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go. Some guys had too much to drink and are getting rowdy, but
I’ve got your number.” He held up the phone.
    “Yeah,” she said, sliding her beer on the coffee table. She
tried to ignore the pang of disappointment she felt. “I’ll get your clothes
from the dryer.”
    “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get them another time. Will you
walk me out?” Liam said, opening the door.
    “Sure,” she replied as she walked through the door. She
didn’t know what to think about the idea of seeing him again. As far as she was
concerned, their business should be done, but she felt an inkling of
intrigue about a possible next encounter.
    “Maybe you should buy a new car with the money you get from
the house,” he suggested. She cringed at her beat-up Corolla parked in front of
his shiny black Audi. He unlocked his doors with a chirp from the key fob.
    “Yeah, I was thinking about it,” she said, putting her hands
on her hips. A hint of his cologne drifted toward her from the night breeze.
    “Let me know if you need any help moving some of the heavy
stuff,” he said, standing by his opened door. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt
or anything.”
    “Lift with the legs, not the back. I know the drill. Jack
was a good forty pounds heavier than me, and believe me, he needed some
coercing at times.”
    “If he was anything like me, I bet he did. Some of my fellow
squad members can attest to that,” he replied, twirling the key fob in his
hand. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Charla Taylor.”
    “You too,” she said. “Drive safe and call me if you need
anything.”
    “Anything?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “That’s a pretty
wide open invitation.”
    “You know what I mean.” She let out a nervous laugh. “I
still have your clothes.”
    “Good night, Charla,” he said with a smile that made her
knees weak. Then he opened the door and climbed into the car.
    “Good night,” she whispered as he shut the door. The bang
rattled the summer night and echoed in her heart. She watched as he backed out
of the driveway, his headlights shining on her the whole way down.
    Maybe she could stand a little brooding Irish gunslinger in
her life after all.

 
    Chapter 3
     
    The faint ticking of the grandfather
clock in the living room hummed in Charla’s ear like a lullaby. She turned on
her side, gazing out the window of her bedroom at the glimmering shadows of the
lake. The full moon reflected on the surface in a sweeping line of pale white.
She closed her eyes, listening closely to the quiet thud that echoed with each
bang of the canoe against the dock.
    Liam.
    She couldn’t get him or his lips out of her mind. She was
still wearing the cotton dress she’d put on, not wanting to part with the idea the
night was over. She slid her hand under her head, and tried to let go of the
notion of having a relationship or anything with Jack’s son. She
wondered what Jack had said in the letter. Had the events he spouted off before
he died actually happened? It was more than twenty years ago, but she wondered
if people were still looking for Jack. Things like this just didn’t go away.
There were legacies to fulfill. There were vengeances to be paid. People like
this didn’t bury the hatchet; they didn’t forget. If any of it was true, she
might be in danger, and Liam might be, too.
    She considered calling the Dirty Leprechaun, but she didn’t
know what she’d say. How could she explain over the phone that Liam was the son
of a long-time-ago mafia errand boy? He’d probably laugh it off, just like she
had. He was delusional. It was the Alzheimer’s , Charla reminded herself.
None of it made any sense. She had called one of her old nursing instructors
about it the day after he’d passed, and she confirmed the delusional or fantasy
world of Alzheimer’s patients. His mind couldn’t distinguish between reality
and fantasy. She had told Charla not to worry. It was all part of the process.
    Some process , she thought,