graceful. Why had he never noticed before?
"It was a fine funeral," Liam said, groping. "Your mother'd be pleased
you brought him here to lie with her." He poured, then thirstily downed
three fingers.
Outside the soft rain of Ireland began.
They'd never drunk together before, Brian realized. He poured more
whiskey into both glasses. Perhaps, at last, they would find some
common ground. With a bottle between them.
"Here's a farmer's rain," Liam said, soothed by the sound and the
whiskey. "A nice soft soaker."
A farmer's rain. His little boy had dreamed of being a farmer. Had he
passed that -much of Liam McAvoy into Darren?
"I didn't want him to be alone. I thought he should be back in Ireland,
with family."
"It's right. You done right."
Brian lit a cigarette, then pushed the pack toward his father. Had they
ever talked before, the two of them? If they had Brian couldn't
remember. "It shouldn't have happened."
"There's a lot that happens in this world shouldn't." Liam lit the
cigarette, then picked up his glass. "They'll catch the bastards who
did this, boy. They'll catch them."
"It's been a week." It already seemed like years. "They've got nothing.
"They'll catch them," Liam insisted. "And the bloody bastards will rot
in hell. Then the poor little lad'Il rest easy."
He didn't want to think of vengeance now. He didn't want to think of
his sweet little boy resting easy in the ground. Time had passed, and
was lost. There had to be reasons for it.
"Why didn't you ever come?" Brian leaned forward. "I sent you tickets,
for the wedding, when Daffen was born, for Emma's birthday, for his. For
God's sake, you never saw him until his wake. Why didn't you come?"
"Running a farm's busy work," he said between swallows. Liam was a man
filled with regrets so that one easily melded into another. "Can't go
larking off anytime you please."
"Not even once." Suddenly, it seemed vital that he have an answer, a
true one. "You could have sent Ma. Before she died, you could've let
her come."
"A woman's place is with her husband." Liam tilted his glass toward
Brian. "You'd do well to remember that, boy."
"You always were a selfish bastard."
Liam's hand, surprisingly strong, clamped down on Brian's. "Mind your
tongue."
"I won't run and hide this time, Dad." His eyes, his voice were steady.
In both was an eagerness. He would have relished a battle, here, now.
Slowly, Liam removed his hand, then picked up his glass. "I won't butt
heads with you today. Not the day my grandson's been laid to rest."
"He was never yours. You never even saw him until he was dead," Brian
tossed back. "You never bothered, just cashed in the tickets I sent to
buy more whiskey."
"And where were you these last years? Where were you when your mother
died? Off somewhere playing your bloody music."