In too Deep

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Ronan watched Chloe walk away, knowing it was for the best. It didn’t stop him from studying the sway of her sweet a*s in those tiny shorts though. He drained his beer and stood.

Killian glanced down the block. “I think I’ll go say hi.”

“See you later.”

“Will I?”

Ronan tried not to hear it as a dig about his lack of visiting. “You could call me if you want to get together.”

“We’ve tried that.”

“I’ve never been one for big groups. You’d have better luck if we’re one on one.”

Killian burst out in laughter. “Our family is a big group. There’s no avoiding that.”

“That’s the reason I don’t like groups. Give me a call when you’re free.”

“Will do.”

Ronan turned and went back into the house, glad there were no hard feelings between him and his brother. Killian had tested the waters to see if Ronan was willing to give in. He’d report back to Brendan that he was as steadfast as ever.

His mother had gone down the block earlier to visit but came home early. Inside, he’d expected that she might’ve gone to bed, but she was sitting on the couch in the living room, the blue glow of the TV illuminating her face. “Hey, Mom.”

She reached over to the end table and flicked on a lamp. “You’re overdue for a haircut.”

Was he? He ran his fingers through the mop on his head.

She stood. “Come on. I’ll give it a trim now.”

“It’ll keep. It’s late.”

“I’m not asleep, am I? Downstairs.”

He didn’t bother to put up any further argument. When Ann Doyle gave a command, it was wise to do as you were told. She moved ahead and turned on the basement lights. He followed her down the creaky stairs, ducking as he neared the bottom as he’d done since his teens. Whoever built the house hadn’t considered anyone over five foot six.

He turned the corner where his mom stood holding a cape beside her wash sink. He remembered how she’d used the utility sink beside the washer when she first started doing hair from home. It had been like that for a couple of years after Dad disappeared. She’d scraped together enough money to get a proper wash sink and a real salon chair—used—to set up shop.

That first year she’d had a lot of clients from the neighborhood. He’d figured they’d come mostly out of pity. She was a rare single mother in this area and she had seven mouths to feed. It wasn’t until he was in his twenties that he realized she had so much business because she was damn good.

He sat in the chair and let her drape the plastic cape over him, but when he slid back to rest his neck against the basin, he felt like Godzilla trying to squeeze into a closet. Didn’t faze Mom though.

“I’m glad you came to visit. You should do that more often. Your brothers miss you.”

“They know where to find me.”

She turned the water on and waited for it to warm. “Street goes both ways.”

He closed his eyes and sighed. He’d never win this argument or any other for that matter. She was right. He didn’t come home because he didn’t like how he felt here. Too many memories.

Her hands massaging his scalp were hypnotic and his shoulders released tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His mom had been cutting his hair his whole life. The handful of times he’d paid someone to do it had felt like a betrayal, so he didn’t do much to his head until he saw her.

When the water cut off, he opened his eyes. She roughly wrapped a towel on his head and pointed to the other chair. He moved in silence, wondering why it was imperative for her to cut his hair tonight. She squeezed out the excess water and tossed the towel into a basket near the washer.

As she ran a comb through his hair, she said, “Sometimes you look so much like him I have to do a double-take.”

He remembered his father’s face clearly and while he didn’t notice the resemblance when he looked in a mirror, pictures didn’t lie. His father had always been clean-shaven, though, which was part of his reason for sporting a beard.

As much as he’d loved his dad, he didn’t want the constant reminder.

“How are you?” she asked.

He knew those three words were asking more than the state of his life. The anniversary of his dad’s disappearance hit them all hard.

“This one is harder than most,” he admitted. He thought he’d have answers by now.

“Maybe it’s time for all of us to let go.”

“Damn, Brendan,” he muttered. Meeting his mother’s eyes in the mirror in front of him, he said, “Don’t let him pressure you into doing anything.”

She arched a brow at him. “My children have never been able to pressure me into giving in on anything. I’m not about to start now.”

