Born in Shame (18 page)

“Hush,” Brianna ordered and patted his arm.

“It's beautiful,” Shannon continued. “Very much like
Local Hero.
Remember? Burt Lancaster.” She chuckled again. “Right. Well, I'm doing a lot of walking, and eating. And I'm painting.”

“That bored, huh?” His voice was amused, and faintly sympathetic.

“No.” Her brow creased. “Not at all.”

“Doesn't sound like your kind of deal. Anyway, when are you coming back?”

She caught the curling phone cord in her fingers and began to twist. “I'm not sure. A couple of weeks, probably.”

“Christ, Shan, you've been there a month already.”

Her fingers worried the cord, twisting it tighter. Odd, it hadn't seemed like a month. “I had three weeks coming.” She heard the defensiveness in the tone, and hated it. “The rest is on me. How are things going there?”

“You know how it is. Regular madhouse since we
clinched the Gulfstream account. You're the golden girl there, Shan. Two major notches in your belt in six months between Gulfstream and Titus.”

She'd forgotten Titus, and frowned now thinking of the concept and art she'd come up with to help sell tires. “Gulfstream's yours.”

“Now, sure, but the brass knows who initiated it. Hey, you don't think I'd take credit for your work.”

“No, of course not.”

“Anyway, I thought I'd let you know the guys upstairs are happy, but our department's starting to feel the pinch with the fall and Christmas campaigns getting underway. We really need you back.”

She felt the light throbbing in her temple, the warning of a tension headache brewing. “I have things to work out, Tod. Personal things.”

“You had a rough patch. I know you, Shannon, you'll have your feet back under you again. And I miss you. I know things were a little strained between us when you left, and I wasn't as understanding as I should have been, as sensitive to your feelings. I think we can talk that out, and get back on line.”

“Have you been watching
Oprah?”

“Come on, Shan. You take a couple more days, then give me a call. Let me know your flight number and E.T.A. I'll pick you up at the airport, and we'll cozy down with a bottle of wine and work this out.”

“I'll get back to you, Tod. Thanks for calling.”

“Don't wait too long. The brass has a short collective memory.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Bye.”

She hung up, discovered the cord was wrapped messily around her fingers. She concentrated on meticulously straightening it again.

“That was New York,” she said without turning
around. “A friend of mine at work.” Before she swung around, she made sure she had a bright smile on her face. “So, how's the strudel?”

“See for yourself.” Brianna poured Shannon tea to go with it. Her first instinct was to comfort. She held back the urge, trusting Murphy to do the job. “I think I hear the baby,” she said and hurried through the adjoining door.

Shannon's appetite had fled. She glanced listlessly at the strudel, bypassed it for her tea. “My, ah, office is swamped.”

“He wants you back.” When Shannon's eyes lifted to his, Murphy inclined his head. “This Tod wants you back.”

“He's handling some of my accounts while I'm gone. It's a lot of extra work.”

“He wants you back,” Murphy said again, and Shannon began to poke her fork in the strudel.

“He mentioned it—in a noncommital sort of way. We had a strained discussion before I left.”

“A discussion,” Murphy repeated. “A strained discussion. Are you meaning a fight?”

“No.” She smiled a little. “Tod doesn't fight. Debates,” she mused. “He debates. He's very civilized.”

“And was he debating, in a civilized way, just now? Is that why you're all tangled up?”

“No, he was just catching me up on the office. And I'm not tangled up.”

Murphy put his hands over her restless ones, stilling them until she looked at him again. “You asked me to be your friend. I'm trying.”

“I'm confused about things, a number of things,” she said slowly. “It doesn't usually take me so long to figure out what I want and how to get it. I'm good at analyzing. I'm good at angles. My father was, too. He could always
zero in on the bottom line. I admired that, I learned it from him.”

Impatient, she jerked her hands from under Murphy's. “I had everything mapped out, and I was making it work. The position with the right firm, the uptown apartment, the high-powered wardrobe, the small, but tasteful art collection. Membership in the right health club. An undemanding relationship with an attractive, successful man who shared my interests. Then it all fell apart, and it makes me so tired to think of putting it together again.”

“Is that what you want to do? Have to do?”

“I can't keep putting it off. That call reminded me I've been letting it all drift. I have to have solid ground under me, Murphy. I don't function well otherwise.” When her voice broke, she pressed her hand to her lips. “It still hurts so much. It still hurts to think of my parents. To know I'll never see them again. I never got to say goodbye. I never got to say goodbye to either of them.”

He said nothing at all as he rose and went to her, but simply lifted her to her feet to cradle her in his arms. In his silence was an understanding so perfect, so elemental, it devastated. She could weep and know that her tears would fall on a shoulder that would never shrug away from her.

“I keep thinking I'm over it,” she managed. “Then it sneaks up and squeezes my heart.”

