“That’d be cool,” Aisling said quietly. “And I’m sure they could use the help. We could go one day before school starts, while Dad’s at work.”

“I—”

Cillian spoke over me, doing this to declare, “I’m not cleanin’ up old people puke.”

Aisling looked to her brother. “You won’t have to. You can play checkers with them or something.”

“I can’t beat old people at checkers,” he returned. “That’d be mean and I’m a master checker player.”

“Then play something you’re bad at,” Aisling replied.

“Dude, I’m not bad at anything,” Cillian retorted with a cheeky, arrogant grin.

“Why do you wanna go?” Aisling asked.

“Because Amy is da bomb and I want some old lady to shout at me,” Cillian answered.

Aisling made a face that was not easy to behold.

But before I got a lock on why that was, she smoothed it and rebuked, “That isn’t cool, Cill. She’s not right in the head because she’s old. You shouldn’t go to a nursing home just to make fun of people.”

Cillian reared back in horrified affront. “I’m not gonna make fun of her. I reckon everyone looks at her like she’s crazy. She yells at me and calls me a Nazi, I’ll march around in that stupid way they did and make her feel not crazy.”

That was weird, but it was a weird kind of sweet.

“You go with Amy, you help Amy,” Mickey entered the conversation, his voice deep with fatherly authority. “She wants you to play checkers with the folks there, you play checkers…and lose. Or you do dishes. Or you do whatever she asks.”

Oh no, this couldn’t happen.

I liked Mickey’s kids. I liked being with them. I liked sitting at their table, chatting and eating. Even not getting along with Mickey, it felt nice to be a part of a family.

But the bottom line was that Mickey and I weren’t getting along so in order for this not to trouble Aisling, or eventually be communicated to Cillian, we should curtail our together-type activities.

Not make up more as we went along.

“Just to point out but I have a two-seater car,” I told them and looked to Mickey. “I can’t get them there.”

“I’ll drop ’em off,” he told me.

“I can’t get them back,” I replied desperately.

“I’ll pick ’em up,” he stated smoothly.

I glared.

He looked to my mouth and his got tight.

“Groovy!” Cillian cried and I forced myself to drop the glare and look at Mickey’s boy. “When can we go? Tomorrow?”

The next words I had to say I knew might kill me.