A woman's voice sounded over the airport loudspeaker: "Flight 114 to Dublin now boarding at Gate E."

"Well, that'll be mine," said the eldest MacManus, stooping to pick up the small duffel bag that was serving as his carry-on luggage. He slung it over his shoulder and turned to face his sons. "Now, you boys behave yerselves," he said.

"We will, Da," they replied in unison, identical grins breaking out on their faces at the old memory of answering their mother's orders in the same way.

"And look after each other," their father continued.

"We will, Da."

"And call yer mother."

"We will, Da."

Their father stepped closer to his sons, who were standing side by side. He placed his hands on their shoulders. "Murphy, Connor, I'm proud of ya both," he said.

"Have a safe flight, Da, and give Ma a hug for us," said Connor, the fairer of the twins.

"We'll miss ya," said Murphy.

Da nodded. He wasn't a man of many words. He turned to head toward his gate, but stopped short. "Almost forgot, Smecker wanted me ta give somethin' to ya." His face breaking into a grin so much like his sons' at the surprise on their faces, he reached into his pocket and produced the envelope he had been given at the diner. He handed it to Connor. "Well, be good," he said, and walked away, leaving his sons both looking confused. He was almost out of earshot when Murphy's voice reached him.

"Well, what the fuck, then?"