Part 8 (1/2)

”Is my mam coming?”

”No.”

Her eyes filled, but she picked up her battered black dog and hugged it

close. ”Is Charlie?”

”Sure.” Brian held out his arms, and lifted her.

”Hope you know what you're doing, son.”

Brian sent him a look over Emma's head. ”So do I.”

Emma Had HER first look at the big stone house from the front seat of

the silver Jag. She was sorry that Johnno, with his funny beard, was

gone, but the man from the pictures let her push b.u.t.tons on the dash. He

wasn't smiling anymore, but he didn't scold. He smelled nice. The car

smelled nice. She pushed Charlie's nose into the seat and babbled to

herself.

The house looked enormous to her with its arching windows and curvy

turrets. It was stone, weathered gray, and all the windows were made up

of diamond shapes. The lawn around it was thick and green, and there

was a scent of flowers. She grinned, bouncing with excitement.

”Castle.”

He smiled now. ”Yeah, I thought so, too. When I was little I wanted to

live in a house like this. My Dad-your grandda-used to work in the

garden here.” When he wasn't pa.s.sed out drunk, Brian added to himself

”Is he here?”

”No, he's in Ireland.” In a little cottage Brian had bought with money

Pete had advanced him a year before. He stopped the car at the front

entrance, realizing he would have to make some calls before the story

hit the papers. ”You'll meet him someday, and your aunts and uncles,