“Okay, what’s done is done, but next time you want to pound someone, walk away and count to fifty, then, if you still need to do it, do it, but at least you’ve taken the time to think why you’re doing it; spur-of-the-moment revenge is a poor excuse for rearranging someone’s face!”
He started the car again and looked at me, at my expression.
“Okay Frankie, you know where we’re going, just two things; keep your mouth shut while we’re there, and I mean that, and you’re going to hear some stuff you will never, ever repeat to anyone, you hear me?”
I was more than a little intimidated by his manner; he’d never enjoined that kind of silence from me before, believing as he did in openness and honesty, and I nodded, wary of him for the first time in my life. He looked at my face for a little longer, then reached out and ruffled my hair lightly.
“Good man, I knew I could rely on you; you’re just like your father, there’s more of Martin in you than you know. Now, let’s get this over with and go home!”
We drove to the suburb the Dolan’s lived in, owned, really, pretentiously named ‘Beverley Hills’, no doubt another boost for their already bloated ego’s and overwhelming sense of their own importance. Jerry Dolan and his family lived in a moderately palatial ranch-style home surrounded by a high wall and imposing gates, the gateposts adorned with crowned lions; obviously they thought of themselves as the leaders of the pack around here. Dad grinned and pointed with his chin at them, and I had to grin back. He pressed the call-button and spoke to someone inside, and the gates slowly swung open, closing again after we drove through. When we got out of the car, there was Jerry, looking his usual puffy, pouchy self, his drink-ravaged features bleary and indistinct, and his face glowing with large areas of broken veins, making him look red-faced, bruised, and unhealthy. As he stood up he swayed, and I realised he was drunk, not even 6 o’clock and he’d obviously been communing steadily with the bottle long before we set out to see him.
He lurched to the front of the porch, leaning on the upright to support himself.
“What d’you wan’ here, Moran?” he slurred, his eyes piggy and hostile, and as I looked at him I realised I was looking at his son 30 years down the road; the same meaty features, the same thick-lipped, self-indulgent sneer, the same air of entitlement. Like his son, Jerry Dolan believed he walked three spans above the earth.
Dad looked at him with barely concealed contempt.
“You know why I’m here, Dolan, and I want to know what you’re going to do about your pissant little son. I know you think you can do anything, well, not this time, not to my daughter, so I’ll repeat myself; what are you going to do?”
Jerry swayed so much I really thought he was going to collapse.
“I don’t have to do anything, Moran! If your slut daughter wants to open her legs…”
He got no further before dad’s huge hand grabbed him around the throat and yanked him close like he weighed nothing.
“Be careful what you say about my girl, Dolan, you may be someone in this town, but right now you feel like nothing to me. Watch your mouth!”
With a contemptuous surge of his shoulder, dad flung him to the ground by his throat, where he bounced once and lay still. I thought he’d actually killed him, he’d hit the ground so hard, then came a loud snore. Dad looked at me and grinned.
“He’s too drunk to notice, but don’t worry, in the morning he’s going to hurt good, believe me!”
I looked up, to spot Steve Dolan fading inside the house, a look of sick fear on his face as he realised his protector-daddy was out cold and there was nothing stopping my dad going in there, dragging him out, and beating seven types of shit out of him.
There was a clapping sound, and someone moved up out of the shadows into the early evening sunlight, and I gasped; it was a woman, and she looked exactly like Kat, or how Kat would probably look in 25 years time.
“Hello Mikey, how are you?” she said in a soft contralto, and dad grinned at her.
“Rosie, damn you look more like mom every time I see you! It’s been too long, baby-girl, you’re looking good!”
The woman smiled again, looking exactly like Kat, even the slight tilt in her eyebrow when she smiled, and gave a little curtsey, and I couldn’t help but gawp. Dad looked at me and smiled.
“Frankie, let me introduce my sister; Roisian Shelagh Caitlin Moran… Dolan. Rosie, my stepson, Frank, but you knew that!”
She stepped down from the porch to take my hand, and look closely at me, her fingertips gently brushing my cheek for an instant.
“He looks so much like poor Martin, doesn’t he? I know Sarah does. How about little Caitlin, does she know?”
Dad shook his head.
“I don’t think that would be such a good idea, especially now, after all this… mess.”
Roisian grimaced.
