When You Grow Up
By KNS
Disclaimer: Still not mine. Recognizable characters belong to their legal owners.
Come back when you grow up, girl
You're still living in a paper doll world
Livin' ain't easy
Lovin's twice as tough
So come back, baby
When you grow up
~ Bobby Vee, When You Grow Up
"I just don't think this 'Vaughn' character has your best interest at heart," Fiona insisted.
Michael tried not to wince as Fi wove in and out of traffic. She was never one to heed speed limits, but when she was making a point, she emphasized it with speed. Which was why he tried to avoid meaningful conversations while she was driving.
It was another sunny day in Miami – hot and humid, with a cloudless blue sky almost the same color as the ocean. The road curved along the coast, and while the sprawling city lay to the left, surf and sand sprawled to the right.
"Look at those waves," he said, trying to distract her. "Could be a great day at the beach."
Fi swerved around another car, then dodged back into her lane without an instant of hesitation. "Stop trying to change the subject. You never want to go to the beach."
He quickly tried to think of another way to distract her – talking about their relationship was worse than talking about Vaughn. When her phone rang, he almost cheered.
"Hello?" Fi suddenly looked into the rear view mirror. "Who is this?"
Using the side mirror, Michael checked the cars behind them. None of them seemed overly suspicious – none of them seemed willing or able to even catch up.
"Just – wait a minute." Abruptly Fi turned, sliding into a parking lot beside a park. Pedestrians scattered, some of them cursing or making obscene gestures at them.
Michael made himself smile and wave back.
"What did I just say?" Fi demanded of the person on the phone. "Wait a damn minute." She all but threw herself out of the car, slamming the door behind her. She walked through the grass towards the beach, her voice quickly drowned out by the traffic and surf.
He knew better than to follow her. She could be yelling at anyone. She would come back eventually – she had left the keys in the ignition and her purse behind the seat. He leaned back the seat and thought about taking a nap. At least Fi had parked in the shade of a tall palm tree.
He was just starting to really relax when she came back, silent and angry. She threw her phone in the back seat, harshly turned over the engine and slammed the gears into reverse.
"Something wrong?" Michael asked casually. He checked to make sure his seatbelt was still fastened.
Fiona whipped into traffic and made a u-turn. "Wrong? Why would anything be wrong?" She cut in front of an off-duty ambulance.
"Just a guess."
"Nothing's wrong," she said in a forced-cheerful voice. "We just have to go to the airport for a pickup."
He debated about asking, but when she zipped past a sportscar doing twice the legal limit, he figured he might as well ask. "Any what are we picking up?"
She smiled at him: her scary smile, not her nice smile. "We're going to pick up Katey. My niece."
Thanks to the events of 9-11, no passenger flying into a public American airport would ever be greeted at the gate by friends or family. Those waiting for their arrivals could meet them at the security checkpoint – which were almost always conveniently located next to tourist shops and fast food restaurants.
Fiona chose the largest, gaudiest shop that was located closest to the security checkpoint. Michael absently browsed the sunglasses while watching Fi out of the corner of his eye. Pink flip-flops, shorts, a tee-shirt with the words "Miami Girl" scrolled across the front – she was putting together a collection fit for a tourist beachcomber, all in a young girl's size.
"Those are really bright shoes," he said, coming to stand beside her while she fingered cheap shell jewelry. "Tell me again while your niece is coming for a visit?"
Fi settled on a pink shell necklace and moved towards the cash register. "I told you – family reasons." Her tone did not invite further questions.
Michael glanced at his watch. They'd been in the airport for almost an hour – would alarms be going off somewhere, alerting government officials that he was walking dangerously close to forbidden ground? Vaughn hadn't said anything that led him to believe his quarantine was lifted. "Her flight should land any minute."
"Does it look like I'm waisting time?" Fi snapped, handing the clerk cash.
The young man behind the counter gave Michael a concerned look as he took the payment and handed Fi back the change. "Have a nice day."
They wove through the airport occupants: uniformed flight crew, businessmen talking on cellphones, families traveling with noisy children pulling wheeled suitcases. Fi moved past them the same way she drove through traffic: fast, careless, darting around anything that got in her way. Michael let her go, and caught up to her when she sat down in a waiting area near the checkpoint. Back to the wall, close to the aisle, clear views in all directions – she chose seats with almost the same paranoia that he did. He smiled, looking up at the camera overhead.
"Katey is my brother Matthew's oldest," Fiona said abruptly. "You remember him, don't you?"
It was a loaded question, as so many of her questions were. Michael thought quickly about his answer. She had five brothers, and it had been more than a few years since he'd seen any of them. "Your older brother. Sure."
Fi snorted but smiled. "Lucky guess. Matthew's the oldest. He married Rose and had Katey thirteen years ago. I haven't seen her since I left Ireland. I doubt she'll even remember me." She sounded somewhere between wistful and sad.
Michael looked at the stream of passengers suddenly crossing through the security checkpoint. "Is that her?"
There was a young girl looking lost off to the side of the crowd. She was a teenager, maybe, reed thin, with pale skin and red hair braided down her back. She wore jeans and a purple sweater, a blue backpack slung over one shoulder.
"Yeah, that's her." Fi was up and moving with remarkable speed. This time Michael kept pace.
"Hello, Katey. Welcome to Miami," Fi greeted her. Her voice was odd – Michael had a hard time recognizing the emotions behind it.
