Page 59 of Whale Harbor

MAC THOUGHT ABOUT CATHAL’S FOLDER at the airport and on the flight home. Barry kept looking at him with a curious expression on his face. Obviously, it would be easier for Rian to find them than it would be for them to find him. They were nine brothers all living and working under their own names, and Rian was only one. Mac had never once thought about that. The eleven of them were like a flock of sheep marked with the same stripe, and all it would take would be to find the Irish-speaking neighborhoods in London or Manchester or New York or anywhere and ask a few questions. A family of boys. Native Irish speakers. Father was a postman and poitín maker. Mother died young. It might take a while but with all the people they knew now in New York, all the different people they’d met on jobs and at the pubs and at Mass and at the dances, all their different ages, someone would know someone who had an aunt, sister, cousin, old neighbor, brother who’d have brushed up against Rian, assuming he was sticking to Irish areas. And if not, he would know where the Irish areas were.

“You’re still overthinking it, Mac.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m honestly shocked by this.”

“By what?” Mac asked, feeling defensive. Barry could be so smug sometimes. Sean agreed and guessed it came from being so handsome all his life.

“Macdara. Didn’t Cathal used to say you were the best student of us? Use your brain. Rian could just call the Cuan. He’d be connected to the post office, and from there he could get our whereabouts in a moment. The Cuan, Coleman, our father—they’re all exactly where Rian left them.”

Again, Mac felt incredibly stupid. For so many years, he’d imagined Rian feeling lost. Imagined him regretting leaving, trying to find his way back.

“So what do we do?” Mac asked as they made their way to the luggage carousel in JFK.

“Do?” Barry asked.

“Do we go to Chicago? Have a look around?”

“Go to a city of three million people to have a look around? For a man who’s not using his real name and likely isn’t there anymore?”

Well, Mac thought, yes.

“Look. You have a new baby. I have a baby on the way and three others besides. We’ve been in New York for eighteen years now, or some of us have anyway. If he wanted to find us he’d have found us. And didn’t you say Lillie mightn’t go back to work?”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we have enough problems without looking for more. Regina wants to send all four of ours to Catholic school and the fourth isn’t even born yet. She saw that movie with Martin Sheen’s boy in it, what’s it called, a bunch of high school kids smoking pot at school and now there’s nothing for her but Holy Redeemer. I’m saying put your head down and work. If he wanted to find us, he’d have found us.”

“Maybe he’s angry with us.”

“Why would he be angry with us? Didn’t we all go through the same thing?”

With me, Mac corrected in his thoughts. Angry with me.

“Which one is Martin Sheen’s boy?” Mac asked after a while.

WHEN THEY ARRIVED BACK HOME, Lillie was outside waiting for them. “There’s my world traveler,” she said as Mary ran into her arms. “I missed you so so so so much.” Mary asked if they’d have the tea while she gave them the news. Lillie laughed at that and then shushed them, making big eyes at the stairs to let them know Annie was sleeping. When they eventually heard her cry, Mac stopped Lillie from going up to her so he could go instead.

“Hello,” he said, picking her up from her crib. She seemed older even though it had only been a week. He carried her downstairs and told Mary to show Bridget what they picked out for her, a model Aer Lingus plane that opened and had seats, a pilot and stewardesses to move around. Mary told them all about the whale bones and that Cathal made her and Frankie a mashed egg in a cup that he called a guggy egg and let her shake the salt.

Lillie wanted to know how her parents seemed. Was her mother awful thin? When Mac reported that they wanted her and the kids to come for an entire summer, Lillie said it would be lovely. Was it so far-fetched? Just her and the girls? She could put off going back to work until September. Mac ran calculations in his mind. The baby could fly for free, at least.

He waited until Mary and Bridget were occupied to tell Lillie about Rian. She was quiet and let him do the talking. His tea went cold as he spoke, his end of the table tilted ever so slightly toward him because he was hunched over with all his weight on his elbows. He’d read everything in Cathal’s file but the only thing of value was that photo and where it was taken. And also, he supposed, that Cathal had been looking all this time. There was nothing in the text accompanying the photo that said whether Rian was married, or had a family, or the kind of work he did, whether he was quiet or loud, what kind of man he’d turned out to be, where his travels had taken him. When Mac had said everything, he asked Lillie what she thought and she admitted that she saw it much the same way that Barry did, that it was pointless to go to Chicago to search for a needle in a haystack when they were available to be found right where they were, and always had been.

“C’mere,” she said, moving to the couch and making space for him. The baby was happy in her chair, the girls now watching a cartoon. Mac sat beside her and stretched out, relaxed, finally, having told her all his thoughts.

“You want to see if he forgives you, of course,” Lillie said. She put her hands in his hair and massaged his scalp. “But, Mac, there’s nothing to forgive. He’s an adult now and if he doesn’t know what the decision to leave was like for you, then there’s no help for him.”

“But…” Mac said. “I’d just like to see him.”

“I know. What do you most want to know?”

“I suppose—” How to put words to it? “I’m curious about where he went, especially at first. How he got by. I wonder if he thinks of us. I’d feel better if I knew he was happy. But if he were happy, I think he’d have sought us out. I don’t know why I think so but I do.”

“Happy,” Lillie said. “You sound like a real American.”

“What do you mean?”