“You haven't let yourself cry it through. Go ahead, darling. You'll feel better for it.”

It ripped at him, each shuddering sob, and knowing he could do no more than be there.

“I want them back.”

“I know, darling. I know you do.”

“Why do people have to leave, Murphy? Why do the people who we love and need so much have to leave?”

“They don't, not all the way. You still have them inside, and you can't lose them from there. Don't you hear your mother talking to you sometimes, or your father reminding you of something you did together?”

Tired and achy from crying, she turned her damp cheek so it could rest against his chest. Foolish, she realized. How foolish it had been to think it was stronger to hold in the tears than to let them go.

“Yes.” Her lips curved in a watery smile. “I get pictures sometimes, of things we did together. Even the most ordinary things, like eating breakfast.”

“So they haven't left all the way, have they?”

She closed her eyes, comforted by the steady beat of Murphy's heart under her ear. “Just before the Mass, my mother's funeral Mass, the priest sat down with me. He was very kind, compassionate, as he was only months before when we buried my father. Still, it was the standard line—everlasting life, mercy, and the eternal rewards both my parents would reap having been devout Catholics and good, caring people.”

She pressed against him one last time, for herself, then drew back. “It was meant to comfort me, and perhaps it did, a little. What you just said helps a lot more.”

“Faith's a kind of remembering, Shannon. You need to prize your memories instead of being hurt by them.” He brushed a tear from her cheek with the side of his thumb. “Are you all right now? I'll stay if you like, or get Brie for you.”

“No, I'm okay. Thanks.”

He tipped her chin up, kissed her forehead. “Then sit down, drink your tea. And don't clutter your mind with New York till you're ready.”

“That's good advice.” When she sniffled, he took his bandanna out of his pocket.

“Blow your nose.”

She laughed a little and obeyed. “I'm glad you came by, Murphy. Don't stay away again.”

“I'll be around.” Because he knew she needed time to herself now, he turned to take his cap from the peg. “Will you come to the fields again soon? I like seeing you painting there in the sunlight.”

“Yes, I'll come to the fields. Murphy . . .” She trailed off, not sure how to put the question, or why it seemed so important she ask. “Never mind.”

He paused at the doorway. “What? It's always better to say what's on your mind than to let it circle in there.”

Circling was exactly what it was doing. “I was wondering. If we'd been . . . friends when my mother was ill, and I'd had to go away to take care of her. To be with her. When she died, if I'd told you I could handle all of it, even preferred to handle all of it alone, would you have respected that? Stayed away?”

“No, of course not.” Puzzled, he settled his cap on his head. “That's a stupid question. A friend doesn't stay away from a friend who's grieving.”

“That's what I thought,” she murmured, then stared at him long enough, hard enough to have him rubbing the back of his hand over his chin searching for crumbs.

“What?”

“Nothing. I was—” She lifted her cup and laughed at both of them. “Woolgathering.”

More puzzled than ever, he returned her smile. “I'll see you then. You'll, ah, come to the ceili, won't you?”

“I wouldn't miss it.”

Chapter
Fifteen

Music was pouring out of the farmhouse when Shannon arrived with Brianna and her family. They'd brought the car as Brianna had made too much food for the three of them to handle all of it, and the baby, on a walk.

Shannon's first surprise of the evening was the number of vehicles along the road. Their wheels tipped up onto the grass verge left just enough room from another car, with a very brave or foolish driver, to squeeze through.

“From the looks of this, he'll have a houseful,” Shannon commented as they began to unload Brianna's dishes and bowls.

“Oh, the cars and lorries are only for those who live too far away to walk. Most come on foot to a ceili. Gray, don't tip that pot. You'll spill the broth.”

“I wouldn't tip it if I had three hands.”

“He's cross,” Brianna told Shannon, “because his publishing people have added another city to his tour.” She couldn't quite keep the smugness out of her voice. “Time was the man couldn't wait to go roving.”

“Times change, and if you'd come with me—”

“You know I can't leave the inn for three weeks in the middle of summer. Come on now.” Despite the load they both held, Brianna leaned forward to kiss him. “Don't fret on it tonight. Ah, look, it's Kate.”

She hurried forward, her call of greeting floating on the air.

“You could always cancel the tour,” Shannon said under her breath as she and Gray followed.

“Tell that to her. ‘You'll not be neglecting your responsibilities toward your work because of me, Grayson Thane. I'll be just where you left me when you get back.' ”

“Well.” Shannon would have patted his cheek if her hands hadn't been full. “She will. Cheer up, Gray. If I've ever seen a man who's got it all, it's you.”

“Yeah.” That lifted his spirits a little. “I do. But it's going to be hard to feel that way when I'm sleeping alone in Cleveland next July.”

“Suffering though room service. In-room movies, and the adulation of fans.”

“Shut up, Bodine.” He gave her a nudge to send her through the door.

