Kyle Michel Sullivan's Blog: https://www.myirishnovel.com/, page 74

Updated query letter...

My query letter keeps getting changed, slightly, every time I send it out. The basics are the same, but some details shift and it gets a bit tighter each time. This is the first cover I came up with...and I still think it rocks...-----------My three volume novel, A Place of Safety, is the story of Brendan Kinsella, a lad who just wants to live his life. But he was born and raised in Derry, Northern Ireland, and history repeatedly interferes with his plans. 
Told in first person, volume one, Derry, begins in 1966, when Brendan has just turned ten and his father is murdered. Thought of as simple but with an innate ability to repair things, he tries to forge his own path through a society in thrall to history and the Catholic church, and which is caught in growing demands for civil rights. He also forms a relationship with a Protestant girl...a relationship that must be kept secret from all family and friends, for fear of reprisals. 
The story sweeps through...  · the 1968 Civil Rights demonstrations in Derry  · the attack on peaceful marchers at Burntollet Bridge in early 1969  · the lead-up to The Battle of Bogside in August of that year  · the arrival of British troops to separate the two warring sides  · the re-introduction of internment in 1971  · Bloody Sunday in 1972  ...and ends with him being seriously injured by a horrific bombing in October, that year.
Below, I have included the opening chapter in my query. (This comes out if they don't want that.)
Volume 2, New World for Old, is set between 1973 and 1981. Thanks to that bombing, Brendan is in a catatonic state. It is feared the British will think he helped plan and set the bomb, so he is stashed away under an assumed name at his aunt's home in Houston, Texas, to keep him safe as he recovers. Once healed, he tries to build a life in Houston but finds that area's politics, hates and prejudices are not much different from Derry. I just finished a fifth draft and plan to do a polish. 
In volume 3, Home not Home, his mother is dying so he is called back to Derry. It is during the turmoil of hunger strikes of 1981. He learns surprising things about his father, is betrayed to the British army, is brutally interrogated, and finally has to accept his destiny. I am currently working on a third draft of this part.
The story uses true events to be told, much like James Clavell's Shogun, James Michener's Texas and Leon Uris' Trinity have done.While I have self-published 14 books in both print and ebook, both gay and straight, I would like to situate A Place of Safety with a mainstream publisher to avoid the limitations that come with self-publishing. I am hoping you can assist me with this. 
Thank you for considering A Place of Safety. I believe it will align perfectly with your interests. ----------Still pluggin' along...

Juggling act...

So...Brendan is no longer Brendan. Except he is. But his aunt and uncle want him to play along even though they won't tell him anything more about himself than they absolutely must. Which makes no sense. The only good thing about it is, he knows the British aren't looking for him in connection with the bombing. He's now part of the modern Irish diaspora.

As for his new identity, he's not expected to tell anyone about his past. His cousins simply accept him as who their parents claim him to be, but that doesn't stop the B-girls from causing a situation when they decide it's time for him to tell them who Joanna was, since he had her name tattooed on his left shoulder. This causes a near relapse in his emotional collapse and leads to him living in the pool house.

His cousin, Scott, had set himself up in there but is evicted by his parents. They insist Brendan stay close by them, but won't tell him why except he'll be safer. But now Scott is pissed off at him so that makes things more than a little awkward, later.

Bren thinks he wants to forget his past...forget his family, but he can't. He's worried about his brothers, Eamonn and Rhuari, and his sisters, Mairead and Maeve, back under the boot of the British Army. In fact, Eamonn is arrested for helping smuggle in guns. He reads Mairead's letters to his aunt, to keep up with how they're doing...and can see she's playing along with the charade. To his confusion, he's feeling both freed from Derry and yet alienated from it.

I'm not sure how this will be going, yet, because as I go back through Book Two I'm finding aspects that need to be removed and others that need to be added. He's still tender, psychically, over what happened but getting better. He's back to concentrating on making repairs, which helps center him, and wrangles a part-time job out of his uncle at a bar the man just bought in Houston's Heights area.

At least I'm still plugging along with it, again. Who knows? One of these centuries I might get this thing done.

Brendan is taken to the doctor by his aunt...

The city she drove me through was a tangled mass of homes, commercial buildings, empty lots, wide car parks and massive streets. And that barge of a car floated like we were on water, with seats as fine as I’d ever sat in and the air conditioning blasted icy enough to give you a chill. Aunt Mari was pointing out the city as we went, but my head was pounding so I paid the cloth with ice far more attention to and didn't smoke, either. All she had was Benson & Hedges. Why bother with it? 

