbles.

“Well, you should’ve told us,” I reply teasingly.

His responding scowl says we look like American tourists who don’t understand a thing about Irish culture. It also says we didn’t listen when he did tell us.

My navy sweatshirt has the Fighting Irish Leprechaun on it. Sirona has on her blood red pea coat because of the potential weather, which she is still fighting to acclimate to. Only Killian fits in with his green pants and green jacket and green and tan driving hat.

“Hope you get pinched,” he mutters before leading the way through the throng to a pub.

“Ah, Killian, who’d’ya bring with ya, today?”

The waitress never gets her answer because Killian is arguing with Clara about who gets to pinch and who gets to pinch back. Turns out “Leprechauns can’t see people in green and so they aren’t visible to be pinched. Little girls in pink however…”

After taking our drink orders, the waitress leaves for the bar.

“Poppa Sean, I need something green!!”

“Why’s that, sweetheart?”