Page 48 of Whale Harbor

“Why’s he coming anyway?” Seamus asked. “Didn’t he grow up in that posh house? He went to university.”

“You’ve seen it?” Mac asked. “The house?”

“Cathal dropped something off there once,” Eamon said. “He made me and Seamus walk with him all the way from town to the farthest end of Salt Hill and on a wet day. And then he said we couldn’t even go inside.”

“What was he dropping off?”

“Who knows,” Eamon said. “Did Cathal answer questions when you were still in Ireland?”

“Look,” Mac said. “I would think going to university would have helped Vincent get work at home but it’s not for us to question. He’s our brother. If he wants to come, we’ll help him and that’s it.”

“He’s not my brother,” Eamon said, folding his arms, and at that Seamus looked worried. “Well, he is, Eamon. He’s our full—”

“Talk about it later,” Eamon said. As in: not in front of the others.

FOR VINCENT’S ARRIVAL MAC DECIDED the Bronx apartment needed to be spiffed up a bit. They swapped out the two shabby armchairs for better ones, rolled out a small area rug to cover the scratched floor, bought new sheets for the bed he would take. Sean brought over a few cans of paint and Mac brought brushes, tape, trays. After just a few strokes Mac could see that the old plaster walls were thirsty, so they would need several coats, a bigger project than he’d realized.

“Did we arrive to freshly painted walls, Seamus?” Eamon asked once they’d begun working. Eamon smelled like a distillery and had a black eye. On Friday nights he stayed out too late at the bar up the street. He avoided the Selkie because he felt Thomas was judgmental and no fun, but the bars he ended up in were rougher. Seamus always went with him, but usually slipped out after three or four pints, climbing the stairs to the apartment and crawling into bed. Eamon, on the other hand, was a night owl. Mac was vaguely worried about him—he’d gotten fired from his first two jobs for being difficult. Someone else started the fights, he always claimed. And his boss was an eejit.

Before they started painting, Mac took a good look at Eamon’s eye and warned him that the fighting had to stop. He wasn’t legal, what would happen if he got thrown into jail? He’d be sent home and then he’d have to go to England instead.

“Nah,” Eamon said. “I’d get back here somehow.”

“Oh really,” Mac said, but he didn’t have the energy to argue. Lillie was pregnant again. Mary, now two, seemed to outgrow some crucial item of clothing every week. There was a rattle in his car that he was ignoring. There was a small leak by one of the dormer windows upstairs and no matter how many times he patched it, the water came in. The garbage truck had knocked down their mailbox, post and all. Lillie was about to go on maternity leave and they agreed she’d stay home an additional six months, unpaid, until the baby was big enough for Lillie’s sister to mind, just as she’d minded Mary. Mac had hoped to paint the apartment quickly and then head home in enough time to get a few things done there too.

“You’d think the Queen of England was coming,” Eamon said.

“Except we wouldn’t paint for the Queen of England,” Mac said.

“So we are painting for Vincent,” Eamon said, in a tone like he’d caught Mac in something. “You pretended we’re only painting because it’s needed.”

“We’re painting for Vincent and because it’s needed,” Mac said. “This place hasn’t been painted in fifteen years.”

“Right,” Eamon said. “Sure.”

“Besides, what’s the harm in making it look a little nicer before he gets here?” Mac asked.

Noel and Thomas went downstairs to smoke until this passed. Barry and Fearghal went into the kitchen and put on the kettle.

“I still don’t know why Cathal asked you if it’s okay that Vincent stay here and didn’t ask us. No one asked us and we’re the ones who live here.”

“This again? You’re not serious,” Mac said.

“All of us came to this apartment, Eamon,” Sean said. “And so will Vincent.”

“Sometimes I think—”

“Don’t say it,” Seamus interrupted.

“Say it,” Mac said. “You might as well.”

“Don’t,” Seamus said, making big eyes at Eamon. Whatever it was, they’d discussed it between themselves.

“Only that—as ye all know very well there’s no need to hear it from me—”

“Don’t say it,” Seamus said a final time.

“Say it,” Sean said.