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“That’s what Ma and Da were like. They did what they could with what they’d learned, but my grandfather was a mean son of a bitch. Da was two screws loose of a full set, but he didn’t help any. Ma’s family wasn’t much better, and she was always irate and erratic, quick to temper because, I think, she knew Da responded well to that—”
“What do you mean?”
“The more irate she was, the more he calmed down in an argument. He didn’t fear her, not by any stretch, but she was a loose cannon. We have this inside joke about her hitting him over the head with a rolling pin, you know?”
“Yeah, you told me the story.”
“But she used to throw shit at him too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Cans. One time, potatoes.” A soft chuckle drifted from his lips. “Nothing hits harder than a fucking Idaho potato. That was actually hilarious. He got a black eye from it.”
“That’s spousal abuse, Conor,” I pointed out with concern.
“It was, but I don’t think we looked at it that way back then.”
“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have.”
“No. I agree.”
“Did he hit her?”
“Never.”
“Were the attacks frequent?”
“No. Only when he pushed a topic.”
“Like what?”
He sighed. “Do you really want to know this?”
“Of course. You don’t talk about yourself a lot, do you know that?”
“I talk plenty.”
“That’s an understatement,” I drawled. “You definitely talk plenty, but not about where you come from.”
His nose crinkled but he explained, “Da was terrified that Declan was gay—”
“Why?”
He kissed my shoulder. “Catholic.”
I grunted my disapproval as I twisted around to face him.
“Trust me, I wouldn’t give a fuck if he was gay, but I’m not Da. So, anyway, he found out this one year that he took art in school…”
“Well, that’s normal.”
“He wanted him to not be in that class, and if Da had gone down to the school and told the faculty he didn’t want his son learning art, it would have soon been swiped off Declan’s class schedule.”
My brow furrowed at his words, and the atonement I was supposed to be attempting to achieve hit a plateau because how the fuck could I be sorry about eradicating that type of man from the earth?
“It’s when you say shit like that, I wonder how I’m supposed to atone,” I admitted, unable to hold my tongue. “I couldn’t be Catholic.”
“Most Catholics can’t be either. You’re just supposed to promise your priest you will repent and cross your fingers behind your back.”
