Luckily, he didn’t have too much time to reflect on his past when he heard his phone ring. He sighed again, this time out of frustration because it was probably his mother, checking up on him. While turning on the television and flipping through all seven channels, he debated even taking the call. In the end, his mother always had him on a tight leash of Catholic guilt.

“Mam,” he answered.

“Aiden, I’m glad I caught you,” Clare said in a breathless voice. “Have you seen the weather service?”

“Does the pub owner count?”

“I don’t know what that means,” she replied. “A strong gale is going to hit the peninsula. You’re going to get a hearty blow this evening.”

“I felt it in the air,” Aiden said.

“You’ve got your father’s sailing nose.”

Aiden rolled his eyes. As much as she warned him off his father’s track, she still recognized he had the calling and chided him about it. “I think anyone could feel a storm coming in from the Atlantic.”

“I didn’t say it in offense,” Clare said in soothing tones. “You’re so sensitive sometimes.”

“What can I do for you, mother?” Aiden asked settling himself in front of the television.

“Well, have you got provisions?”

“Have I got enough spuds in the root cellar?”

“You’re a smart one, you know that?”

“Yes, Mam, I’ve got plenty of whiskey and crisps.”

“And candles?”

“And an actual torch,” he said, stretching out on his couch. “With batteries. Creely keeps them in the kitchens for emergencies.”

“Very well.”

When he successfully reassured his mother, he switched gears. “Hey Mam, do you remember that song Da sang?”

Clare chuckled. “Liam sang so many songs...”

Aiden grinned. “The one about Irish stew.”

“Oh lordy me, that terrible one.”

“It just came back to me,” Aiden said. “I hadn’t thought about it in years.”

There was a long silence on the other line before his mother finally said, “Your old da held the drink better than he could a tune, but I suppose it wasn’t his worst song.”

“It’s got me thinking about the origins though. I might like to write about it.”

“I haven’t a clue as to where it came from,” Clare said absently. “I just assumed it came from those awful boats he worked on.”

“It’s an African American work song adapted by Irish sailors. I might want to make reference to it in my paper.”

“Is it now? I didn’t know that. How is your writing doing?”

“Slow and steady,” Aiden replied. “I’ve been struck with inspiration.”

“Really, now? What’s her name?”

Her knowing tone disturbed him. “I’m sorry?”

“I know you heard me.”

He sighed. “She’s an American woman. Her name is Antonia.”

“Isn’t that a lovely name!”

“She’s a lovely woman,” Aiden admitted. “I can’t tell if she’s interested in me.”

“If I know anything about my Aiden, I’ll bet she’s curious.”

“I’ll let you know how it goes.” Outside his window Aiden saw the trees sway wildly away from a harsh gust of wind. It shook the cottage’s shutters and howled down the chimney. “Until then, pray to the pagan spirits that this gale doesn’t blow the sheep to sea.” Just as he said it, the television screen went black. He hated it when his mother was right.