She hadn't realized there were so many people in the entire county. The house was full of them, alive with their voices, crowded with their movements. Before she
was ten paces down the hall, she was introduced to a dozen, and hailed by that many more she'd already met.

Music of flutes and fiddles streamed out of the parlor where some were already dancing. Plates of food were piled high, balanced on knees while feet enthusiastically stomped the time. Glasses were lifted or being pressed into waiting hands.

Still more people crowded into the kitchen, where platters and bowls were jammed end to end along the counters and the center table. Brianna was there, already empty handed as the baby was passed around and cooed over.

“Ah, here's Shannon.” Brianna beamed as she began to unload the dishes from Shannon's arms. “She's not been to a ceili before. We'd have the music in the kitchen traditionally, but there's no room for it. But we can hear it just the same. You know Diedre O'Malley.”

“Yes, hello.”

“Get yourself a plate, lass,” Diedre ordered. “Before the horde leaves you nothing but crumbs. Let's have those, Grayson.”

“I'll trade you for a beer.”

“I can do that for you.” She chuckled as she took platters. “There's plenty to be had out on the stoop there.”

“Shannon?”

“Sure.” She smiled as Gray stepped out the door to fetch bottles. “It doesn't look like there'll be much business at the pub tonight, Mrs. O'Malley.”

“No, indeed. We've closed. A ceili at Murphy's empties the village. Ah, Alice, I was just talking of your boy.”

With the bottle Gray had given her halfway to her lips, Shannon turned to see a slim woman with softly waved brown hair come in the kitchen. She had Murphy's eyes, and his quick smile.

“They've shoved a fiddle in his hands, so he'll not get past the parlor for a time.” Her voice was mellow, with a laugh on the edge of it. “I thought I'd fix him up a plate, Dee, in case he finds a moment to eat.”

She reached for one, then her smile brightened. “Brie, I didn't see you there. Where's that angel of yours?”

“Right here, Mrs. Brennan.” With a cocky grin, Gray stepped forward to kiss her.

“Go on with you. Devil is more like. Where's that baby?”

“Nancy Feeney and young Mary Kate absconded with her,” Deidre said, uncovering the dishes Brianna had brought. “You'll have to find them, then fight them for her.”

“And so I will. Ah, listen to that lad play.” Pride beamed into her eyes. “He's God's gift in his hands.”

“I'm pleased you could come from Cork, Mrs. Brennan,” Brianna began. “You haven't met Shannon. My . . . friend from America.”

“I haven't, no.” The shining pride shifted to caution and curiosity. Her voice didn't cool precisely, but took on a hint of formality. “I'm pleased to meet you, Shannon Bodine.” She offered her hand.

Shannon caught herself wiping her palm on her slacks before accepting the greeting. “It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Brennan.” What now? “Murphy favors you.”

“Thank you. He's a handsome lad for certain. And you live in New York City and draw for a living?”

“Yes.” Miserably uncomfortable, she took a swig from her beer. When Maggie came noisily through the back door, Shannon could have kissed her feet.

“We're late,” Maggie announced. “And Rogan's bursting to tell everyone it was my fault, so I'll say it first. I had work to finish.” She plopped a bowl on the table, then set Liam down to toddle. “I'm starving to death,
too.” She snatched one of Brianna's stuffed mushrooms from a plate and devoured. “Mrs. Brennan, just the woman I'm after.”

All that stiff formality melted out of Alice's face as she scooted around the table to give Maggie a hard hug. “Lord, you were the same as a child, always noisy as six drums.”

“You'll be sorry you said so when I give you your present. Come along, Rogan.”

“A man's got a right to stop and get a beer.” With one in his hand he maneuvered himself and the wrapped package he carried through the door.

The entrance brought fresh greetings and chatter. Seeing it as a perfect escape, Shannon began to edge toward the hall.

“No, you don't, coward.” Amused, Gray blocked her way. He slung an arm around her in a gesture of affection as firm as shackles.

“Give me a break, Gray.”

“Not a chance.”

Stuck, she watched as Alice carefully removed the brown paper from the painting. As people crowded around, there were sounds of surprise and approval.

“Oh, 'tis him to life,” Alice murmured. “That's just the way he holds his head, do you see? And how he stands. I've never had a finer gift, Maggie, that's the truth. I can't thank you enough for giving it to me, or for painting it.”

“You can thank me for giving it. But Shannon painted it.”

Every head in the room shifted direction, and measured.

“It's a fine talent you have,” Alice said after a moment, and the lilt came back in her voice. “And a heart
for seeing your subject clearly. I'm very proud to have this.”

Before Shannon could think of a response, a small, black-haired woman burst in from the hallway. “Ma, you'll never guess who's—What's this?” Spying the painting, she elbowed her way to it. “Why, 'tis Murphy with his horses.”