She clipped hair around his ears. Lowering her voice as she concentrated on the task at hand, she continued. “A long time ago, I accepted that he’s gone. He’s never coming back. In truth, if he were to show up on my doorstep today, I don’t know that I’d have him.”

What? He’d always thought she couldn’t move on. “Then why haven’t you declared him dead? Why haven’t you gone on with your life?”

She stopped snipping and rested a fist on her hip. “Who says I haven’t?”

Her steely gaze met his and he realized he had no idea what his mom did with her life.

“You don’t date. You haven’t remarried.”

She took a slow deep breath. “I never made the official declaration because of you kids.”

She meant him. He’d been the one arguing about it for years.

“At first, there was the hope he would come back. Later, it was...you needed it to be a possibility.” Picking up another lock of hair, she went back to cutting. “And as for dating, I’ve done my share. I’ve never remarried because I didn’t want to. More than the fact that I’m still married to your father, I decided I never wanted to be in that position again. I like my life just fine, thank you.”

The truth spilling in this basement was a little too much to handle. He felt like nearly half his life was a lie.

He watched his mother’s quick movements as she cut wayward curls but remembered that he didn’t like it too short. No need to look too much like Brendan either.

When she seemed satisfied with her work, she nodded and knocked loose hair to the floor. But as he moved to stand, she pressed a hand to his shoulder. “Let me clean up that thing growin’ on your face.”

He settled back and she tilted the chair. With a straight razor, she cleaned up the lines of his beard and trimmed it close. While she didn’t mind the facial hair, she didn’t like it wild. This time when she finished, she stroked his cheek. Then she stepped back and pulled the cape from around his neck.

He stood and ran a hand over his head. Then he bent and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks for the haircut. As for the rest, I need answers. I need to know what happened.”

“It won’t change anything.”

“It might not. But at least I’ll know. We’ll all know. Just give me a little more time.”

She nodded. At least she had his back. She wouldn’t let Brendan or Killian make a move. She’d hold them at bay and take the heat for it.

Which meant he needed to press harder to finally get the answers he’d been searching for.

The following morning, while most of the neighborhood was off to church, Ronan was climbing the steps to his childhood home once again. The twentieth anniversary meant something to all of them. Brendan called a family meeting. Between racking his brain for ways to find answers about his dad and thinking about Chloe, he hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. He hoped Mom had a pot of coffee on.

He rapped twice on the front door before pushing it open. “Hey, Mom. Just me.”

She stood in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. The scent of warm cinnamon rolls wafted toward him.

“Good morning,” she said. “Coffee’s ready, but since you’ll probably take the last of it, start a new pot.”

He followed her into the kitchen and drained the pot into a mug. “I’m the first one here?” he asked as he prepared the maker for another pot.

“The twins and Brendan are on their way. Gavin went to the basement to look for something, but I haven’t heard from Declan or Nessa.”

“I don’t suppose you have any insight into how I can convince them that we need answers.” He turned and leaned against the counter and sipped the hot coffee.

She sat at the table and stared at him. “I told you last night that they won’t do anything I don’t agree to.”

“I’m not trying to start a war here. I want them to understand why I can’t go along. I don’t understand why they don’t need answers.”

“Let’s see what they all say when they get here.”

Thumping on the basement steps caught his attention and he turned to see Gavin twist through the door, carrying an old wooden crate.

“Hey,” Ronan called.

“Good to see you.” Turning to their mom, he said, “I assume it’s cool for me to take this junk?”

“I don’t save junk. What’s in there?”

“Rusted old coffee can. A bent framing square. Some other tins and hunks of wood.”

She sighed and didn’t even bother to inspect the contents. “Go ahead.”

“Building your next great sculpture?” Ronan asked.

“Thinking about it. There’s a gallery that wants me to do an installation and I’m toying with the idea of doing something with the contrast of old and new.”

Ronan respected his brother but he didn’t understand most of what he did. The front door opened announcing the arrival of three of his other brothers.

Mom stood. “We should move to the dining room so we can all fit at the table.”

