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When the time came to tell Cathal everything—keep my name out of it, Honnie warned him—Cathal did not object. He sat with it for a few days. Macdara began to believe he’d never approve, but then he started discussing it as if he’d thought of it himself.

Rian didn’t cry or beg. He didn’t plead with Mac to stay. Mac wasn’t even entirely sure he’d been listening except that he immediately stopped following Mac around. When they were at meals together he only stared straight ahead, ate what he was given, and ignored Mac’s promises to bring him over as soon as he could. Once Mac left, the sleeping loft would be empty except for Rian. Mac tried to turn that into something to look forward to: imagine having a space all to yourself! But Rian didn’t even register that Mac was speaking. He seemed as dazed and lost as he had in the days after their mother died.

The night before his departure, Cathal took Mac to the pub for a drink. Everyone there wished him good luck in America, said they looked forward to hearing the news, and wasn’t it nice to think of the Lees and Joyces together so far away, like taking a bit of home. Mac drank a measure of whiskey and a pint of stout. He and his father walked home together not saying much but it felt peaceful between them for the first time in a long time. But then Cathal went out early the morning of his departure and didn’t return. Nuala kept looking up and down the lane for him. Rian stayed lying in bed facing the wall until Mac said it was time.

It was only when the car Kevin Lee borrowed to take them to the airport was pulling away did Rian seem to register what was happening. He’d said goodbye to Mac—coldly, mechanically—but as soon as the engine started and the wheels began rolling, something came over him. Jogging alongside the car he knocked on the window. He knocked on the car’s boot. When the car picked up speed he ran after it. He ran faster and faster until he was in an all-out sprint. Through the back windshield, Mac took in the image of Nuala holding Seamus on her hip. She had her hand on Eamon’s head.

“Mac!” Rian shouted. “Macdara! Stop!”

Now he was racing after the car, pumping his arms, his feet bare, his face a rictus of pain.

“Will I stop?” Kevin asked, looking at Mac in the rearview mirror.

“No,” Mac said after a moment’s hesitation. “Keep going.”

“I never knew he was such a good runner,” Peter said.

“He’ll drop back at the first bridge,” Mac said.

But at the first bridge Rian got a second wind.

“He’ll stop at the second bridge.” Please Rian, Mac thought. Please.

But at the second bridge Rian kept pumping his knees, kept pushing forward so fast it was as if the wind were carrying him.

“He’s like an Olympian,” Peter said.

Finally, Mac rolled down the window and called to him. “Go home, Rian. You’re only making it worse.”

“You’re the one making it worse, Macdara.” Rian pointed at him as he sprinted, but finally began to drop back. “You!” he shouted.

GROWTH

MONTANA

1963–1968

FIVE

Honnie had said Montana was just like Connemara with the mountains and the lakes, the people’s closeness to the land, but Macdara spotted differences within his first hour. Both places had mountains in the distance, that was true, but in Montana the mountains were so enormous that looking at them for too long gave Mac a feeling almost like panic, like he couldn’t quite locate himself inside the scene. He’d fallen asleep in the back of PJ’s truck almost as soon as they turned out of the airport, and when he woke he couldn’t tell how far they’d traveled. Martin was fiddling with the radio, impatient for Mac to wake up so he could get the gossip from home.

As soon as Mac had seen his friend at the airport, giving him a thumbs-up through the window as he got his passport stamped by a customs agent, he felt that much lighter, happier. Last time he saw Martin his mother had been alive. So much had happened in the meantime, but seeing Martin’s grinning face made it all seem like a different life, a sad life that loosened its grip on Mac as soon as he boarded a flight to America.

The man in the booth stamped their passports and Peter and Mac pushed through the doors, where PJ and Martin were waiting for them.

“You made it,” PJ said as he shook Mac’s hand. “And you,” he said to his younger brother, tousling his hair. “Jenny will have food ready.”

“So you followed me to America,” Martin said, clapping Mac’s back. “You missed me that much.”

“Heard you couldn’t get anywhere here without my help,” Mac said. For the first time in months, he felt like laughing.

“Suaimhneas uirthi,” Martin said, suddenly serious. Peace on her. Rest on her.

“Thanks,” Mac said.

“I couldn’t believe it,” Martin said.

“I was very sorry to hear of your trouble, Macdara,” PJ said. “We had a Mass said in Teaberry when we heard.”