The girl turned with a start, her very blue eyes wide with surprise. "Aunt Fi?" she asked, and Irish accent heavy in her voice. She looked at Fiona and blurted, "You aren't wearing – I can see through your shirt!"
And right then Michael knew this entire adventure was going to be a lot of fun. For him. He had to turn his head to keep from laughing.
Fi looked down at her silver satin tank top, then quickly turned her eyes back to the girl. "When in Rome – " she began, then stopped. "Come on, let's get you out of here."
Katey looked at Michael. "Are you aunt Fi's sweetheart? I've never met an American spy before."
How was he supposed to answer that? "And you still haven't. I'm Michael," he said, offering his hand. "It's nice to meet you."
Katey awkwardly shook hands. "You, too, Michael," she said, smiling.
Michael blinked, surprised. When she smiled, the girl bore a striking resemblance to Fiona – a younger, more innocent Fiona. A Fiona who had never made a bomb or fired a gun or threatened the life of a stranger.
"You can get acquainted later," Fi said, propelling Katey away from security and towards the nearest restroom.
"Why don't you talk like an Irishwoman anymore?" Katey asked as she was pulled along.
And then Michael did laugh. Fiona glared at him over her shoulder.
Lots and lots of fun.
"But why do I have to wear these clothes?" Katey said for the third time, her Irish voice dangerously close to a whine. "Why did you make me get rid of me things?"
Fiona glanced into her rear view mirror. "It's for your own good, I already told you."
At least with Katey in the car Fiona drove with more caution – she was still going way over the speed limit, but at least she wasn't weaving through traffic.
"Can I at least have me phone back?" the girl in the backseat asked.
"After I get it fixed." Fiona looked at him, eyes hidden behind large sunglasses, but the meaning was clear in her voice. "We're going to drop Michael off and then we're going home to talk about some things."
"My car's at your house," he reminded her quietly. She must be very, very upset to be forgetting such little details.
Katey looked out at the beach and water, the palm trees and the sunbathers. "Can we go to the beach?"
"Later," Fiona agreed. "I like the beach, too." She gave Michael a pointed glance. "I don't go as often as I'd like."
He wisely remained silent.
His mother called just as they were pulling into the driveway. Reluctantly he took the call while Fi took Katey inside. When he went inside a few minutes later, Fi was standing in the kitchen, sipping a half glass of red wine, looking out a window.
"Where's Katey?" he asked, coming to stand beside her.
"Asleep in the bedroom. She's exhausted." Fi turned away from the window, used her glass to gesture at the wine bottle on the counter. "Want a glass?"
He shook his head. "Why's she here, Fi? Is it really just for a vacation?"
She shook her head. "No." For a moment she looked away, and he wondered if she was putting together a few convincing lies to make one believable story. She could do that if she wanted to, and even if he could tell she was lying, he might not be able to tell which parts were true. Then she looked back at him and met his eyes, and he was reassured that she was planning to tell him the truth. Mostly.
"You know what my brothers and I did back in the day," she said flatly. "You know I'm not ashamed of it, not one day, not yesterday or today or tomorrow. But – not everyone feels that way. When my brother, Matthew, met his wife, Rose, she knew what he did. And she refused to marry him unless he stopped for good. So he did."
Michael waited.
"I don't know what happened," she told him angrily, as if he'd asked. "Matthew – he got some information, had to do something with it. He set a car bomb, but it didn't get the target. It killed two children of a very, very wealthy man."
"And now it's time for payback," Michael guessed. He took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. "I'm guessing you brother's taking care of things on his end while Katey's here with you."
Fi poured herself more wine. "I'll dye her hair, tan her on the beach, get her a new wardrobe. The accent will be more difficult."
"She's a talker," he agreed. "Do you need anything from he?"
"Just keep your ear to the ground," Fi answered. "My brothers should be able to handle this quickly. But still. . ." She smiled at him over her glass – her sly smile, not her scary smile. "How do you feel about babysitting?"
Michael studied his vibrating phone, debating whether or not to answer it.
"That Maddie?" Sam asked, watching a beautiful woman in a green dress walk by. He sipped his drink and waved at her.
The Carlito was busy, almost all of the tables filled with people having Sunday brunch. The sound of voices mixed with Latin jazz and filled the air with a dull thrum.
Michael covered his other ear with a hand before answering the phone. "Hi, Mom."
"Michael, I need you to do something," Madeline said without preamble. "Fi asked if I would pick up Katey from church, and I told her sure. But I don't think I should drive with my sore ankle, so will you do it?"
Michael looked up at the ceiling. "Which church?"
"The Catholic one with the big, stained glass windows. It's on the corner, like a block from her house. You know the one." He could hear her exhaling over the phone line.
"Yeah, Mom. Sam and I will head over now."
"Sam's going?" Madeline asked. "Well, you remind him that Katey's a young girl who doesn't need to be exposed to foul language."
"I'll remind him." Michael snapped the phone shut and looked at Sam. "Want to go to church?"
Sam turned to smile at the girl in the backseat. "So, how do you like Miami?"
"I love it," Katey said brightly. "I have this awful sunburn from going to the beach, but I love how warm it is. And Aunt Fi let me dye me hair blond, and me Da never let me do that and I asked like, a hundred times. I hope I get to stay for a long time." She paused for a minute, then added, "But I do miss home."
