The Source

Page 7

“No, listen,” Peter said, reaching out for me. “It’s not as crazy as it sounds. There aren’t many people building around here these days, especially not people who are willing to take a chance on the new guy. Tucker may be a jerk, but he has money, and he has projects. Please support me in this. Please.”
The thought of Emmet watching us made me capitulate more quickly than I probably would have otherwise. “All right. I will tentatively support this. But I am not convinced it’s a good idea. For now, just get me out of here.” I went to the truck and let him open the door.
“Where to?”
“It doesn’t matter. Anywhere but here.”
FOUR
“You said ‘anywhere,’?” Peter said as he turned off the truck’s ignition. “Besides, Mom has been dying to see you.” I looked up at the Irish flag that jutted proudly out toward the river. It stood as Magh Meall’s sole sign, but that didn’t matter. The tavern’s honeyed dark-wheat microbrew and the small stage where local talent performed made Peter’s parents’ bar popular with both tourists and the local crowd. During the tourist season, the fire marshal himself would often pass out traveler cups to help ensure that the maximum-capacity law was being honored.
I was still in a mood over the whole Tucker bombshell, not to mention everything that had come before it. Compared to the rest of my morning, Peter’s association with Tucker was nothing more than a minor irritation. Tucker knew how to make money, and I was sure he wanted his private parts to remain exactly where they were. I wasn’t pleased, but it probably wouldn’t be a total disaster in the end. I felt my shoulders relaxing. “Fine,” I said. “But your mama had better not spend the entire visit talking to my stomach like she did last time.”
Peter was fool enough to laugh, but he thought better of it and held up his hands, palms facing forward. “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning in cautiously to kiss me. “I talked to her about that. She is just so thrilled about the baby.”
“Well, in about five months she can spend all day making baby talk to Colin, but until then . . .”
“Gotcha.” Peter hopped out of the truck and came around to open my door and help me down, an unnecessary but still appreciated gesture. He closed my door for me and took my arm.
“The only reason you’re being such a gentleman is because you’re afraid your mother is watching.”
“Damned straight,” he said, patting my arm as he led me to the tavern’s door. I laughed in spite of myself. I went up on my toes and kissed him.
No sooner had we stepped over the threshold than his mother descended upon us. “Mercy! My beautiful girl! It’s so good to see you.” She forced herself to look me directly in the eyes rather than immediately going for my midsection.
“Oh, go ahead,” I said, and she rushed forward and placed both hands over my stomach.
“And you too, my little Colin. Grandma loves you, little one.”
“Okay, Mom. That’s enough,” Peter said. His eyes glowed with happiness, and my heart leapt a little at the sight. I did love him. And I loved the child I was carrying.
“You take a seat,” she said to me. “And you take a hike,” she said, addressing Peter. “I need a little ‘girls only’ time with your intended here.”
Peter looked at me, the question about whether he should leave written across his face like a billboard. “It’s okay,” I said.
“You take it easy,” Peter said to his mom.
“Go on, get out of here,” she responded. Her tone was playful, but the command behind it was clear.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” he reassured me, and headed out the door.
Mrs. Tierney followed him, locking the door behind him. “Make sure we have a little privacy,” she said. “I’ll fetch us some tea.”
I didn’t really want tea, but I figured the cup would give me something to do with my hands. I dearly loved Peter’s mother. I had known her practically forever, but she still made me a bit nervous. She had very clear ideas about what was proper and what was improper, and she enforced those ideas with an iron fist. Maybe she had developed the trait from dealing with so many drunk patrons over the years, but I always found it a bit disconcerting. “Thank you,” I responded.
She returned in a few minutes with a pot of tea and two heavy mugs. The smell of mint turned my stomach a little, but I decided not to say anything. She too remained silent as she poured, but her eyes stayed fixed on me. She pushed a mug my way, and I clutched at it, grateful for the comfort of the warmth in my hands.
After a few moments, she took a sip and then placed her cup back on the table. “So, my girl. There have been many changes in your life recently.” Boy did she ever have that one right. I said nothing, just bobbed my head once in agreement. “Any word from your sister? How is she enjoying California?”
We had spun a fiction around my sister’s disappearance. According to the story, after breaking up with Jackson, Maisie had decided to see what life was like on the other coast. Even Peter didn’t know the truth. I reflected on the family confab that Iris, Ellen, Oliver, and I had held. We’d agreed to keep Peter innocent of the truth for his own protection. I wondered if they might have even conducted a similar meeting some twenty years ago, pledging to protect me from the truth that my mother was still alive. “She’s fine,” I responded. “Trying to decide whether she wants to settle near San Francisco or maybe down by Los Angeles.”
“Well, it’s a little odd that we finally get your uncle back from California only to turn around and lose your sister to the same state.”
“Savannah’s city charter only allows so many Taylors at a time,” I joked.
Her lips turned up in a near smile. “Well, you aren’t going to be a Taylor much longer, are you? You’re going to be one of us. A Tierney.”
I squirmed a little. Aunt Iris and Peter’s mom had been openly colluding to pressure me and Peter to marry. They wanted the baby to be born into a married family, but the thought of organizing a wedding on top of everything else was overwhelming. “Mrs. Tierney . . .” I started.
“You don’t have to call me Mrs. Tierney anymore. You’re a full-grown woman, not a twelve-year-old girl. You don’t have to call me ‘Mom,’ but I do wish you would call me by my given name.” My own mother’s face rose to mind as she said the word Mom. Would she be there for the birth of my son? I ached to see her again. I felt certain that if I could just convince her to come home and meet with my aunts, we’d be able to sort things out. Get to the bottom of whatever Ginny had done to trick or coerce them into going along with her twisted scheme.
I pushed the thoughts of my mother aside and focused on the current awkward moment. “All right, Claire,” I said, tentatively trying the name out. It felt odd, but I committed myself to it.
“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“No, it’s just that I . . .”
“It’s just that you don’t want your future mother-in-law sticking her nose into your wedding plans. I get it. Don’t worry. I don’t care where you hold the wedding. I don’t care who officiates. I don’t care about the dress, the flowers, or the cake. I only care that it happens soon. Your pregnancy will start to show before long.”