Rifiuto: Non Miriena

1987

Soft giggling filled the lower half of the apartment, and after a moment, she poked her head into the living room. "Ro, stop!" The girl said something softly in Gaelic, and Kathleen chuckled to herself. She had spent those four years at University, studying Psychology and Sociolinguistics- the study of accents and languages- and in that time, had studied not only Gaelic, but Ulster Scots, Irish, and a plethora of other languages used in and around the British Isles. Over time, she'd developed her own Irish lilt- from observing, listening and speaking with others. And since her future in-laws all spoke various forms of Irish- from Ulster to Gaelic and even Munster- Kathleen had picked up the languages fast, and by the time she and John had gotten married, she'd acquired a fairly soft Irish lilt, and could turn it on and off seemingly at will.

Unless she was stressed; everything went out the window when she was stressed, from the way she spoke to her ability to form coherent sentences, and she usually just ended up either bursting into tears or waving her hands around in anger. If she did speak, her accent was thick and unintelligible, and it took a long while for her to calm down.

Another soft giggle reached her ears, and she stopped, glancing over her shoulder. Timmy rushed into the room, all happy smiles and bright eyes, going to the counter. He pushed a chair up against it, and climbed onto it, but she stopped him, wiping her hands quickly on a dishtowel and pulling the jar towards her son. Without a word, she opened it, pulling out a couple pieces of yellowman and holding them out for the boy. "Thank ye, Mams." He leaned up, pressing a kiss to her cheek before hopping off the chair and returning to the living room.

"No more, Timmy. Tha's enough for t'day."

As the children returned to their playing, Sarah came downstairs, holding tight to her favorite doll- a beautiful porcelain doll with long, thick dark corkscrew curls and bright green eyes, dressed in a traditional Irish dancer costume, complete with little soft dance shoes on her feet. Sarah called her Emily, and always brought her downstairs, even though Kathleen often told her that Emily wasn't a toy, and could break. The girl was careful, always keeping a close eye on her doll; rarely letting go.

The child set Emily gently on the table, and then went to the chair Timmy had left by the counter, climbing onto it and reaching for the jar. "Sarah-"

"Bu' Timmy an' Rowan-" She sighed, reaching out and taking a piece out of the jar. The girl smiled, taking it and breaking a tiny piece off before climbing down.

"Wha' are ye doin', Sarah?" The girl turned, meeting her mother's eyes.

"Emily likes yell'man too, Mams." Kathleen chuckled, going to her child and gently walking her into the living room.

"Timmy, love, pu' a movie in-" But the kids already had; Timmy and Rowan sat on the sofa, enthralled by the adventures of The Great Mouse Detective. Once she was sure all the kids were settled, she returned to the kitchen and her soda bread. When Rowan had first come over, Timmy had refused to have anything to do with her- in fact, he'd come downstairs, taken one look at her, snapped "No!" and rushed back upstairs, slamming his bedroom door. But over the last several hours, the two had gotten to be good friends.

Rowan Gallagher was the McGee's next door neighbor- she lived in the townhome to the left of them, and was in Timmy's grade at primary, though she was in the all-girls class and he the all-boys. They'd known each other for the last two years, but had never played together; she guessed it was a good thing Rowan's mother was having the girl's baby brother, otherwise the two would never have gotten to be friends.

Rowan was quite a pretty child, with long dark hair and enchanting dark eyes- what people in Ireland called the 'dark Irish.' She had a smattering of freckles across her nose, and was always smiling. Her mother- like Kathleen had done with Sarah- had had her ears pierced as a baby and Rowan wore a pair of small emerald studs, a gift from her grandmother. She, like Sarah and Timmy both, did Irish dance, and the two older children were in the same age group in competition and class. The girl was very sweet, and was able to pull Kathleen's quiet, slightly shy Timmy out of his shell in a way no one else could, and she was quickly becoming one of Timmy's best friends.

The boy's therapist had told her that life needed to return to normal- and stay normal- as soon and as long as possible. And if anything, Rowan could give that normalcy back to her children; for Sarah adored Rowan, then the girl could visit as often as she wanted. As she slid the bread into the oven, Timmy came back into the kitchen. "Ev'rything okay, me love?" The boy nodded. Kathleen picked up her mug, taking a sip of her coffee as she took at seat at the table. As soon as she was seated, the boy climbed into her lap. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing a kiss to his head. Slowly, she reached up, brushing her fingertip along her son's cheek, tracing the scar he'd received two years earlier in that bomb blast. "Ye 'ave therapy t'morrow, rem'mber?" After a moment, the boy nodded.

"Mams, d' I 'ave t' go?" He turned big green eyes to her, and she sighed.

"Aye. Ye know th' therapist helps make yer mind bett'r. Makes it so it's no' sick anymo'." The boy wrinkled his nose.

"Bu' she'll make me talk 'bout it again." He whispered. Kathleen cocked her head.

"'bout wha', love?" Timmy swallowed, looking up at her.

"Th' bombin'." He whispered, meeting his mother's gaze.

"D... d' ye wanna tell me 'bout it?" But the boy just shook his head and got down, returning to the living room.