Sam nodded. "This your first time in America?"
"Aye. And I love it. But I love home more," Katey said. She turned to look at Michael. "Da says you're the reason Aunt Fi can't come home. If she's your sweetheart, why don't you be nice to her and let her go?"
Michael didn't know what to say. How could he explain Fiona's complicated exile?
"Oh, Fi doesn't want to go anywhere right now," Sam supplied easily. "I bet if your Dad came for a visit, he'd want to stay, too. Say, Katey, do you know what you want to be when you grow up?" he deftly steered her to a safer topic.
Katey shrugged. "I'm going to university, maybe to learn to be a veterinarian. I like animals, all kinds, big and small." Again she looked at Michael. "Why doesn't Aunt Fi have a pet? Da says she liked animals plenty when she was young, and everyone here has a dog or cat. Why not her?"
Her questions were going to drive him crazy. He'd endured less intense interrogations by trained operatives. It didn't make it any better that anything he said would end up repeated to Fi. "She's really busy with her work," he dodged.
"What exactly is her work?" Katey asked. "She said she does 'commodities exchange', but I don't know what that means. And who has a job where you get phone calls during Mass?"
Sam laughed. Then he saw the expression on Michael's face, and laughed harder.
Michael had planned to drop Katey at his mother's house and quickly leave.
"But I ordered take-out," Madeline protested. "Can't you stay for lunch?"
"I can," Sam volunteered, going to the refrigerator for a beer. "Anybody else want one?"
So they ended up staying for lunch, then played a game of Monopoly, where Sam bought all the utilities and Madeline built a village on Park Place. But as the afternoon wore on, Michael began to wonder why Fiona hadn't shown up.
"Did Fi say when she'd be here?" he asked.
Madeline shrugged. "She said a deal was taking a little longer than she expected. Hit some snags or something."
Michael tried to call her several times. This is Fi. Leave a message.
"Fi, call me when you get this." It wasn't like her not to call or show up. And since Katey had arrived, she hardly ever left her alone.
But his phone rang just a few minutes later. "Yeah, Fi. Katey's still over here with Mom. What's going on?"
"I'm not sure," Fiona answered, her voice muffled. "I think – I think Matthew's problem might have made it to Miami. I may have run into them."
"Are you okay? Where are you?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine," she said quickly. "But Katey – Michel, get her out of Madeline's house. Take her to your place. I'll meet you there."
"I'll have Sam take her," Michael said. "Tell me where you are and I'll come back you up."
"No," she snapped. "I'm fine. Take care of Katey, please, Michael. It's important."
"Alright. See you at the loft." He clicked closed the phone and went to get Katey.
She was in a back bedroom with his mom, looking through old photo albums. "Your husband has a drink in his hand almost always," Katey said quietly.
Madeline let out a long puff of smoke. "Yeah, he does. He liked his drinks. Sometimes too much."
"I know," the girl said, looking at Madeline seriously. "Da does, too. He tells stories after he's been drinking, but the stories make him sad. Sometimes he gets so sad, he yells at Mum."
"Does he ever get mad at you?" Madeline asked gently.
"Sometimes. Not very often. He calls me Claire. But one time, he got so angry, he smacked me right 'cross the face." She looked up at Madeline, and the lamp light shone brightly in her eyes. "Then Mum got angry. She said I had to come visit Aunt Fi, and she took Aaron and went away."
Madeline rubbed the girl's back with the hand not holding a cigarette. "That's okay, honey. These things happen, sometimes. It doesn't mean they both don't love you."
Michael shook his head. How often had he heard that line during his childhood? He rounded the doorway. "Katey, we have to go."
"Alright." The girl closed the photo album and stood up. "Mrs. Weston, why is your name Weston but Michael is Michael McBride?"
This girl was going to grow up to be either a journalist or an interrogator. And if she managed to keep her wide, innocent eyes, she would be absolutely deadly.
Michael started to stumble through a response when he hard Sam's phone ring in the other room. He ducked back around the corner and looked a question at his friend.
Sam shook his head. "Uh, okay. Yeah, alright. Give me ten minutes." He hung up, then looked at Michael. "Fi wants me to come pick her up. And bring a few guns."
"What's wrong with Aunt Fi?" Katey asked, coming to stand beside Michael. "Is she in trouble?"
"No," both men said in unison.
Katey rolled her eyes. "Da says Aunt Fi's always in trouble. What kind now?"
"The kind where you go with Sam to my place, and I go pick up your aunt," Michael said.
"Oh, she's drunk," Katey guessed. "Okay, let's go."
Sam and Michal exchanged glances over her head. Madeline saw them and said, "Be good now. Don't do anything sketchy."
Michael pulled into the parking lot and waited. The one functioning street light flickered doubtfully, making extra shadows in an already dark area. Empty warehouses with broken windows. . . He only saw Fi and instant before she opened the passenger door. She had a black eye, split lip, and bloody gash on her right thigh.
"Jesus, Fi – what the hell happened?"
Fiona glared at him. "I asked Sam to come. Why aren't you with Katey? Can we go already?"
Michael gritted his teeth, but turned over the engine and pulled out of the lot. "Will you at least tell me if you need a doctor?"
"Of course I don't," she snarled. "I just need a minute to think." She was hugging the far edge of the seat, putting as much space between them as possible.
