“Of course.”
The fire was in full roar. The TV was off, which had never been the case when Amy and I were young. Dad was always watching TV, even if it was just in the background while he did a crossword puzzle or was reading the newspaper. From the living room, with its wide-plank wood floors and braided rag rugs, I could hear Dad and Fiona laughing. All I could think was that sound—my dad and a child, laughing—had been missing from these walls for too long.
I took Eamon's hand and we stepped into the kitchen. Everything was as it had always been. In the far corner was the same retro kitchen table that Dad had bought for Mom from a yard sale, the only thing Grandma Price didn’t bother to take. Dad had three or four packages of cookies spread out on it, and he and Fiona were discussing the pros and cons of each kind. The copper teakettle rattled on the stovetop, not quite at a full boil.
“Are you a tea drinker, Eamon?” Julia asked, getting up from the table. She had a young face with very few wrinkles, but her hair was gray and pulled back in a high ponytail.
“From time to time, but I'd take something stronger if you have it.”
My shoulders stiffened. There was no telling how dad would react. For his many struggles with alcohol, he'd never gone to Alcoholics Anonymous. He'd never admitted he had a problem. We'd only had varying degrees of success with getting him to stop self-medicating.
“I’ve got some beer,” Dad answered. “I don't have much else in the house, but we can always make a run to the liquor store in the morning.”
“Beer is perfect. Katherine? You want one?” Eamon asked.
“Definitely.”
With Julia's help, Eamon got us our drinks and we leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as Dad explored the joys of a sugar high with Fiona. The dogs were curled up under the table. Eamon put his arm around me and kissed my temple. “I’m glad to be here. Thank you for sharing this with me.”
I looked up into his handsome face, his cheeks a bit ruddy from the cold. “I’m glad you came. I'm not sure I could've done this without you.”
“Really? Your dad seems wonderful.”
Dad laughed, throwing his head back. “He is,” I said. That was part of what always made it so hard. Not that any of us deserved what had happened, but he certainly hadn't.
“Luke asked me to be a groomsman while we were unloading the luggage.” Eamon offered this tidbit as if he were commenting that it might rain tomorrow.
“He did?”
He took another drink of his beer, keeping his eyes on me and nodding. “He did. I practically feel like part of the family.” His eyebrows jumped and he smiled.
“That's awesome. And I'm glad I'll have someone else to help me deal with the craziness of that day. As much as those two claim to want something low-key, something tells me it's going to end up being a nightmare.”
“It'll be fun. Don't worry so much. Personally, I love weddings.”
“You do?”
“What's not to love? Free food and liquor, dancing if it's a good one. Everyone's happy and feeling romantic.”
“Let's hope for that next month.”
Eamon surveyed the kitchen. “I’m trying to envision your childhood in this house.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Come on. Show me around and you can explain to me what the hell that means.”
I started the tour with the living room. “This is where Dad spent most of our childhood, sitting in this chair, watching TV or doing the crossword puzzle.”
“Same chair?”
“Same exact chair. Amy and I bought him a new one for Christmas a few years ago, but he refused delivery. He wanted no part of it. He says that this one knows his butt.”
“An important quality in a chair.”
“Or so I'm told.” We walked past the couch and the fireplace, flanked by built-in bookcases filled to the brim with books my dad had mostly bought at the thrift store.
“Has the house changed much since you were a kid?”