I know we passed a University called Rice, and that it was across the road from a large, open park cut through by another boulevard. Behind us was the overpowering city center with its sudden office towers and cranes aiming to build even taller ones. Ahead of us was another mass of high-rises she referred to as the medical center, and I could not believe the size of it. Altnagelvin was a county clinic in comparison. But what struck me the most was how flat the land was, everywhere you looked. Never-ending flat. Streets leading on forever and driving straight into nothingness.This is to be my new home? That, I was not yet so sure of. 

As for how I'd got here? Aunt Mari told me only enough to calm my questions. She thought. I had the idea she was trying to distract me or mollify me or just put off any true information till she spoke more with Uncle Sean, but what she actually did was provide me with a path into understanding what had probably happened. 

My rucksack was reason I was not more severely injured. Even so, I hit that wall hard enough to break my left arm and three ribs and get a concussion, along with plenty of cuts and bruises. But here's the stunner -- I actually was halfway into a heart attack. They think Colm striking me unconscious is what saved my life. 

They took me to a safe house near the border, and Ma was brought in. How? Aunt Mari wouldn't say, but I got the idea Colm went to get her through back ways because he knew what some of PIRA's leaders wanted to do. Ma fought them back. Why? I have no idea. But instead of being assigned to a grave, a doctor was brought in and I was attended to. Even given a nitroglycerin tablet! 

Jesus, talk about the Little Bomber Boy. 

Ma was given time to contact Aunt Mari. 

"When Bernadette called with the news," she said, "it scared the bejesus out of me. I had yer uncle talk to some people." 

I'm sure my shock registered in my voice as I said, "He has contacts in PIRA?" 

"Oh, no, no, no, no, Noraid." 

"How would they know who to call, and how?" 

"Does it matter? Ya were given time to heal, weren't ya?" 

Just not in the North. I was snuck across to the Republic and kept in an isolated farmhouse a fortnight. Always deep under medication because I was still prone to hysterics, and I needed to be calm to let my heart work through its problems.Someone in PIRA knew of a farming accident, more than a year earlier, but I doubt any son was actually involved. My bet was they used the name of a child who'd died early for my papers and Irish passport. A bit of makeup to cover my scars for the photo. Then the excuse that I'd gone off my head at seeing the accident. 

Without a doubt, a fair amount of money changed hands, for all of this. 

"Then I flew over, through Shannon, and brought ya here," she added. 

"You had no problem with the customs?" 

"Immigration. And ya were provided a medical visa for treatment of yer heart and mental breakdown. Yer Uncle arranged that, with his lawyers." 

"But why so much trouble for me?" 

"Would ya rather be in a grave?" And the tone of her voice cut off that discussion, complete. 

But I had to ask, "So Uncle Sean has my new passport?" 

She hesitated then sighed. "Somewhere, I'm sure. But best to take care, now. While we did get an extension on yer medical visa, it has expired. He'll need to look into how best to handle that." 

She drove in silence for a few blocks, which I appreciated. My head needed a chance to settle.Then she continued, "Yer mother showed me yer letter." 

Of course she would. Just further proof of my unwillingness to help the family. 

"Bren, what did ya think ya were doin'?" 

No sense in hiding plans that would never happen now. "I was off to work on a ship. I had an offer." 

"Without a word before leavin'?" 

I shrugged. "I'd have sent money home." 

"How? The way the British are bein' with the mail? I don't dare send money, anymore." 

To be honest, I hadn't really thought about it beyond that.

Little vices...

Brendan smokes. Marlboros. At a time when people smoked in restaurants and bars and while driving their kids to school and on airplanes. Even around the dinner table. But I'd forgotten that because I never did smoke. I tried to start when I was in high school but found every time I had a cigarette my voice would vanish for a day or two. So just never got into the habit and now can't stand it.

Anyway, I'm going to add in that when Brendan comes out to help his uncle with the Volvo, be bums a smoke. But Uncle Sean only does Camels, which Brendan doesn't like. It's just, he doesn't have money to buy his own, yet, so has to make do. It's one of those things that should make the moment become even more real.

