Devlin waited to hear about that, but never did. He still wasn’t sure old Brennan, obviously a very tough guy, had a sense of humor, and in the absence of evidence either way, Devlin decided not to press the matter. He’d be more respectful next time around. As an only child he had always been curious about how larger families organized themselves, and what he found unusual about the Brennans was the absence of chaos and confusion. Everyone had a part to play, and if Maryellen was an example, each played it perfectly. With her beautiful eyes and hands, Maryellen was the little princess. If Devlin cursed in front of others, she glared at him. When the conversation turned to the harsher realities—his work, for instance—another subject had to be brought up lest her delicate stomach be made upset. But that new subject could not be sex. With others present, and sometimes, inexplicably, when they were alone, she acted as if she knew nothing about sex. When he tried to kid her about it, she started shouting. She didn’t want to be mortified, she yelled. He thought she was joking, tried to tickle her out of it, and she screamed for ten minutes. Like a child. Screamed.