“It’ll be okay, Mickey,” I assured him. “They’ll get over it and then they’ll come out because it’s what you do, you spend time with your daughter and grandchildren. You’ll meet them. They’ll heartily disapprove of you. I’ll share that you’re Michael Patrick Donovan of the Magdalene Donovans who own Maine Fresh Maritime and they’ll stop heartily disapproving of you and start simply disapproving of you. Then Dad will attempt to talk Cillian out of his dreams of being a fighter pilot and into a role at Calway, which will drive you up a wall. In the end you’ll beg me to do something that will get us six more months of peace.”

I was joking.

He wasn’t laughing.

He just repeated, “Yeah.”

This troubled me at the same time the mention of Cillian being a fighter pilot reminded me that the first day the kids were off school, Mickey was taking them on a Christmas vacation to Phoenix. Something that was happening imminently.

He had not asked me to come, maybe because he knew I couldn’t considering my kids were with me. But we’d be separated for a week. We’d talked about planning some late Christmas celebration with all of us after they returned but we hadn’t nailed anything down.

I cuddled closer. “This night went so great, we should plan when we’re gonna do our belated family Christmas, honey.”

“After we get back. First day I have off when I got the kids. Your kids at my place.”

Decision made with no input from me.

His strange, highly unusual mood meant I didn’t challenge that.

Mickey was quiet.

I was worrying.

Mickey ended his silence.

“This goes the distance between us, my kids and me move in to Cliff Blue.”

My head tilted back instantly. “I’m sorry?”

He didn’t repeat himself.

He said, “You got enough rooms where the kids each can have their own space and you got that den for a guest bedroom just in case your brother or my folks come. I’ll sell my place, give you the profit. But I pay all utilities when we move in.”

“I…but…you…that’s…I don’t know—” I stammered but never finished the thought I didn’t quite get around to having.

Mickey interrupted me, “This market, I could make eight, nine hundred K off my house. That’s not a fifth of this place so I take over utilities so I feel I’m doin’ what I gotta do.”

“How about, when we get there,” I began carefully, “that we share things equitably? What you can do a percentage of what—?”

I stopped that time because his arms gave me a squeeze and his mouth added, “Don’t finish that, Amy.”

I said nothing further.

“Do what I gotta do,” he stated.

“Okay, Mickey,” I agreed but only because he was being so strange and it was scaring me.

“And not tough. Kids love this place. It’s nice. It’s big. You love it. And the tub doesn’t suck.”

That sounded more like Mickey so I again settled in and replied, “All that’s true.”