Aunt Mari smokes, as well...but would she be Benson & Hedges or Chesterfields? Certainly not Kools and Lucky Strike was no filter, so not those. I've hinted that Scott smokes, not just cigarettes but also pot. Dangerous to do in Texas, at that time. Kids were being sent to Huntsville for 10 years over just a joint.

This was at a time when you only had to be 16 to buy a pack, and few stores really carded you. My step-father smoked, as do all my brothers; one of my sisters did but she quit. And my mother never did. She had asthma, so had to use her inhaler a lot. No one cared enough to stop. My father also smoked, but my sister in San Diego refused to let him do it in the house. And he'd get huffy, at times.

I might add in a bit where Scott gets Brendan a pack of his belovéd Marlboros and some matches, and he has to ration them. But they would be a way for him to calm himself down.

Brendan's way...

 I've found, as I write, Brendan's way of dealing with problems is to fix something. He does it a few times in Book One, and it shows up in Book Two when his uncle is having car trouble.

--------

...This one morning, when there was a mist in the air that kept the heat from becoming smothering, I woke to a motor chugging, outside, again and again and... 

Josiah O’Shea’s Cortina wouldn’t start on damp mornings and he’d had near everyone he could think of check into it, at no small cost to himself, until he let me look into it and I found the problem and... 

I laughed. Startled myself, remembering Josiah. A man who personified the image of a leprechaun. The first time I'd had a happy memory from nowhere. I nearly sighed with joy from it. 

I looked at the clock and it was just past nine. I'd been rising about this time, anyway, so got out of the bed and went to the window. It didn't hurt that the constant irregular noise was finally beginning to drive me mad. If a car's not working, why keep trying to make it do what it doesn't want to? 

I saw Uncle Sean was at the Volvo, under the bonnet...the hood, as it were; might as well use the American terms for all things. It was a dark blue 544 and looked like it had the twin SU Carbs to it. A decent car it was but in need of a wash and maybe attention paid to the rust spots developing between the passenger door and front wing...fender. The interior wasn’t in quite as good of shape but wasn’t beyond saving.From here the motor looked fine. But when Uncle Sean got behind the wheel to turn the key, I could hear the telltale creaking that meant some lubrication would be needed, or maybe a fresh set of dampers...shocks. 

Angus lay on the grass, nearby, watching him patiently.

He tried to start the motor, again, and it chugged along, working really hard to catch but not managing. So he went back under the hood, unplugged the spark wires, re-plugged them and tried again. Only to get nothing when he tried to start it. So back under the hood to undo other connections and redo them and try again. It was comical, for he did not sit easy in that car. 

Well, I had enough of it and went all the way downstairs and out the back door. Angus came up to greet me, so I gave him a scratch behind the ears.The bricks were wet and sticky, and the air had begun to feel warm and smothering, despite the mist. I wore only pajama bottoms, still, no slippers even, so the soaked grass tickled my feet...and I loved the feel of it... 

Caressing the back of my neck as I lay on the hillside, Joanna beside me, our complaints about life in Derry so simple and pure... 

I stopped, halfway to him from the house, took in a deep breath and forced myself to say, “Havin' troubles?” 

He jumped and looked at me as if I were a madman, which I probably seemed to him. “Bren, what you doin' out here? You ain’t dressed.” 

I shrugged. “Would you care for me to look at it?” I motioned to the Volvo. 

He grimaced, in response. “Dunno what you can do. Does this every time there’s a fog in the mornin'. Then in the afternoon, it starts up fine. But I need to get to Liam's and this is the only car left.” 

"Liam's?" 

"One of my bars. Liam's Trough. Not far from here..." 

I looked around and saw two dry spots where the other cars had been. “When’s Aunt Mari back?” 

“Dunno. Guess I’ll grab a cab. Lookin' at buyin' 'nother bar up in The Heights and the owner’s droppin' by to talk. I’ll get it towed to the shop, tomorrow.” 

I just leaned over the motor and it reeked of petrol...gas. He had flooded it. The engine was in fine enough shape. The cables were on the old side, possibly original. Same for the coil. I pulled at it without gripping the glove and it nearly come out. “Try startin’ it, again, but no more petrol.” 

He shrugged and sat behind the wheel and the car creaked. Definitely lubrication. I pushed both ends of the coil’s cable against their gloves, and the motor fired right up. 

Uncle Sean bolted from the car, startled. “What’d you do?” 