“Shannon Bodine painted it,” Alice told her.

“Oh?” Eyes bright and curious, the woman turned to scan the room. It took her only seconds to zero in. “Well, I'm Kate, his sister, and I'm pleased to meet you. You're the first he's courted ever.”

Shannon sagged a little against Gray's supporting arm. “It's not—we're not—Murphy exaggerated,” she decided as several pair of eyes studied her. “We're friends.”

“It's wise to be friends when you're courting,” Kate agreed. “Do you think sometime you could draw my children? Maggie won't.”

“I'm a glass artist,” Maggie reminded her and kept filling her plate. “And you'll have to go through Rogan. He's managing her.”

“I haven't signed the contract yet,” Shannon said quickly. “I haven't even—”

“Maybe you can do it before you sign up with him,” Kate interrupted. “I can gather them up and bring them to you whenever you say.”

“Stop badgering the woman,” Alice said mildly. “And what did you come bursting in here to tell me?”

“Tell you?” Kate looked blank for a moment, then her eyes cleared. “Oh, you won't guess who just walked in the door. Maeve Concannon,” she said before anyone could try. “Big as life.”

“Why, Maeve's not been to a ceili in twenty years!” Diedre said. “More, I think.”

“Well, she's come, and Lottie with her.”

Brianna and Maggie stared at each other, speechless. then moved quickly, like a unit.

“We'd best go see if she wants a plate,” Brianna explained.

“We'd best go see that she doesn't storm down the house,” Maggie corrected. “Why don't you come, Shannon? You had a way with her last time.”

“Well, really, I don't think—”

But Maggie grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the kitchen and down the hall. “Music's still playing,” she said under her breath. “She hasn't put the stops to that.”

“Look, this is none of my business,” Shannon protested. “She's your mother.”

“I'll remind you of your own words, about connections.”

“Shit, Maggie.” But Shannon had no choice but to grit her teeth and be propelled into the parlor.

“Sweet Jesus,” was all Brianna could say.

Maeve was sitting, Liam in her lap, tapping her foot to the rhythm of the reel. Her face might have been set, mouth grim, but that tapping foot gave her away.

“She's enjoying herself.” Astonishment had Maggie's eyes round and wide.

“Well, for Christ's sake.” With an ill-tempered jerk, Shannon freed herself. “Why shouldn't she?”

“She'd never come around music,” Brianna murmured. “Not in all my memory.” As Lottie swung by, dancing a Clare set in the arms of a neighbor, Brianna could only shake her head. “How did Lottie get her to come?”

But Shannon had forgotten Maeve. Across the room, Murphy stood, hip shot, a fiddle clamped between shoulder and chin. His eyes were half closed, so that she
thought he was lost in the music his quick fingers and hands made. Then he smiled and winked.

“What are they playing?” Shannon asked. The fiddler was joined by a piper and another who played an accordion.

“That's Saint Steven's reel.” Brianna smiled and felt her own feet grow restless. “Ah, look at them dance.”

“Time to do more than look.” Gray snatched her from behind and whirled her into the parlor.

“Why, she's wonderful,” Shannon said after a moment.

“She'd have been a dancer, our Brie, if things had been different.” Brows knit, Maggie shifted her gaze from her sister to her mother. “Maybe things were different then than they're beginning to be now.”

After taking a long breath, Maggie stepped into the parlor. After a moment's hesitation, she made her way through the dancing and sat beside her mother.

“That's a sight I never thought to see.” Alice stepped next to Shannon. “Maeve Concannon sitting with her daughter at a ceili, her grandson on her knee, her foot tapping away. And very close to smiling.”

“I suppose you've known her a long time.”

“Since girlhood. She made her life, and Tom's, a misery. And those girls suffered for it. It's a hard thing to fight for love. Now it seems she's found some contentment in the life she leads, and in her grandchildren. I'm glad for that.”

Alice looked at Shannon with some amusement. “I should apologize for my own daughter for embarrassing you in the kitchen. She's always been one for speaking first and thinking last.”

“No, it's all right. She was . . . misinformed.”

Alice pursed her lips at the term. “Well, if there's no
harm done. There's my daughter Eileen, and her husband Jack. Will you come meet them?”

“Sure.”

She met them, and Murphy's other sisters, his brother, his nieces and nephews and cousins. Her head reeled with names, and her heart staggered from the unquestioning welcome she received each time her hand was clasped.

She was given a full plate, a fresh beer, and a seat near the music, where Kate chattered in her ear.

Time simply drifted, unimportant against the music and the warmth. Children toddled or raced, or fell to dreaming in someone's willing arms. She watched men and women flirt while they danced, and those too old to dance enjoy the ritual.

How would she paint it? Shannon wondered. In vivid and flashing colors, or in soft, misty pastels? Either would suit. There was excitement here, and energy, and there was quiet contentment and unbroken tradition.