"What's going on, Fi?" he asked calmly, almost afraid to know the answer.
She shook her head. "I. . The deal went fine. I was on my way out when I was jumped by three men. Three! And the worst part was that they were Brits. God, it was like being back in the IRA all over again."
"But you got away," Michael said, trying to be supportive.
She snapped back, "Did you hear what I said? British, Michael. They were Brits. They're here for Katey. It's barely been a week. I don't know how they found her so fast."
Michael tapped his thumb against the steering wheel. "Did you give Katey her phone back yet?"
"No. I ditched it, figured I'd just get her a new one later." She looked at him. "You think she used mine?"
"Makes sense. Your brother's line has to have been tapped. If she called home. . ." He hated to see her face so damaged, and he could smell the blood from her leg. "I have stuff at the loft to patch you up. Painkillers, too."
"Did I leave any cosmetics at your place? Maybe a change of clothes?" she asked. "I don't want Katey to see me like this."
She was starting to sound odd. He wondered how hard she'd been hit on the head, how much blood she'd lost. It wouldn't take long to reach the club, but after awhile, she kept asking if he'd brought her a gun. She asked until he took the handgun from under the driver's seat and handed it to her. "It's loaded," he warned.
She set it in her lap, cradled in her hands. "Thank you." And then she became very quiet.
"Fi? Fi, still with me?"
He drove faster.
Fiona jostled awake when he pulled into the lot beside the loft. "Where's Katey?"
"Upstairs with Sam." Michael quickly got out, circled the car and opened the passenger door. The white upholstery was dark on the area under her leg. "Dammit. Dammit, Fi. Come on." He took the gun away from her, tossed it onto the driver's seat, and put her arm around his neck.
"Mike," Same called down from the loft's doorway. "You need help?"
"I got it. Fi, a little help."
But she pushed him away, pulled back her arm. "Bring the stuff down here. I'll take your clothes, it's okay, just a tee-shirt and boxers. Don't leave Katey. Please, please Michael."
"She's asleep," Sam said, coming to stand beside Michael. "Whoa, Mike – that's a lot of blood from a little person."
"I can see that. Help me get her upstairs." The two men caught her up and out of the car, which roused her enough to snarl at them both and take herself up the stairs, limping all the way.
As Sam had said, Katey was fast asleep, curled into a ball at the corner of the bed. Fiona slouched down onto the far corner, eyes closed. "Gimme the trash can. I'm going to be sick."
Michael was sitting in the chair he had pulled between the door and the bed. He awoke with a start, frozen in place, not knowing what small sound had awakened him. The door was still closed. It was still dark. He could hear a soft, steady rain falling on the roof. Then he realized what had pulled him from sleep: Fiona was standing at the kitchen sink, her back to him, looking out the window.
He started to stand up, but she turned towards him so quickly that he saw a flash of light across metal, and he again froze. "It's me, just me," he said quickly, quietly.
She lowered the gun slowly. Even in the darkness, he could see her hand shaking. "Sorry," she said, turning back to the window.
He checked on Katey as he crossed the room. When she was awake, she was almost annoying with her questions and constant activity, but sleeping, she was just a child, a rather small little girl with freckles and long eyelashes.
"She looks just like Claire, when she's sleeping," Fi said softly, still looking out the window.
He knew better than to ask questions. He went to stand beside her, his face turned towards the window, but his attention on her.
"My damn brother," she muttered, her Irish accent heavy in her voice. "When Claire – was killed – it changed all of us. I was – someone else. Me Da said I wasn't crazy before then. But I don't think any of us were. Until then." Her words were slurred with pain or painkillers or both.
How long had she slept? Maybe four hours, maybe five? "You should really lay down."
"Da said I was the crazy one. But Matthew – he was the dangerous one. Always." She was more talking to herself than him. The pale light coming through the window settled into her wide, wide eyes, and gave nothing back but shadows. "Damn him for doing this, dragging her into a fight that wasn't meant to be hers." She swayed a little, turned her head to look at him. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. We promised. After Claire, we promised – not our children. If you can't keep them out of the fight, then don't bring them into the world. Things were going to be different. Better."
He wanted to say something comforting, but he felt anything he said would be a lie. And she would know – every day she became better and better at spotting his lies.
He'd seen generations of wars all over the world. Even when adults changed, wanted peace for their children, it seldom happened. When violence became entrenched in a culture, it became as natural as the language. Sometimes enough people wanted peace that they managed to secure it for their offspring. But just sometimes. Not very often.
"Sam's going to ask his realtor friend for a place to lay low for awhile, until we can get the situation under control," he offered. "We'll keep her safe."
She turned back to the window, looked through it and beyond, and there was a bleakness on her face. "Maybe for now." But she sounded doubtful about even that.
Words being no comfort, he reached out to brush her hair off her forehead. She turned her head away from him, unwilling to be comforted.
A memory flashed suddenly into his mind. Some years ago, in some South American country, on some night when he had been on some mission – those details weren't important. What he remembered was the humidity of a jungle at night, the sounds and smells of trees and earth and calls of animals in the darkness. There was a small river, narrow with slow moving waters, and old trees with branches that hung low over the waters. The moon had been bright, reflecting off the river as if it was a liquid mirror. Something – he couldn't remember what – had made him look up into those low branches across the river.
A jaguar sat lazily on a branch, watching him. It's spots made it seem hardly more than a shaped shadow, except for its golden, unblinking eyes.
