The Celtic Riddle

I tried to move my lips. It was a slow and painstaking process. "I," I said, slowly and as distinctly as I could. They all leaned forward.

"Love," I said. Their eyes widened.

"Ou," I concluded, trying to take all of them in one glance. There was something about the Y sound I couldn't manage.

"Even ou, dive," I said slowly. He hugged Moira and planted a sloppy kiss on my cheek.

"Brilliant!" Rob said, smiling down at me.

My next trip to Ireland was some months later, to testify at Charles McCafferty's trial. I was not there long, the trip cut short by an incident that still plays across the back of my eyelids from time to time, or drags me from my sleep, gasping and tearing at the bedclothes. On the first day of the trial Charles had looked relaxed and confident, as if certain his charm would carry the day. And you know, it might have. On the second, as he was being lead to the courtroom from the paddy wagon, his arms shackled behind him, Conail O'Connor stepped from behind a van, raised a rifle, and shot him dead. The trial was a big one, covered by media from all over the country, and the scene was played over and over on television, Charles dying in slow motion time and time again.

In my mind, he saw his killer, although I can't be sure he did. I think he probably viewed his own death with the same detached equanimity he had his life. On the other hand, I'm not sure how I feel about all this. While I consider him more sinning than sinned against, particularly where Michael Davis is concerned, I feel the occasional small tug of compassion when I think of Charles. I can only hope the Byrne/Mac Roth blood feud died with him.

On a happier note, Byrne Enterprises is making its way back, led by a triumvirate: the three Byrne sisters. The family is planning to donate the silver reliquary to a museum, as soon as they have enough income to qualify for the tax receipt, and will use the savings this allows them over the next few years to expand the business. It's going to be a long road back, but somehow I know they're going to do it. I like the idea of Byrne Enterprises being run by the triple goddess of the Tua-tha de Danaan-Eriu, Fotla, and Banba. How can they fail with all that magic on their side?

Sean McHugh is running one of the businesses again, as vice president of something or other, reporting to his wife and sisters-in-law, but Fionuala and Conail have permanently called it quits. Conail apparently thought that if he revenged the family on Charles, his wife would stand by her man. He was wrong. Last I heard, Fionuala, not one to be wasting time visiting her ex-husband in prison, had set her sights on Ryan McGlynn. One can only hope, for her sake, that the resemblance between Tweedledum and Tweedledee goes only skin deep.

Second Chance has been sold. Margaret has made her way back to Connemara, and, much to my surprise, has actually written me to inquire about my health. The others have stayed in the Dingle: Eithne and Sean have a small house in town and Breeta is living quite happily in Rose Cottage with Paddy Gilhooly and their lovely baby girl. They've named her Rose. I found an absolutely wonderful antique bed for the little darling, and shipped it over. Alex has refused to charge them any rent, so Breeta and Paddy are gradually fixing the place up for him, including putting in electricity and a new lane from the main road. Alex says that someday, a long time from now, he plans to retire there. Vigs, I gather, stays with the cottage.

Jennifer Luczka is off to university. She's doing well at her classes. She also has a new boyfriend. She's bringing him home to meet us at Thanksgiving. Rob is steeling himself for the ordeal.

It is taking me considerably longer than I thought it should to get well again after the operation, the perils of being in your forties, I suppose. As Rob keeps telling me, middle age isn't for wimps. The doctors have told me to take it one day at a time, which I've tried to do, impatient though I usually am. I do feel reasonably well, at last, and am grateful to be alive.

Moira has decided that my life would be much better if there was a man in it, a view I'm not sure I share, and she has set her sights on Rob as my next partner. All I can say about this is that if Rob and I continue our current glacial progress toward a more intimate relationship, by the time we actually get there, we'll only be capable of chaste kisses before we pass each other the glue for our dentures. In the meantime, however, I'm not much interested in anybody else.

Moira has also decided, in an indirect way, some other things about my future. Greenhalgh McClin-toch is gone, but McClintoch Swain is back in business. Sarah Greenhalgh, who didn't find retail nearly as exciting as she thought it would be most of the time, and way too exciting the rest of the time, asked me if I'd care to buy her out. The decision for Clive and me to reunite, in a business sense only, came at a three-way conference at my kitchen counter.