Craving Resurrection
Page 54
“Ye’ve been so bloody oblivious,” he said quietly, turning his head to look at me out of the corner of his eye. “I shouldn’t have brought ye into dis.”
He was beginning to scare me. “Tell me what’s going on, Patrick.”
“I tried to stay away from it. I swear it,” he said lifting his hands, palm up in supplication. “I wanted to make a better life for us. A different life.”
“I like our life,” I assured him almost pleadingly. Was he going to leave me? I didn’t think I could bear it if he did.
He shook his head, looking down at the floor again before he started to speak.
“Me da wasn’t always a part of t’ings,” he began. “When he and Mum got toget’er, he was workin’ odd jobs in Scotland. But a while after dey were married, me nan got sick and me da brought Mum down here to live wit’ her until she’d passed. Mum says dat de plan was for dem to stay just until Gran didn’t need dem anymore, but after a while, dey’d built a life here. Da was workin’ at a factory and Mum was home wit’ me, and dey’d made friends and dey were comfortable. Out of nowhere, Da began comin’ home talkin’ about how t’ings were goin’ to change. Makin’ radical statements dat she’d known had come from someone else.”
I laid my hand on his back as he took a deep breath, and that was all it took before he was pulling me into his lap and scooting toward the wall so he could lean against it.
“Me da fell in wit’ some men dat me mum didn’t approve of. Dangerous men who were willin’ to go to any length to get what dey wanted. De worst t’ing about dose men was de power dey held. Generations of men who believed de same t’ing, who used dere money and connections to fight a silent war against dere enemies.”
He was silent for a while, lost in his own thoughts. “I still don’t understand,” I whispered, feeling like an idiot.
“He’s IRA, Amy.”
“What?” the word was a breath, with no sound behind it.
“Me fadder has supported and worked toward a united Ireland for as long as I can remember.”
“But—”
“Look around ye. Every person ye’ve met, every person ye’ve passed on de street and have seen at de grocery store—dey all have clear ideas about de situation here. Ye may not know dem, and dey may not broadcast dem, but dat doesn’t mean dat dey aren’t givin’ every last bit of pocket change to support de cause dey’re behind.”
“Okay, so it’s not a big deal then, right? I mean if everyone is supporting one side or the other, than why is it such a huge deal that your dad supports the IRA?”
Patrick grabbed my chin in a harsh grip and pulled my face toward his until we were practically nose-to-nose. It didn’t hurt, but the meaning behind the motion was clear. He wanted me to pay attention.
“Me fadder is not a ‘supporter.’ Me fadder is IRA. He makes t’ings happen. T’ings ye’ll never know about unless ye see dem in de newspaper.”
The realization came in small increments as he stared into my eyes, until all at once I realized why Peg had lost it in the kitchen.
“You’re IRA,” I whispered in horror. “You’re doing those things.”
“Until de day dey put me into de ground,” he confirmed with a slight nod.
Chapter 27
Amy
I stared at Patrick for a long time, cataloguing the freckles and the scruff of his five o’clock shadow and the blue eyes that saw everything. All things that I’d fallen in love with, and all things that didn’t mean a single thing when it came down to real life.
Real life was hard. It wasn’t only the actions that you followed through with, but also the ones you didn’t. Real life was finding a small glimmer of hope when the world seemed to be falling around you. Real life was bills and housing and food on the table. Real life was knowing that the person you love and crave beyond all others had gotten himself into a situation there was no way out of, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.
“Lie wit’ me,” Patrick said quietly, pushing me off his lap.
We were silent as we undressed each other slowly, leaving on nothing but our underwear before climbing into bed. His hands were gentle as they pulled me against him and dragged the blankets up to our shoulders.
“What are we going to do?” I asked quietly after a few minutes.
“Continue on as we have been,” he answered, rubbing his thumb over my anchor tattoo.
“Are you going to finish school?”
He didn’t reply right away, and I slid my cheek against his body until my chin rested on his sternum. His eyes were sad as they met mine.
“I’ve already quit.”
“Why didn’t you tell them no?” I asked in frustration. He’d been so proud to be almost finished with school. He’d worked so hard for it, and then suddenly, all that work had been for nothing.
“Dese aren’t men ye say no to,” he replied calmly.
“But they left you alone before—”
“Dey must have been waitin’ for de right moment.”
“Let’s just leave. We’ll go to the US.”
“Wit’ what money? Dis is our life, Amy. Dis is our home.”