What he remembered most: the instant rush of emotions in the second their eyes met. For all his travels, he had never seen a creature like this, a free predator cautious but confident, afraid of nothing, not even a human with a weapon. He felt afraid and awed and wary and enthralled. And when the great cat had stood, turned from the light and disappeared into the shadows, he had felt such loss that he nearly called out to it. Wait – wait, come back, don't go.
Why did that memory, those feelings, come back to him now as he stood beside Fi? He was right there next to her, but it felt like she was dipping into shadows, already halfway gone.
Wait – wait.
But maybe it was just his imagination. When he pulled her closer, she didn't resist. She laid her cheek against his shoulder as she had so often before.
He couldn't shake the feeling that he was holding onto shadows.
When he came out of the shower, Fi was gone. He knew that because Sam told him.
"She wanted to go pick up a few things," Sam said. Katey was sitting at the bench dangling her legs as she sat on the solitary barstool. Sam handed her a yogurt and spoon, and filled a glass with iced tea. "Dig in, sister." He glanced at Michael. "Fi took the Charger. Said she'd be back soon."
And that could mean anything. Fiona's concept of time wasn't always consistent.
"I had the weirdest dream last night," Katey told Michael when he came to stand beside her. "It was about these people who got lost in a jungle, but then a huge snake came to save them, but it got in a fight with a lioness, so no one got out of the jungle."
The men just looked at her.
She quickly swallowed a spoonful of yogurt and added, "It was a really, really big lioness. And I don't think it really wanted to help them, the people, but it had to, or the people wouldn't go away." she looked at Sam. "Can I have sugar in the tea? Aunt Fi lets me."
"Your Aunt Fi doesn't even keep sugar in her house," Sam returned, not unkindly.
Michael knew that was what Fiona claimed, but really, she kept a box of sugar cubes in her wine cabinet, behind the amaretto. "How much does she let you have?" he asked, testing her.
Katey looked at him with her innocent eyes. "Three cubes. Well, maybe two."
He waited.
She laughed at him. "Well, maybe just one, but I swipe an extra one when she isn't looking."
"Good god, you're just like Fi," Sam said, smiling. "I'm not sure this world can handle two of you."
Michael didn't know what to say to that. The ring of his phone saved him from having to try. He went to get it from the chair where he'd kept watch the night before. Caller ID revealed a number he didn't know. "Hello?"
"Dammit, McBride – where's Fiona?" an angry Irishman demanded.
Sam and Michael were discussing options when Fiona returned. They were standing in the shade watching Katey play a skipping-stone game in the dirt behind Sam's car.
Since the time Katey had arrived, Fiona had been dressing conservatively – or, what passed for conservative with her. Now it looked like she had given up the facade: she was in a blue mid-drift tank top and slacks set low on the hips before flaring at the top of the thigh into loose pleats. Interestingly enough, her sandals were simple and flat – odd for a woman who nearly always wore heels.
"Hi, Aunt Fi," Katey greeted her with a smile and a wave of her hand. "I like your shirt."
It wasn't hard for Michael to guess why Fi had gone back to her usual style: not necessarily because she'd lost patience with trying to set a good example for the girl, but more likely because this clothing was a form of camouflage. The low cut and bright color of her shirt distracted the eye from long beige pants and practical shoes. She was hiding her injury, and doing a good job of it. She even managed to walk without a limp, although he imagined that must have cost her both energy and concentration.
"I hope you know you're going to have to have an extra long shower tonight to get all that dirt off," Fiona told Katey. But even though her eyes were hidden behind her large sunglasses, she was smiling, and Katey laughed and stuck her tongue out at her.
"It's fun, getting dirty," Katey returned.
"Smart girl," Sam joked.
Fiona's smile disappeared into a disapproving glare. "Did you get a place for us to law low for awhile?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah. A buddy has a place over on the river. It's been on the market for awhile. The last renters moved out a week ago, so the utilities are still on. He said we could have it for as long as we need it."
"He wasn't curious why we need it?" Michael asked.
"Nah," Sam replied. "I told him an old friend was in town, needed a place to crash. Didn't enjoy lying to him, though – so you owe me for that," he added, looking at Fiona.
She snorted. "That just means you owe me a little less." She lowered her voice. "But I am grateful, for Katey's sake."
"About that," Michael said, heading the conversation in another direction. "Your brother called me right after you left. He's very, very angry at you."
"What the hell for? I'm doing my best here, with no thanks to him."
"Something about not being able to get you on the phone – "
Fiona interrupted, "Well, excuse me for having to ditch my phone because he couldn't handle things on his side of the pond."
"Yeah, about that," Michael tried again. "He was calling to warn you his 'friends' were on their way. And, he's planning to catch the first flight over that he can get."
She looked up at the sky. "All he had to do was shoot the bastards, but he had to go and make things complicated, as usual. . ."
"He does have a family to think about, though, right?" Sam offered. "Sounds like he's doing the best he can."
Michael almost dreaded her response, but she just crossed her arms over her chest and laughed a little, the sound a mixture of bitterness and anger.
"We can deal with that later," Michael said quickly. "Let's just get her to the house, and then we can work out a plan."
They each turned to look at the girl jumping over rocks set in some pattern only she could see. She caught them looking at her and stopped. "What? Do you want in?"
