Mick laughed heartily, tapped his glass to Shawn’s. “Well, that’s something, then.”

While Mick and Shawn bonded over Jameson’s, Mollie had her hands full. It took nearly an hour of strokes and pats and sympathy before she could tuck Mary Kate in for a nap. Her own head was feeling achy, but she pressed her fingers to her eyes to relieve some of the pressure before crossing to Brenna’s room.

She reminded herself she had wanted children, and a number of them besides. She’d been blessed. She was grateful.

And Blessed Mary, she was tired.

Brenna was curled on the bed, eyes shut. Sitting crosslegged beside her, Alice Mae stroked Brenna’s hair. At the foot of the bed, Patty sat dabbing at her eyes.

It was a sweet sight, all in all. Patty was a romantic and would automatically throw her heart to Brenna on this. Alice Mae, bless her, couldn’t bear to see anything or anyone in pain.

Mollie had only to gesture for Patty and Alice Mae to get up and take their leave. “I’ll speak to Brenna alone.” She shooed them out before questions could be asked and shut the door.

As Mollie crossed to the bed, she saw Brenna tense. “I’m sorry.” Brenna kept her eyes closed, and her voice was rough and strained. “I don’t know what else to say but I’m sorry. Don’t hate me.”

“Oh, what nonsense.” Using a brisker tone than she had with Mary Kate, Mollie sat, gave Brenna’s shoulder a little shake. “Why should I? Are you thinking I’m so old that I don’t understand what feelings churn around in a woman?”

“No, no.” Miserable, Brenna curled herself tighter, shifting so she could rest her head on her mother’s lap. “Oh, Ma, it’s all my fault. I started it. I wanted Shawn, so I went right up to him and said so. I kept at him until . . . well, he’s a man, after all.”

“Is that all there is between you, Brenna? Just the need and the act?”

“Yes. No.” She pressed her face into the comforting give of her mother. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now.”

“Nothing matters more.”

“I can’t be with him. I won’t see him that way anymore. If you knew how she looked at us, at me. All the hurt on her face before the anger came into it. I never thought of her.” She rolled onto her back now, stared at the ceiling. “I only thought of me and what went on inside me when I was with him. Because of it I lied to you and to Dad. How can you trust me again after this?”

“I’m not saying the lie was right, but I knew it was a lie when you told me.” She nearly smiled when Brenna’s gaze cut to hers. “Do you think I told my own mother that I was sneaking out of the house on a warm summer night to meet Michael O’Toole so he could make my head swim with kisses?” Her eyes warmed with humor and memory. “Twenty-six years we’ve been married, and five children we brought into the world, and to this day my mother believes I lay chaste in my bed every night before my wedding.”