“But what if—” His head jerked hard to the side, cutting off my words. That subject was closed.
“Are you going to get in trouble?”
He was beginning to scare me. “Tell me what’s going on, Patrick.”
“I tried to stay away from it. I swear it,” he said lifting his hands, palm up in supplication. “I wanted to make a better life for us. A different life.”
“I like our life,” I assured him almost pleadingly. Was he going to leave me? I didn’t think I could bear it if he did.
He shook his head, looking down at the floor again before he started to speak.
“Me da wasn’t always a part of t’ings,” he began. “When he and Mum got toget’er, he was workin’ odd jobs in Scotland. But a while after dey were married, me nan got sick and me da brought Mum down here to live wit’ her until she’d passed. Mum says dat de plan was for dem to stay just until Gran didn’t need dem anymore, but after a while, dey’d built a life here. Da was workin’ at a factory and Mum was home wit’ me, and dey’d made friends and dey were comfortable. Out of nowhere, Da began comin’ home talkin’ about how t’ings were goin’ to change. Makin’ radical statements dat she’d known had come from someone else.”
I laid my hand on his back as he took a deep breath, and that was all it took before he was pulling me into his lap and scooting toward the wall so he could lean against it.
“Me da fell in wit’ some men dat me mum didn’t approve of. Dangerous men who were willin’ to go to any length to get what dey wanted. De worst t’ing about dose men was de power dey held. Generations of men who believed de same t’ing, who used dere money and connections to fight a silent war against dere enemies.”
He was silent for a while, lost in his own thoughts. “I still don’t understand,” I whispered, feeling like an idiot.
“He’s IRA, Amy.”
“What?” the word was a breath, with no sound behind it.
“Me fadder has supported and worked toward a united Ireland for as long as I can remember.”
“But—”
“Look around ye. Every person ye’ve met, every person ye’ve passed on de street and have seen at de grocery store—dey all have clear ideas about de situation here. Ye may not know dem, and dey may not broadcast dem, but dat doesn’t mean dat dey aren’t givin’ every last bit of pocket change to support de cause dey’re behind.”
“Okay, so it’s not a big deal then, right? I mean if everyone is supporting one side or the other, than why is it such a huge deal that your dad supports the IRA?”
Patrick grabbed my chin in a harsh grip and pulled my face toward his until we were practically nose-to-nose. It didn’t hurt, but the meaning behind the motion was clear. He wanted me to pay attention.
“Me fadder is not a ‘supporter.’ Me fadder is IRA. He makes t’ings happen. T’ings ye’ll never know about unless ye see dem in de newspaper.”
The realization came in small increments as he stared into my eyes, until all at once I realized why Peg had lost it in the kitchen.
“You’re IRA,” I whispered in horror. “You’re doing those things.”
“Until de day dey put me into de ground,” he confirmed with a slight nod.
Chapter 27
Amy
I stared at Patrick for a long time, cataloguing the freckles and the scruff of his five o’clock shadow and the blue eyes that saw everything. All things that I’d fallen in love with, and all things that didn’t mean a single thing when it came down to real life.
Real life was hard. It wasn’t only the actions that you followed through with, but also the ones you didn’t. Real life was finding a small glimmer of hope when the world seemed to be falling around you. Real life was bills and housing and food on the table. Real life was knowing that the person you love and crave beyond all others had gotten himself into a situation there was no way out of, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.
“Lie wit’ me,” Patrick said quietly, pushing me off his lap.
We were silent as we undressed each other slowly, leaving on nothing but our underwear before climbing into bed. His hands were gentle as they pulled me against him and dragged the blankets up to our shoulders.
“What are we going to do?” I asked quietly after a few minutes.
“Continue on as we have been,” he answered, rubbing his thumb over my anchor tattoo.
“Are you going to finish school?”
He didn’t reply right away, and I slid my cheek against his body until my chin rested on his sternum. His eyes were sad as they met mine.
“I’ve already quit.”
“Why didn’t you tell them no?” I asked in frustration. He’d been so proud to be almost finished with school. He’d worked so hard for it, and then suddenly, all that work had been for nothing.
“Dese aren’t men ye say no to,” he replied calmly.
“But they left you alone before—”
“Dey must have been waitin’ for de right moment.”
“Let’s just leave. We’ll go to the US.”
“Wit’ what money? Dis is our life, Amy. Dis is our home.”
“But what if—” His head jerked hard to the side, cutting off my words. That subject was closed.
“Are you going to get in trouble?”