“You know I’d do something if I could; I have no illusions about my son, I know what he did, and what he’s capable of; in so many ways he’s his father’s son. I suppose I have you to thank for handing him his ass?” she asked me, and I could only nod a little apprehensively.
“It’s alright, Frank, it was a long time coming, and I thought it might teach him a lesson, but his father sees it differently. This family abounds with lies and secrets, one more lie to make the Dolan myth even more powerful is just another brick in the wall they’ve built around themselves. I’m truly sorry about what he did to Sarah; she was such a pretty, happy little girl, and Martin adored her, as did I.”
She smiled wistfully.
“Your father was in my class in school, Mikey and he used to hang out together, they were best friends, and I used to tag along, hoping he’d notice me; fat chance!”
She grinned at me, looking younger and even more like my little sister.
“To my bad luck, he only ever had eyes for Colleen Hennessy, but we remained friends. Then Jerry came on the scene, and I married him when I finally realised Martin was never going to look twice at me; Jerry was already a drinker then, but he was a sweet guy too, and I foolishly thought I could turn him off he booze. When your father died I was heartbroken, and yes, I know the stories about that, and I also think there was more to it than a simple hit-and-run, but I can’t prove anything. I still miss him terribly, though; he was such a sweet boy in school, such a gentle man, as well as a true gentleman, and so young when he was killed, such a tragic waste! If things had been different, I might even have been your mom! Every time I see you in town, my heart skips a beat, you’re so much like your father, and I do miss him so!”
Dad reached out and stroked her hair.
“Poor little Rosie! You could leave him, you know; there’s nothing left here for you, and I have room in my home for one more family member, it’s your home too, if you want it!”
Roisian grimaced.
“Thank you, big brother, but this is the bed I made, I did it with my eyes wide open, so I’ll have to lie in it a while longer; Jerry would never give me a divorce, but I think it won’t be too long now; his cirrhosis is becoming critical, but he won’t stop drinking, so he’s going to solve my problem for me, one way or another! Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic, and it’s killed him, he just doesn’t know it yet.”
Dad put his hand on my shoulder, time for us to leave. He looked one last time at Roisian.
“Do you need a hand getting him back…?” and she shook her head.
“Leave him there; he’s used to it! He’ll wake up in a few hours and go find a bottle of bourbon to clear his head, and he won’t even remember this tomorrow. I’m sorry I can’t do anything for Sarah, if only for Martin’s sake, I know what my son’s capable of, and I don’t believe a word of his story; lying comes as easy to him a breathing, a trait he inherited in full from his father. I’m sorry, Mikey; please hug Sarah and Caitlin for me, just don’t tell her about me, she doesn’t need to know, not yet.”
Dad hugged his sister, and she hugged me, and all I could do was feel sorry for this beautiful, sad lady, my sister’s aunt, who looked so much like her.
We drove home in silence, dad only saying one thing to me.
“Remember, Frank, Caitlin can’t know that the man who hurt her sister like that is her own first cousin; my sister made me promise I’d never tell her, and I want the same promise from you; Caitlin’s going to have enough to deal with without dealing with that as well.”
Of course I promised; I didn’t want Sally finding out that Steve Dolan was her kid sister’s cousin either, that was something she really didn’t need to know.
As the days passed, I gradually found it easier to put it from my mind. It wasn’t such a deep, dark secret to keep, merely an unpleasant one, and if I didn’t think about it, it didn’t affect me, or so I thought; what I hadn’t counted on was just how perceptive and smart Caitlin really was. She began to suspect that there was something up almost from the outset, as the knowledge I had gained imperceptibly colored my interaction with her; imperceptible to me, perhaps, but glaringly obvious to her.
It all came to a head about a week later. Joe Anderson had found out about Sarah’ condition, and, instead of lighting out of town at a dead run, had asked Sarah to marry him, surprising nearly everyone, including his own family, who wanted nothing to do with it, nor did they want Joe bringing-up someone else’s child, but he was over 21, in love with Sarah, and, best of all, he was one of the honest to God good guys, a true White Hat, the guy who rode into town and saved the day. Mom was nearly fainting with relief, dad was walking around with a grin like a pumpkin, and Joe looked like he’d just scored the jackpot on ‘Jeopardy’, while Sarah was living in a dream world, plotting and planning her dream life with Joe. In the middle of this, early one morning, there was a knock on my bedroom door. I looked at my watch and it was seven o’clock; far too early for visitors, so I ignored it and rolled over to go back to sleep.