Part 15 (1/2)

day entertain giants like McCartney, Jagger, Daltrey, in his own

house. And his wedding, too. Good Christ, he was married. A married

man with a gold ring on his finger.

Tapping his bare foot to the beat of the music that crashed its way up

the stairs, he'd studied the ring. No going back, he'd thought

comfortably. He was Catholic enough, and idealistic enough to believe

that now that the deed was done, it was forever.

It was one of the biggest days of his life, he'd thought as he'd fumbled

in his s.h.i.+rt pocket for the pack of cigarettes he'd left downstairs. One

of the biggest, he'd thought again with a sigh. And if his father had

been too drunk or too lazy to pick up the b.l.o.o.d.y tickets he'd sent to

Ireland, what did it matter? Brian had all the family he needed right

here.

He'd pushed thoughts of yesterdays out of his mind. From now on there

would only be tomorrows. A lifetime of them.

”How about it, Emma? Want to go down and dance at your Dad's wedding?”

She'd kept her shoulders rounded and barely shook her head. The smoke

twining mystically in the air had made her temples throb.

”Want some cake?” He had reached out to give her hair a gentle tug, but

she'd cringed away. ”What's this?” Baffled, he'd patted her shoulder.

Already queasy, Emma's stomach had rolled with a combination of terror

and too many sweets. After one hiccup, she'd lost her cake and tea all

over her father's lap. Wretched, she managed a single moan before

curling back over Charlie. As she lay too sick to defend herself from

the beating she was certain was coming, he'd begun to laugh.

”Well, I imagine you're feeling a good bit better.” Too high to be