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“Naw, I wanna,” Ethan wails, losing interest in the kite as it sails to the grass.
Amber swoops forward and saves it from becoming a tangled mess as Ethan drops the spool and comes running over to me. I bend and pick him up as well.
The twins are small, so I’m able to hold them both at the same time. It won’t be much longer however until that changes. I wonder who they’ll grow into. I can only hope someone not like me.
“Is yer face all right?” Ethan asks, examining the fading bruises. I heal quickly, but it’s been a tough week.
“I’m all right. Don’tcha trouble yerself.”
“We heard Mum tellin’ Da yer a dirty wee hallion,” says Hannah, awful upset as she narrows her eyes. “That one day, yer gonna end up dead like yer ma. She said she wouldn’t cry. We don’t wantcha to die, Punky. We’ll protect ya. A’ll never let anyone hurt ya.”
Amber averts her gaze, hinting she heard this too.
The twins are too small to realize what that means, and I want to keep it that way. The longer they hold onto their innocence, the better for them. I wish I’d had that luxury.
“I’m not going anywhere, rascals,” I promise, kissing their cheeks. “And it’s my job to protect youse. Okay?”
They both nod, but I can see the fear in their eyes. Fiona has always been jealous of my relationship with the twins. I have no doubt I’m in her prayers; prayers that I leave and never return.
“She said yer a Catholic lover. What’s that mean?” Hannah asks, always curious.
When I see Fiona headed our way, I narrow my eyes but try to act calm. “Don’t ya be troublin’ yerself with that.”
“Hannah!” she cries out. “You’re jokin’ me? Look at yer dress! It’s ruined.”
Hannah clings to me tighter.
When I make no attempts at putting them down, Fiona arches an unimpressed brow. “Something troublin’ ya?”
“Aye, ya could say that. Cover yer ears and sing yer favorite nursery rhyme,” I instruct the twins, who immediately do as they’re told.
I would say Fiona looks scared, but thanks to all the Botox she’s had, I can’t distinguish what her facial features are anymore.
“Don’tchaevertalk about me in front of the twins again,” I calmly order, holding onto them tightly. “What I do is my business. Stay outta it ’cause y’ve no idea whatcher talkin’ about.”
She pulls back her shoulders. “I was only consolin’ yer father. He was troubled about the rosary—”
“Imagine that, a world where I give a fuck what you and Connor were doin’,” I interrupt, not interested in hearing her gurn. “And don’tcha ever mention my mum again.”
Fiona’s lips pull into a thin line. “Yer father will be hearin’ about this.”
Laughing, I state coolly, “There ya go again, thinkin’ I give a fuck.”
“Ack, y’ve got no respect.”
“For ye? No, I do not.”
Fiona’s nostrils flare as she’s realized this is a losing battle. We’ve never gotten along, and that’ll never change.
“Come,” she orders the wains, gesturing they’re to get down. “I want ya to say hello to Pastor Diffin.”
They look at me, their singing growing quiet as I lower them to the ground. “Go with yer ma.”
Both of them screw up their faces but do what they’re told.
Fiona roughly snatches their hands. “We’re payin’ ya to work, not talk,” she snaps at Amber, who pulls in her lips, embarrassed.
Fiona storms off, kids in hand, leaving Amber and me alone.
