“Sorry, love,” he said, making a motion to embrace her but then stumbling down to one thick knee. Truth be told, everything about him was thick, his limbs sun-darkened and strong from the physical nature of his employment. Unfortunately, there were also times, like now for example, when his head was a bit thicker than she’d like it to be. “Couple of me mates got a quick pint after quittin’ time. Turned into two an’ then three, then I lost count.”

“Countin’ never was yer strong suit,” Lana said. “Ye can make it up to me. Take the day off tomorrow. Lemme sleep.”

“Can’t, love. On shift all day.”

“Ye haven’t had a day off in days, maybe even weeks. Ye will take tomorrow off or ye’ll make yer own supper fer the next month.”

Maybe it was the flash in her eyes, or his beer-addled brain, or, more likely, the threat of an empty belly; whatever the case, Kernan settled his head on her lap and said, “Aye. I’ll tell ’em I’m sick. They don’t ’ave a better longshoreman than me. Can tie a stopper knot in three seconds flat, I can.” Her husband had never been one to boast, even when he was deep in his cups, so she believed him out of habit.

“Good, then it’s settled. I’ll watch the wee devils tonight while ye sleep off the drink, but at first light they’re yers.”

“Alright.”

He said nothing more, and yet she could hear the wheels turning in his head. “Why were ye drinkin’, husband o’ mine?”

“Can’t say.”

“Why not?”

“Not fair to ye, wife.”

“We’ve been over this a hundred times.”

“Exactly.”

“They’re yer boys jest as much as they’re mine.”

“I know that. An’ yet it’s not the same, is it?”

“Ye don’ believe my story.”

“I do. I’ve told ye I believe it. Don’ change nothin’. They have yer eyes. Yer nose. Yer chin. All beautiful things. But wouldn’t mind if they had a few o’ my parts too.”

She sighed. “They have yer heart. Yer kindness. Or at least they will, one day, when they’re old enough. Ye’ll teach them so much. We both will, won’ we?”

She’d spoken plenty loud enough for him to hear, but she received no response save for the telltale sawing of logs. She was tempted to shuck him onto the floor and let the hardwood do the chastising for her, but she had no enmity for him in her heart, not really. Looking after the wee’uns was her job, wasn’t it? And it wasn’t like he didn’t work hard to support her. Not once since they’d wed had she been hungry, or without shelter, or cold. He’d always done his part, so why was she struggling to do hers? And she couldn’t fault him for his feelings about their sons. Any man would’ve felt the same, and many more would’ve left her the moment her belly started to grow much sooner than it should’ve given when they’d consummated their marriage.