there were tears. But there was music, laughter, children playing inside and out. There was food and whiskey and wine.
Rosemary, her hair as white now as the snow that laced the tops of the Santa Lucias, embraced the day as she settled—a bit weary, truth be told—in front of the soaring stone fireplace in what they called the gathering room. There she could watch the children—their young bones laughing at winter’s bite—and the sea beyond.
She took her son’s hand when Hugh sat beside her. “Will you think I’m a crazy old woman if I tell you I can still feel him, as if he’s right beside me?”
As her husband’s had, her voice carried the lilt of her home.
“How can I, when I feel it, too?”
She turned to him, her white hair cut short for style and ease, her eyes vivid green and full of humor. “Your sister would say we’re both crazy. How did I ever produce such a practical-minded child as Maureen?”
She took the tea he offered her, winged up an eyebrow. “Is there whiskey in it?”
“I know my ma.”
“That you do, my boy, but you don’t know all.”
She sipped her tea, sighed. Then studied her son’s face. So like his father’s, she thought. The damnably handsome Irish. Her boy, her baby, had silver liberally streaked through his hair, and eyes that still beamed the bluest of blues.
“I know how you grieved when you lost your Livvy. So sudden, so cruel. I see her in our Caitlyn, and in more than the looks. I see it in her light, the joy and fierceness of her. I’m sounding crazy again.”
“No. I see the same. I hear her laugh, and hear Livvy laugh. She’s a treasure to me.”
“I know it, and to me as she was to your da. I’m glad, Hugh, you found Lily and, after those long years alone, found happiness. A good mother to her own children, and a loving grandmother to our Cate these past four years.”
“She is.”
“Knowing that, knowing our Maureen’s happy, her children and theirs doing well, I’ve made a decision.”
“About what?”
“The rest of my time. I love this house,” she murmured. “The land here. I know it all in every light, in every season, in every mood. You know we didn’t sell the house in L.A. mostly for sentiment, and the convenience of having it if either of us worked there for any stretch of time.”
“Do you want to sell it now?”
“I think no. The memories there are dear as well. You know we have the place in New York and that I’m giving it to Maureen. I want to know if you’d want the house in L.A. or this one. I want to know because I’m going to Ireland.”
“To visit?”
“To live. Wait,” she said before he could speak. “I may have been reared in Boston from my tenth year, but I still have family there, and roots. And the family your father brought me is there as well.”
He laid a hand over hers, lifted his chin to the big window, and the children, the family outside. “You have family here.”
“I do. Here, New York, Boston, Clare, Mayo, and, bless us, London now as well. God, but we’re far-flung, aren’t we, my darling?”
“It seems we are.”
“I hope all of them come to visit me. But Ireland’s where I want to be now. In the quiet and the green.”
She gave him a smile, with a twinkle in her eyes. “An old widow woman, baking brown bread and knitting shawls.”
“You don’t know how to bake bread or knit anything.”
“Hah.” Now she slapped his hand. “I can learn, can’t I now, even at my advanced age. I know you have your home with Lily, but it’s time for me to give back, we’ll say. God knows how Liam and I ever made so much money doing what we did for the love of it.”
“Talent.” Then he tapped a finger gently to her head. “Smarts.”
“Well, we had both. And now I want to shed some of what we reaped. I want that lovely cottage we bought in Mayo. So which is it for you, Hugh? Beverly Hills or Big Sur?”
“Here. This.” When she smiled, he shook his head. “You knew before you asked.”
“I know my boy even better than he knows his ma. That’s settled then. It’s yours. And I trust you to tend to it.”
“You know I will, but—”
“None of that. My mind’s made up. I damn well expect I’ll have a place to lay my head