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He finishes half the glass, sets it down, and grips the tumbler. He accuses, "Ya let him do it to me."
"Let who do what?" I cry out, tired of Da's drunken states where he says stuff I don't understand.
He slams his hand on the table, and I jump. He's usually a harmless drunk. His expression turns to the one I only saw when I was thirteen and took his glass away.
Everything about it scares me. My heart races faster.
Brogan steps in front of the table, announcing, "We need to go, Maeve."
I elbow his thigh.
He steps back two paces. "Ow. What's that for?"
I snap, "Ya leave my family matters to me."
"I can't leave ya here. Tynan will kill me, and ya know it."
Frustration builds inside me. I point to the back of the room. "If ya insist on being here, return to where ya were. I mean it."
He crosses his arms, insisting, "Ya need to come with me."
Da booms, "Oi! I'm talking to my daughter. Get out of here."
"I mean it. Go," I repeat.
Brogan shakes his head. He takes a few steps back to the bar and sits on a stool, his scowl pinned on Da. He states, "Ya got five minutes."
I ignore him. I try to reach for Da's hand, but he doesn't let me touch him.
He accuses, "You're going to get me killed."
"How am I going to get ya killed?"
"Because you're not fulfilling the agreement," he answers.
A new fear fills me. I ask, "What agreement have ya made now? How much are ya in debt for?"
He shakes his head, claiming, "There's no amount that can pay it. A contract is a contract."
I grip the edge of the table. "Da, what contract are ya talking about? How can no money pay it?"
Spit flies out of his mouth as he rants, "You're doing this to me. When I'm six feet under, it'll be your fault."
I wipe spit off my arm and plead, "I don't know what you're talking about. Please, tell me. Explain whatever it is you're accusing me of."
He takes another large mouthful of whiskey.
I wish he'd stop drinking. Yet I know there's no stopping his addictions. There's nothing I can do to deny he's past the point of ever recovering, even though I'd give anything for him to get better.
He glances around, even though there's no one else in the pub except a drunk at the end of the bar opposite where Brogan sits.
Da leans across the table, and his eyes darken in thin slits. He orders, "You've got to come with me, Maeve. If ya don't, they'll kill me."
"Who is going to kill ya?" I question.
He lowers his voice and leans closer. "Them."
"Who's 'them'?"