"This is a nice house, but why can't we go back to Aunt Fi's house?" Katey asked for what seemed like the hundredth time.
Michael set her backpack in one of the bedrooms. "I told you – because a water pipe broke and there's no running water on the entire street."
"Stop asking, Katey," Fiona called from the kitchen.
Katey's footsteps echoed down the hallway as she went towards the kitchen. "But how come I couldn't go back to get me stuff?"
Fiona took off her sunglasses and tossed them onto the counter. "Like your cellphone? Oh wait, you don't need that – since you've just been using mine."
Sam brought in a bag of groceries just in time to see Katey's face lose its color.
"I haven't – " the girl began.
Fiona raised a hand in warning. "You know how I know you did? Because last night some not-so-nice people came calling on me, looking for you."
Michael stuck his head around the corner. "Fi, not now. We've got other stuff to do." He went into the small livingroom and closed all the blinds. The house sat on a corner lot, with clear views in all directions. There were only two doors – one in the livingroom, one in the kitchen – but each of the two bedrooms had an air conditioning unit mounted onto an outer wall, which could provide emergency exits. There was a carport, but no garage. If they were careful, it would be possible to make it seem like the house was still unoccupied. Or, they could go in the other direction – make lots of noise, turn on all the lights, park in the driveway – and make it appear like new tenants had moved in. That might be the better option: they could pass as a family, although they'd have to keep anyone from hearing Katey's accent.
"Aunt Fi, I'm sorry," Katey said, following Fiona into the livingroom. "I just wanted to talk to Mum. But she didn't even answer, I promise!"
"It's not your fault," Sam comforted, coming to stand beside her. "You didn't know they could find you through someone else's phone."
Fiona ignored them both, went outside and came back with a long, heavy looking bag. "Don't touch this," she told Katey as she set the bag on the couch. She went back out with Sam to bring in other bags.
"That's a gun, isn't it?" Katey asked Michael, looking at the bag.
Michael turned his gaze away from the window to look at her. He thought about lying, but one look at the girl's face told him she already knew the answer. Silently he nodded.
"They found me," Katey said flatly. "Da said they wouldn't, not in America."
"I bet your dad also said your Aunt Fiona would take care of you," Michael offered gently. "And she will."
The girl swallowed hard and looked at the beige floor tiles. But after a minute she brought her head back up, squared her shoulders, and met his gaze. The sudden set to her small jaw instantly made her look like Fiona.
"I'm not afraid," she said calmly, softly.
"I believe you," Michael replied. And he did – she was too young to know that she should be afraid.
Sam and Fiona came back inside. Sam shut and locked the door behind them. "I moved the cars a few streets over. It's a busy neighborhood, so I doubt they'll be noticed."
Fiona picked up the bag on the couch and took it into a bedroom. Michael noticed she was limping, and the humidity was beginning to undo the makeup she'd used to conceal her black eye. Had Katey noticed?
Possibly. The girl trailed after her aunt. "I can help. Really, I can," she insisted. "Look – I have a scar on me hand from a slide bite when Da taught me how to shoot a gun. And I can take one apart and put it right back together! And I know how to use a riffle with a scope, accounting for the wind and everythin'!"
Fiona stopped dead and turned to face the girl. "You what?" she asked softly, very softly.
Michael knew where this was going. "Fi, set the perimeter," he said, trying to distract her. "How far out can you see through that bedroom window?"
Fiona ignored him. "What did you say?" she asked Katey again.
Sam shook his head and went into the kitchen. He was carrying the bag Michael knew held his vest and at least one or two weapons.
Katey must have taken Fiona's words for approval. She smiled and said, "Da taught me everything, so I could be brave, like you and Aunt Claire."
Fiona was so absolutely silent that Michael went out of the livingroom to see what she was doing. As it turned out, he watched her just limp over to the bed and sit on the corner.
"What stories has your da been telling you?" she asked, her voice still dangerously quiet. "What could you possibly know about Claire?"
Katey went to stand before her. "I know everything. She was a hero who fought for her country, a patriot like you and Da and Uncle Sean, and our grandparents – "
"Patriot? Claire was no patriot," Fiona said, her voice breaking. "She was a child who died because of ignorance and lies."
Michael stood in the bedroom doorway and shook his head, trying to catch Fiona's eye. "You're wrong," Katey said, but her voice held uncertainty. "Da wouldn't lie."
Fiona laughed a little. "What did he tell you – some story about fighting and dying for 'The Cause?' Or did he tell you what's in the official records – a lie that's sad, but not nearly as sad as the truth?"
Katey hesitated. "Claire died so – so we could live free, 'cause there's a difference between just living–"
"– And living free." For a moment Fiona covered her eyes with a hand. "Katey, Katey – there's no such thing as freedom. There's living, and there's dying – but freedom? No. we're all a slave to something." She dropped her hand and looked at the girl. "Claire was living, and then she wasn't, and that's the sum total of the story."
Katey sniffled, and Michael knew she had started to cry. "Why are you lyin'?"
Fiona lashed out and caught Katey's wrist, yanked the girl towards her and snarled something in her ear. Katey's face crumpled and she started to cry in earnest.
"No, Fi, no," Michael said, pulling the girl away. Whatever Fi was saying, the girl didn't need to know.
"And then they dumped her on her own Mum's doorway," Fiona added, getting to her feet. "They didn't even have the decency to put a bullet in her! Does that sound like a patriot? Someone who dies for 'The Cause?'"
