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“Look.” She sets her fork down on her plate with a sigh. “If you’re not going to let me meet these people in person, you’re going to have to do better about getting details to share.”
I cut my gaze up to meet hers. “I have heard some gossip about your girl Carol Ann.”
“What have you heard?” She leans forward, her eyes popping wide. “Tell me everything! I miss those girls so much.”
“Her brother”—my distant cousin—“said she’s gotten into college in Glasgow, but her parents won’t let her go.”
“Aww. Poor Carol Ann. Fiona’s always said Carol Ann’s wanted to get off the island as soon as she’s able to. She’s an adult. Shouldn’t she get to choose?”
“Not in her family. Her father is the head of the family, and he wouldn’t feel safe, his only girl in a dangerous city like Glasgow, none of her brothers around to protect her.”
She narrows her gaze at me, picking her fork back up. “And what do you think about it? Should she go?”
“Not my daughter.” I shrug. “Not my place to decide.”
“Tell me what you really think about women’s rights? Here on the island things seem to be a bit—” She tips her chin up prettily as she searches for the words she wants. “Old-fashioned?”
“I think the woman should have all the power in the world to live her life the way she sees fit,” I say. I take a sip of the iced tea she made earlier. I thought the idea was strange, but I find the lightly sweetened brew delightful.
“Exactly,” she says, looking at me with surprise. “Thank you!”
“Except if she’s my woman,” I tease. “Then she’s going to be standing in my kitchen, a baby on her hip and one in her belly.”
“Really?” she asks with an exasperated look.
“Nah. She can do as she likes as long as she’s never with anyone I don’t approve of and never out of my sight.” I take another sip of the delicious tea. “And if God should will it that I have a daughter—” I take a deep breath, imagining the responsibility of not only protecting a wife but also of raising a little girl in this world. “I’d have to say, I’d be all about her getting an education, but the idea of her in a city?” A shudder tears through me. “Can’t imagine it.”
“That’s fair. I’d worry too.” Her soft words surprise me, an LA girl like herself.
I ask, “Don’t you love your Hollywood life?”
“Not at all.” She shakes her head. “I loved the little town in Pennsylvania I was raised in. Never would have moved if it were up to me. Everyone knew one another, helped each other out. My grandparents were right down the road. I left the small-town life, but it never really left me.”
“The places we live, we grow, they shape us to be who we are. That never leaves you.” I look away. “For better, or for worse.”
She thinks about what I said, a pensive bite to her lower lip. “I agree.”
“How’d you end up in California?”
“My mom hated her hometown; she always wanted a bigger life. After my grandparents passed, she picked up her life and moved to LA. I was eighteen and stayed in our old house, in limbo, not wanting to leave my friends, too scared to move to California. But my grandparents had saved their whole life for me to go to college. And I missed my mom. And she wanted to sell the house.”
Her story shares traces of my own, a parent there but just out of reach. I ask her, “Would you do that? Leave your daughter halfway across the world and follow your dreams?”
A film of sadness covers her face. She shakes her head. “Absolutely not. I’d never put myself before my child.”
“Neither would I,” I say. “Family is everything to me.”
“I loved my grandparents so much. I’d help take care of them while my mom worked. My gran’s vision was bad. I read to her till my throat went hoarse. And my Pops. He was so funny. He would always take his dentures out and let them flop around while he made jokes. He said he loved the sound of my laugh. I only went to college so I wouldn’t let them down. It was so important to them.”
“I’m sorry you lost them. I know a bit how you feel. I’m more Eamon’s dad than his brother. I’ve raised him on my own full-time since he was eight.”
“That’s commendable. He’s lucky to have you. And this gorgeous house.” She glances out the large window hung over the dining room table, offering a view of the sunset when it’s not summertime. “Such a pretty place to live.”
A peaceful smile covers her face, and I can see how much better she must fit in here than she does in busy LA.
I say, “Eamon was on my mind when I built this place. A young boy needs space to breathe.”
“I’d love to have children one day,” she says shyly.
