Liam broke the silence. “What else ye got fer me?”

Aiden ran his hand over his mouth before answering. He was already tired and left empty from this exchange, but if his father wanted it, he’d give it. Best to get all this shite out in the open before he turned the page. “I’m sorry I hit you,” he said, “Mam didn’t raise me to get on like that. But I’ve hated you ever since 1995. You can say, all you want, that mam gave you an ultimatum, but it wasn’t just her. You had four growing boys to see after. Not one coin came back from Dublin, from England, from Spain, or wherever the fuck you went. Not one phone call on any of our birthdays. The Hannigans came to our graduations and quietly spit on the pauper’s grave they hoped you were buried in.

“I defended you the longest, and boyo, I was a fool for that. Everyone else moved on before I got the sense to stop sneaking off and searching for you at every feckin’ harbor in Ireland. When that wasn’t enough, I taught myself how to sail against mam’s wishes. She was cross with me over it. You know why? Because of all my brothers, I was the one she had to worry about. She wrung her hands over if I’d take off on a boat and get a dozen women in trouble. The training must have worked because I’m finally respectable. But when I look into your sorry face, I see my other half and I hate it.”

When Aiden finished, he sank against his chair and closed his eyes. Liam sat there and took it, mulling over each word like glass in his mouth. “I can’t tell ya anything you want to hear, son,” Liam said in a low voice. “Would it make ye feel better if I said yer not me? Not a bone in you, worth something, belongs to me. Yer County Mayo, Hannigan blood, through and though. Yeah, you got them good looks and the craic from me,” he said with a mirthless laugh. “But the parts that matter...yer Clare’s boy, alright.”

Aiden opened his eyes, recognizing this was the first time Liam referred to him as “son” and not boyo. A strange realization settled over him: This is as good as it is going to get. This was Liam’s admission of guilt and Aiden was likely to never hear it again. “I think it might be time for me to head out.”

His father nodded. There were no objections, no arguments. Liam still had that shifty look in his eye. “So where are you and that little lady staying?”

“Her name is Antonia and we’re up in Tully Cross,” Aiden said, drinking the rest of his tea.

“She a good lass fer ya?”

Aiden pushed his cup and saucer away. “She’s probably far better than I deserve.”

“Sounds familiar,” Liam joked. “Listen, boyo. Can I leave a phone number with ye? Maybe we can catch up another day down the road.”