“You need a new coil,” I said. “It’s comin’ apart inside the glove, so you can’t see it. Dampness keeps it from makin’ the connection. Is there an auto shop nearby?” 

“On the way to Liam's. I can stop off.” 

I nodded. “You might want to think about havin’ all the cables replaced. They’re about due.” 

“Damn, Bren, where’d you learn that?” 

“I’ve been at this since forever. Clocks, tellys and the like. Cars. Made money from it. Had a job.” 

“Your mother never said a word.” Then he seemed to give himself a mental kick and added, "I mean..well..." 

"It's all right," I said. "She thinks me simple." 

Then I headed back to the house, feeling vague and sleepy but also hungry for breakfast. Both Uncle Sean and Angus let me go. 

There was no one about to ask after food, so I dug into the cooler. Found neither eggs nor sausage for a fry-up, so fixed a sandwich from the wealth of things available. Flaps of cheeses and a round, thin-sliced meat called bologna that didn't even begin to look like meat, and lettuce so crisp it could cut you and some sort of mixed sauce called Sandwich Spread all piled high on two slices of white bread that felt as light as a feather. There were also tomatoes, but they were so rich and red they made me uneasy. I found only a couple cans of Dr Pepper chilled in the fridge’s door so took one, opened it and returned to my room. 

I sat on the bed and ate, feeling very luxurious, and thoroughly enjoyed the Dr Pepper; it wasn’t as sharp and biting as Coke. Then I dozed a little before rising, again, and for the first time found myself weary of having nothing on me but sweat and pajamas. 

I took a long hot shower. Let the steam boil through me. Watched how it caught the light from the window and made tiny rainbows in the clouds of beauty and gentleness. Loved how it filled my lungs and wiped away the world long past. This was such luxury.Then I toweled off...and had to towel off twice more, thanks to the humidity bringing out my sweat. 

"No wonder Americans bathe every day and there's non-stop ads on the telly about deodorant," I muttered to myself. "If they didn't slather themselves with it, they'd reek." 

So I did. Some kind of spray called Right Guard. It filled the air and smelled of chemicals, and I wound up coughing my way out of the bathroom from how it near choked me. 

I may have used a bit much.

Zoning...

Due to sleeping poorly, last night. My toilet was acting up and whenever I got up to pee, I had to put my hand in the reservoir basin to stop it from running. Now I'm barely awake. It appears building maintenance fixed it, again, while I was gone. So far, it's been fine, but I'm already ready for bed.

Worked in the office for six hours going over paperwork and plotting out the rest of the week. Got a few groceries on the way home and made potato salad then worked a bit on APoS.

Brendan is reading Mairead's letters from Toronto and is piecing together how he came into America. He also learns the family has had many visitors from Ireland, but Uncle Sean is being cagey about it. Indications are they're from organizations other than NORAID.

But I have to stop because I'll be typing along and suddenly just zone out. Sit here and close my eyes and rest until my head sort of topples over. It'll be an early night.

At least Brendan's learned that...while his brother, Eamonn, was arrested, tried and convicted of smuggling under the Special Powers Act, it had nothing to do with the bombing. He also knows Colm and Danny were not detained. He's not sure how he feels about them since they are directly linked the the bombing that nearly killed him...but that will be determined seven years from now, when he returns.

Forward movement, again

I worked the new stuff in and am now through to chapter 6 of New World for Old. Brendan is overjoyed at his exile. He can now do as he wants, he thinks...but that is quickly cut down when he learns he's overstayed his visa and that presents a problem that needs to be handled before any plans can be made. It winds up being a lot more complicated than that, but that's all for later in the book.
What matters is breaking through the logjam. For now. His brother, Eamonn, gets busted by the Army but Brendan learns it's for being part of a weapons smuggling operation. Initially, it was going to be arms from Libya, but then I remembered Qaddafi's people were pissed off at the IRA in 1973, so I may shift it to Poland. That's who you get Semtex from...the explosive. But it's not what was used in the bomb that Brendan was caught in. It's far too stable.
I'm in the office the rest of the week to assist in the run-up to the NY Antiquarian Book Fair, handling EU and UK dealers who cannot remember from one fair to the next how Customs works. Of course, things are a lot nastier, now, thanks to Brexit. Before that stupid move, we could use the UK as a safe route for transporting books into the US for book fairs. Now we have to deal with a half-dozen different countries' regulations and paperwork, and none of it's easy.
Brexit has also killed some major antiques fairs in the UK, because it's so much hassle and expense to ship items for display in and out it's not worth the time or money. Masterpiece has been canceled, this year, and that was a major fair. But without the EU dealers, it dropped to 40% of what it was and no one wanted to bother.
It's the same in Hong Kong. China messed it up and killed the China in Print Fair. It was a lovely, high-quality book fair in the perfect venue, but no one wants to deal with the new requirements to get it going, again, after Covid. So...stupidity reigns supreme.

