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Kevin Lee, PJ and Martin’s father, described Montana with complete authority, even though he’d never left the west of Ireland. He told the crowded room that PJ had built a house for himself and his family in a place called Larkspur, named for the flower that was abundant there. Kevin told his neighbors that the sky was much higher in Larkspur. The animals were bigger, too, even the trout fished out of the lakes. Jenny, who was born and raised there, only looked amused.
“Tell them, PJ. Tell them about the seventy-pound trout. Tell them how big.”
The group looked skeptical when Kevin held his hands more than four feet apart to show them. They were interested, but they weren’t stupid. Trout didn’t come that size. PJ spotted Rian and told him to stand up.
“About that size,” PJ said. He told them about being in the audience when John F. Kennedy spoke to a group in Yellowstone County about conserving the land and the forests.
“Did you speak to him?” Mac asked.
PJ laughed. “There were seventeen thousand people in the audience. And I was in the back.”
“He’s coming here, you know,” someone said. “In June. I read it in the paper.”
“To Dublin you mean,” Cathal said.
“To Galway,” the man said. “He’ll speak in Eyre Square.”
Mac glanced over to catch Martin’s eye. That would be an adventure.
When Mac had eaten his cake and seen all the photos, when he figured Patricia would probably not agree to a kiss that night, either, he got up to leave. He had a small job lined up for the morning, odds and ends for the blacksmith, and he wanted to get to bed. He’d give Martin all the news once PJ went back to America and things went back to normal. When he heard steps behind him he assumed it was Rian following, but then he heard his name being called. He turned and found Martin, with Rian right behind him.
“Mac,” Martin said. “I meant to stop down earlier today but my mother needed help with the party.” He glanced down at Rian, who was waiting to hear what he’d say next.
“Did you have cake?” Martin asked Rian. Meaning: be gone with you.
“I did,” Rian said, not moving.
“He’s fine,” Mac said.
“All right. Well, I wanted to tell you—and it all came together very quickly, my head is spinning, actually—but I wanted to make sure you—”
“You’re leaving,” Mac said, and he immediately felt foolish for not predicting it.
“I’m leaving,” Martin confirmed.
“When?”
“I’ll go back with them. It’s a long way and it makes the most sense. PJ bought my ticket yesterday.”
“Huh,” Mac said. He had not been prepared for this and yet he wasn’t surprised. They’d all known from the moment of their births that they’d likely have to leave one day. He just didn’t expect that day to be tomorrow, or for his best friend to go all the way to Montana.
“You know,” Martin said. “PJ says there’s lots of work there. His father-in-law is sponsoring me and I’m sure he’d sponsor you, too, if you wanted to come. I know Sean is in England, but if you had a mind to try Americ—”
“I’m not going anywhere yet. Plenty of time for all that.”
“Is there? Will you not have to go when the new baby comes?”
Mac felt Rian studying him carefully as he said he didn’t know. No one had said anything yet and he was getting work most days. He’d been thinking lately maybe he wouldn’t have to go.
“And it’s all definite?” Mac asked. “It’s very fast, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I’d say they had a notion before PJ even got here. I’m the last to know.”
Mac frowned. That didn’t seem right.
“I don’t mind, honestly. If I have to go somewhere, I’d like to try Montana. I’ll visit though, Mac. You know I will.”
After seven whole years like your brother, Mac thought. The visit after that would be in twelve, then twenty. And when he visited, Mac would likely be in England. Martin said he was sorry to dump the news on him and then go but he had to be getting back. He said he’d stop round the following day to say goodbye.