Katey was like Fiona in more ways than one. She pushed Michael away, both small hands on his chest, knocking him back a step – a small step, but enough that she could run back to Fi and throw her arms around her.
"Please, please don't be mad at me," Katey cried. "I just wanted to be like you and Claire. Even if she wasn't brave, you are. And Da was so angry with that man – I just wanted him to be proud of me. But he sent me away, and you're mad at me – I just wanted to help!"
Michael and Fiona exchanged glances over Katey's head.
"Katey, what did you do?" Michael asked.
Still clinging to Fi, Katey turned her head just enough to look at him. "Da didn't make the bomb that killed those boys. I did."
Sam briefly looked in on Fiona before he went back to the livingroom. She was sitting at the kitchen table, studying a map, and didn't bother to look up when he passed by.
Michael was staring through the slats of a livingroom window. "We should take shifts. It's a slim chance that Katey's pursuers will be able to find her here, but until we get a long-term plan together, we can't risk it."
"Sounds good." Sam sat down in an oversized chair. "But what kind of long-term plan can we really make here, Mike? This whole thing keeps getting worse and worse. I mean, where the hell are we supposed to go with this? Katey's a sweet little girl with a body count to her name. She's a killer who can't even drive."
Michael closed the blind and paced a few steps away. "I don't know. If these guys sent after her actually do catch her, they'll probably kill her. If there's evidence against her back in Ireland, she;ll probably be locked up for the rest of her life." He stopped at another window, looked into the night. "I think Fi might go on the run with her."
"For how long?" Sam asked. "Forever?"
"I don't know," Michael said again. "Katey's father should be here tomorrow. I imagine he'll have a few ideas."
"Yeah, let's send her back to the guy who showed her how to make bombs," Sam said sarcastically.
Michael laughed a little. "Do you know who taught Fi how to make explosives?"
"Her dad?"
Michael shook his head.
"Uncle? Brother? Fellow IRA friend?"
"My grandmother," Fiona answered, limping into the room. "She learned during World War II. And I was only a few years older when I set my first explosive. The difference is, I was part of an organization with resources. And all my family was part of it. And it was a different time in Ireland. It's different now." She ducked her head. "It's supposed to be different now."
Michael's phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, then handed the phone to Fi. "I think it's for you."
"Hello?" Fiona turned away from the room. "Matthew – Matthew, shut up. I know what's really going on. So before you say another word, just know, that I know." She limped down the hallway into the empty bedroom, and closed the door.
"Glad I don't have to hear that conversation," Sam said, only half joking.
Katey was uncharacteristically quiet in the morning. She sat at the kitchen table and ate her yogurt with eyes cast downwards.
Michael sat down across from her with his own breakfast. "Blueberry – good choice," he told her lightly.
She looked up and smiled faintly before turning her eyes back to the table.
"Are you just not going to talk to me anymore?" he asked.
"I don't know what to say," Katey answered quietly. "I got Aunt Fi hurt. There are Brits chasing me. I – I just wish I could go back, do things different. I just want to go home."
"Well, your dad should be here this evening to take you home," Michael offered.
Katey shrugged. "I want to go back to Ireland. I don't want to go back with Da."
Michael remembered what he had heard Katey tell his mother. "Is he mean to you?"
Again Katey shrugged. "No. Sometimes when he's drinking, he yells. He's not nice to Mum."
"Does your aunt know?" he asked gently.
"I don't know. Probably. I think granda was the same. And Aunt Fi knows everything."
There was no good response to that statement. Instead he asked, "Want some more orange juice?"
Sam was gone on a grocery run when Fiona's brother arrived. Katey had fallen asleep in front of the television, so Michael and Fiona went outside to greet him.
Matthew pulled up in a small blue pickup truck. He was taller than Michael remembered, but had the same deep eyes as Fiona. Michael hadn't had much contact with him during his time in Ireland – Matthew was already married and had a child. He remembered Matthew's wife as being very polite and mild-mannered, with very blue eyes, and a happy little girl following her wherever she went.
That happy little girl was now a bomber, currently asleep on the couch while reruns of Friends played on the tv.
"McBride," Matthew said, not offering to shake hands. "I see my sister's still following you about."
"You could at least thank the man who's been keeping watch over your daughter," Fiona snapped.
"That's a task given for you," Matthew replied. "Looks like you tangled with a few problems. Thank you, Fi. Both Rose and I are grateful."
"How is Rose doing with all this?" Fiona asked.
Matthew shrugged. "Well as can be expected. Where's Katey? We have to make a flight in just a short while."
"So you're just going to take her back? Won't she be pretty easy to find there?" Michael asked.
"That's my problem," Michael said, his tone one that didn't invite further invitation. He had the same hard set to his jaw that Fiona got when she was angry. "Details are being worked out. She'll be fine."
"She won't be fine," Fiona disagreed. "She's murdered people, Matthew. You can't just take her home and pretend nothing happened."
"Don't tell me how to take care of me girl," Matthew warned. "You haven't even been home in almost a decade. You have no idea how things are over there now. So go tell Katey it's time to get going."
"She's not going with you until I talk to Rose," Fiona told him calmly.
Michael casually moved so that he was between Matthew and the front door. He really wished these family dynamics weren't playing out in the front yard, but most of the neighbors were probably still at work. And did didn't look like either sibling would consider relocating to a more private location.