Well...I may have an answer...

All of the angst from yesterday's post kept me up till nearly 4am...but I may have found an answer to the problem. It's not yet a complete answer, but it kicks that can down the road to Book Three. Here's what I got:

How did Brendan get to his Aunt and Uncle's?He is about to leave Derry, on his own, when he is caught in a horrific car bomb. His left arm is dislocated and 3 ribs broken, lacerations on his face and head, and a concussion. His rucksack was still on his back when the bomb went, which kept him from being more severely injured. Still had his passport and money. 
The car was left in place by two friends of his--Danny who's also cut up but not badly, and Colm. It wasn't supposed to explode until much later. They rush Brendan away to a safe house on the border, near Strabane, and send word to his mother. She comes and fights to keep him alive against those in the Provisional IRA who want to bury him. She contacts her sister and brother in law, in Houston and they agree to take him. PIRA goes along with it so long as he will stay away.
He's slipped across the border south of Strabane and held in a farm house near Drumcroy. A doctor is brought in and finds he's suffering from Akinetic Catatonia and his heart is acting up. He needs time to heal from his wounds and near heart attack.Aunt Mari and Uncle Sean use their money and connections to give Brendan that time. 
He's provided a passport under the name Brennan McGabbhin, thanks to a farming accident that killed a man and injured his son, in Donegal. That was nearly a year ago, but it's still usable. Aunt Mari travels over to take him from the Irish Republic to Houston. He gets a 3 month medical visa due to heart and emotional problems, then an extension, then overstays. 
So the story in Derry becomes: Brendan Kinsella has left to find work, as verified by a note and money left behind for his mother. And while there are rumors he's dead, no one really knows. Ma even tells his brothers and sister she thinks he's probably run afoul of PIRA and is buried somewhere. Mairead, his married sister in Toronto, has an idea of what really happened but plays along to keep Brendan safe.
And Brendan, now Brennan, is exiled.
I still haven't worked out why Ma protects him after being so nasty to him for so long, but I have ideas. We'll have to see what comes up in Book Three. 

Why?

I'm stuck in wondering why Brendan is snuck into the US instead of just being put in a grave. Why would PIRA go through all that trouble? How would they even know a way to contact his aunt and uncle and assume they would agree to it? Or...how would his aunt find out about this in time to stop him being shot and buried? He would be a direct link back to his family and his brother and friends, if he was allowed to live.

Does it have to do with his father? Anything that happened with him would have been nearly 25 years before the bombing, when the IRA was regrouping and trying to figure out who they were, again, after WW2. Their next border campaign to break the NI away from the UK wasn't until the middle 50s, right around the time Brendan was born.

I don't have an answer and I need one to continue. It will figure in everything, because even he is wondering this. He's ecstatic he's free...but he's also wondering why. There has to be a reason for this to be happening this way, and I've been glossing over it till now. Ignoring it, really. So I spent all day wondering and asking myself and digging and coming up empty.

Worked myself into a tension headache and made a pain in my middle right back even worse, so right now my head is killing me and my back won't let me move fast, at all. Can't blame that just on old age. It's all because I'm pushing to get to the end of this book and I need answers. And I'm not finding them. I'm even wondering if there is one. If maybe I've written myself into a corner with no way out...and will have to redo Book One completely. Shit.

Maybe sometimes there is no answer.

Brendan learns who he is

 This is part of chapter 4, where Brendan is told what's going on...

------

Aunt Mari drove up and honked at me, and I realized I was standing dead in the middle of the drive. I stepped aside to let her pass and followed the estate...no, station wagon back to the garage. Made it through the large gate before it closed and trotted up to her like a pet dog. 

“Look who’s out and about,” she said as she opened the door. 

“Aunt Mari,” I croaked, “this neighborhood...the space of it all...” 

“Oh, this is nothin’, Bren. What ya doin’ with that?” She motioned to the iron. 