Ronan smiled. The kitchen wasn’t big, but it had always been a gathering place. They would all come in with friends, grab food or drinks, and instead of going to the living room, more often than not, they’d stand around jaw-jacking in the middle of the kitchen.

And it drove Mom nuts. She considered them underfoot, even when they towered over her.

He picked up his cup and went to the dining room table. Mom followed with a heaping plate of cinnamon rolls. He sat with his back to the windows as his brothers filed through. Gavin came in with the coffee pot and mugs.

“I only have two hands, so if you want milk or sugar, get off your a*s and get it.” He set everything on the table and took a spot beside Ronan.

Ronan took that as a good sign. Maybe he wasn’t totally alone in this.

Killian poured coffee in the cups and passed them around.

Brendan said, “Should we just get started?”

“What about Declan and Nessa?” Ronan asked.

“Who knows if Declan will show? And I haven’t heard from Nessa either.”

Just then, the front door opened again and Nessa and Declan came through.

“Sorry we’re late. Someone had a hard time getting his a*s in gear this morning. Anything before eleven is iffy for him.”

Declan rolled his eyes at their baby sister. Then he plopped into a chair and grabbed a cinnamon roll. “You’re a saint, Mom,” he said with a mouthful of food.

“Now that we’re all here,” Brendan began, “I’m sure you all know why I called a family meeting.”

“Because you want to make decisions for everyone like you’re the king of the world,” Ronan muttered.

“It’s been twenty years since dad disappeared. Mom could have declared him dead more than a decade ago. It doesn’t make sense to not finish this.”

“We still don’t know what happened to him.”

“Uh, he took off.” Declan shot him a look that said he thought Ronan was stupid.

“He didn’t.”

“Then where the hell has he been for twenty years?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does it matter?” Declan asked. “He wasn’t here. That says enough.”

Gavin, who was typically pretty quiet, said, “Declaring him years ago would’ve made sense for Mom to get money. We’re all grown. What difference does it make?”

Ronan didn’t know what side of the argument that was supposed to help. Brenden grunted.

“I think what Gavin means is that what can it hurt to wait a while longer?” Kieran added.

Him, Gavin, and Kieran on one side, Brendan, Declan, and Killian on the other.

He looked at Nessa. “You haven’t said anything.”

She stood. “I know I’m supposed to care about this. But I don’t. I don’t even have too many memories of him. So this argument doesn’t matter to me. What does matter is that even after twenty years, his disappearance is ripping this family in half, and that sucks.”

She left the table and went into the kitchen.

“How long are we supposed to wait, Ronan?” Brendan said.

“Until we get answers. I’ve always thought the Cahills knew something. Maybe they’ll finally tell the truth.”

Mom suddenly spoke up. “No, they wouldn’t have kept anything from me. They were so helpful after Michael went missing. Alan Cahill came to visit. He gave us money. I was so worried in those first weeks. About all of you. About money and how to afford the bills without losing the house. I asked him if your father was doing extra work for him that night as he often did. Alan said no.”

“See?” Declan said. “He took off.”

“But Dad told you he was doing something for Alan, right?” It had been Alan’s denial that sparked the rumors of a mistress.

She nodded.

Staring at Declan, he said, “Dad wasn’t a liar.”

Tension and anger rolled across the room from Brendan. “That solves nothing. It’s time to finally move on.”

Ronan thought fast. “Give me until the end of the summer. Let me try to find some answers.”

“Summer’s already half over,” Brendan pointed out.

Gavin countered, “Then waiting shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Whatever,” Declan said, as he rose and grabbed another cinnamon roll before heading to the kitchen to find Nessa.

Ronan rose, thoughts racing through his mind. He kissed his mom on the head as he passed. “Thanks for the coffee.”

When he reached the front door, Brendan stopped him. “What are you planning?”

Ronan shrugged. “I’m going to find answers.”

He knew better than to let Brendan in on any ideas he had. As the oldest, Brendan felt the need to tell everyone what to do and how to do it. He sure as f**k wouldn’t like Ronan getting a job for the very men they had questions for.