"What? You don't need to talk to Rose. I'm taking Katey back to her now," Matthew snapped.
Fiona replied, "Get Rose on the phone right now, or you won't be taking Katey anywhere."
"What the hell?" Matthew demanded, taking a menacing step forward. "Is this his idea?" he asked, pointing at Michael. "Your American spy deciding what's best for my girl? He's not family."
"But I am," Fiona shot back. "And I know what you've done. You've made your daughter a murderer before she's had her first boyfriend. And I know all the other things you did before you married Rose, and I know that's why you crawl into a bottle, just like Da did – "
Matthew backhanded her across the face and sent her spinning away. She rebounded so quickly that Michael barely had a second to see her pull a gun and train it on her brother.
"Get that damn thing off me," Matthew ordered. "What do you know about me life? You ran out on your entire family – and for what? An American spy who won't even marry you? What could you possibly know? I stayed, I held the line. You don't know what had to be done –"
"What had to be done?" Fi echoed. "You did what you wanted, not what had to be done. And I damn well know how you met your goals. Raping a woman because she worked for the other side – killing a man's children because he wouldn't pay the ransom – your wounds are self-inflicted. So you lose yourself in a bottle, just like Da, and when you are sober, you turn your daughter into a monster, just like you!"
Brother and sister glared at each other for a long moment. Then Matthew half turned away and Fiona lowered her gun.
"Fiona, I couldn't let her be defenseless. I couldn't let her be like Claire – unable to protect herself when she most needed it. I didn't – I didn't show her how to make explosives. I didn't know she was going to set that bomb. I swear, I swear I didn't."
"But when Claire died, we promised to make things different," Fi said, her voice heavy with emotion.
"Ah, Fi," Matthew said, turning back towards her with guilt and grief etched onto his face. "Haven't you learned yet that promises are just pretty words? How many times has someone promised you something that just didn't happen?"
Is he talking about me? Michael wondered.
"If that's true, then nothing will ever change," Fiona said softly. "And things have got to change."
Matthew had arranged a flight back to Ireland on a private plane. Michael didn't ask how he'd managed that, because he suspected he really didn't want to know.
Katey stopped at the base of the stairs to hug Fiona. "I'll miss you," she said. "Da says I can keep me hair like this, but no makeup."
Fiona rumpled her hair. "Time enough for that later. You just study hard at school so you can go to university."
Katey nodded. "Maybe you and Uncle Michael can come to visit me?" She looked hopefully at Michael.
Fiona looked at him, too, and he knew what she wanted him to say.
"Sure, maybe," he told the girl, smiling, offering her a pretty lie to make her happy.
"I'm going to light candles for both of you," Katey told him and Fi. "And for Sam and Mrs. Westen."
"We'll be thinking of you, too," Fiona said.
Katey went up the stairs, turned and smiled down at them before disappearing into the plane.
Matthew offered his hand to Michael. "Thanks, McBride. I owe you for this. If you can make my sister happy, I may be able to forgive you for being a spy. And an American. I'll work on it."
Michael shook his hand. "You have a good daughter, Matthew. She has a good heart."
"Like her mother," Matthew agreed. "And like my sisters." Then he went to join Katey on the plane.
Michael and Fiona walked together back to the Charger.
"She'll do better with family around her," Fi said, but her voice was full of doubt.
"They'll take care of her," Michael offered. "They love her."
"Yeah," Fi said quietly. "Because that's always enough."
A few months later, Jesse and Sam were at Michael's loft making plans to help a client. Fiona was over in the kitchen gathering supplied to make an explosive, so the others were wisely giving her five feet of clearance in all directions. Sometime she became temperamental when she was "cooking," and was prone to lash out at the nearest person.
Halfway through the mixing Fiona's phone rang. She ignored it and the ringing stopped, then started again a few minuted later.
She cursed, peeling off her gloves. "Hello?"
Michael saw her become very still. She turned to face the window.
"I hear you," Fiona said into the phone. "I understand. Thanks for letting me know." She snapped the phone closed, but didn't turn away from the window.
"What was that about?" Michael asked.
"Katey." Her voice was distant.
Jesse looked at Sam. "Who's Katey?"
"She's no one, anymore." Fiona turned away from the window, washed her hands and dried them quickly. "Four days ago she and a neighbor boy tried to set another car bomb. It detonated prematurely. They buried her this morning. Matthew knew I wouldn't come to the funeral, so he didn't bother to let me know. That was Rose who called." She went over to the bed and snatched up her purse, turned on her heel and walked towards the door. "But it's okay, everything's fine, because they laid her next to Claire, where we fucking put every Glenanne girl who dies a meaningless death."
Michael caught her arm before she reached the door. "Fi," he said, "Fi, I'm sorry."
She glared at him for a moment before yanking back her arm. "Yeah. Me, too." The she went to the door and flung it open so forcefully that it bounced on its hinges.
"It's not your fault, Fi," Sam called after her.
She paused on the threshold of the open door. "That's what we all tell each other, and that's why nothing ever changes."
And then she went down the stairs, one at a time, barely making any sound as she left, and Michael thought again of that dark jungle night, and the shadow cat disappearing into the darkness.
"Aren't you going to go with her?" Jesse asked Michael.
Michael just looked at him.
[end]