Page 151 of Fifth Avenue Fling

“What exactly did he ask?” I ask, hysteria creeping into my voice.

“It was vague. He recognized me and said hi. He wanted to know where you were living now and how you were doing. I told him you were thinking of moving to London. Honestly, it seemed like small talk. Sorry, Clodagh.”

I want to scream down the phone at Orla that she needs to tell me every single minute detail about their exchange. What did he say? What mood was he in? What was his tone like?

Why? Why was he there?

“Careful,” I joke instead. “They probably have their ear on bulldozing the pub to put a casino there.”

She laughs. “Over Uncle Sean’s dead body.”

We both fall silent. The thought of Connor being in the pub makes me sad.

“Did he mention Killian?”

“No. He said that Teagan’s upset that you’re gone, though.”

I smile. Teagan and I have been exchanging emails, although I try not to bring Killian up. She sometimes talks about him—like how he doesn’t let her do something or how he’s in a bad mood. Superficial stuff. I couldn’t handle anything deeper.

I’m sure we’ll lose contact sooner or later now that nothing holds us together anymore.

“I gotta go, Orla,” I say as Mam walks into the shop. “Good luck. You’ll do brilliantly.”

I hang up the phone.

“We have a funeral to go to,” Mam cheerfully informs me as she sets her handbag down on the counter. “Your neighbor’s dead. Passed away in his sleep last night. Ninety.”

“Oh wonderful,” I reply sarcastically. “I can’t wait. I don’t even know the man well; why do I have to go?”

“He’s your neighbor.” She scowls at me. “Besides, his nephew will be there. The good-looking one with the limp. He’s single, you know.”

Oh, for God’s sake.

So now my mum is trying to play matchmaker for me at a dead guy’s goodbye party.

Her scowl deepens. “Although he won’t be interested in you with that ridiculous hoop through your nose.”

Fuck my life.

THIRTY-THREE

Killian

Clodagh’s right about the subway; sometimes, it is superior to an air-conditioned SUV.

Since we’ve been at a standstill on the Brooklyn Bridge for twenty minutes, I’m tempted to jump out and walk the rest of the way.

I used to love coming to Brooklyn when I was a kid. Mom would take us to Coney Island Beach, only fifteen miles away from our home in Queens, but that would be our summer vacation. I hadn’t been outside thestatewhen I was Teagan’s age. Teagan has traveled all over the world.

It’s always a fear of mine. When you bring your kids into wealth, and I meanextreme wealth, are you really giving them a better life? Teagan has never had to hope or wish for anything, even if I impose limits on her pocket money.

But where is her passion and desire to accomplish her ambitions if nothing ever presents an obstacle? Am I raising her to expect everything to come easy?

“Traffic is clearing now, boss,” my driver says with a hint of relief.

I let out a quiet hum in response and lean back in my seat.

Good. I’ve had too much time to think on this journey.

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