“Thought I’d mend it. Spare you the need of a new one.” 

“I already have one, but if ya’d like to fix it, that’d be nice. I could take the new one back.” 

The rear of the car used some sort of amazing design to vanish into its tail and she pulled out bags of groceries, saying, “Take these in, will ya?” 

I nodded and carried two full bags into the kitchen. She followed with another. Since I still had the iron she had to open the sliding door. 

We set everything on the center counter. 

“Now you sit, lad. I’ll put these away.” 

“I could help you.” 

“No, it’s faster if I do it. I know where everything goes. And we've plenty of time before we leave.” 

"Leave?" 

“The doctor’s. Isn’t that why ya're dressed?” 

I'd had no particular reason to put on clothes; I'd just wanted to. But thinking about it, I remembered her mentioning at some time or other there was to be a visit. So I shrugged. “Is this all right, what I’m wearin’?” 

“Sure it is. He’s very informal, this man.” 

“You say I’ve seen him before,” I said and... 

The round blond lady dressed in white with a kind face caressed my cheek with the backs of her fingers and said to Aunt Mari, “Lord, his eyes...so big and hurt, they cut right to your heart.“ 

I tensed. Made myself turn focus to the iron. Began to inspect it, carefully. 

Aunt Mari was putting vegetables into the fridge so didn’t notice. “He's a heart specialist." 

"Was...was I having problems with it? My heart?" 

"A little. The pills ya got are for it." 

I nodded, still a bit uncentered. "There was mention of it, I think, when I was at Altnagelvin. But the doctor spoke with Ma, not me." 

She chuckled and said, "Ya were at Altnagelvin?" 

I cast her a confused glance. "Ma didn't tell you?" 

She started putting tins of vegetables in a pantry. "How could she? Yer doctor's name, here, is Gilbert, and he come here, a few times. Then I took ya to him, twice. He told us yer break from the world was good because it helped keep ya quiet and gave yer heart time to mend." 

"Was I so bad off, then?" 

"There were problems, but they've settled. Dr. Gilbert can better fill ya in on them." 

"I doubt I mended from being quiet," I huffed. "The B-girls say I was anything but." 

She cast me a smile. "The B-girls?" 

"Well, I...I can't tell them apart, yet, so..." 

Then she chuckled. "That actually fits those two. Ya'll learn how to handle them. And keep in mind, they both love to exaggerate." 

I shrugged and focused on the iron, not yet willing to accept the snippets of memory that I’d catch. 

"The doctor also said to be patient, with ya. That you'd regain your senses. Seems he was right.” 

"What was it wrong with me?" I asked, fingering the iron's back panel. "Was it my heart caused me to lose my mind?" 

"Ya didn't lose it, Bren. Ya got a severe shock and yer brain couldn't handle it so shut down, that's all. He said it was something like an akinetic catatonia." She dug more tinned goods from the bag she looked straight at me. “Do ya remember anything since ya got here? Any of it?” 

I just shook my head. The iron's back panel wasn’t easy to remove, but I managed to get off to reveal the connections. “Have you a knife I can use?” 

She handed me a strip of metal that held a razor’s blade. “This do?” 

“Aye.” 

I unscrewed the fasteners and got to work on cutting the wire and stripping off the casing so I’d have bald wire to reconnect to them. I slipped the newly stripped part into its holder then tightened everything down with the edge of the blade before replacing the panel. Finally, I looked around for an outlet to test it only to notice Aunt Mari staring at me. 

“What?” I asked. 

“Ya've not heard a word I’ve said,” she replied, a bit peeved. 

“When?” 

“For the last five minutes. I’ve been talkin’ along and ya’ve been offerin’ up an occasional grunt to suggest ya're listenin’, but ya’ve been so focused on that iron, ya haven’t heard a thing, have ya?” 

Shite. I shrugged. “I...I can get like that. On occasion, Ma had to flick me with her finger to snap me from it, but it’s only ‘cause she’d go on and on and I’d just stop listenin’.” 

“And ya think I go on and on like yer mother did?” 

“No!” Now I felt irritated, her making me feel awkward, like that. “I just...I have the habit of it when I’m workin’. I don’t mean anything by it.” 

“Don’t worry,” she said and rubbed my hair. “Lord, ya had such lovely curls, once. Ya like your hair like this?” 

I nodded. “I think I’d prefer it in this heat. I already feel the need of another bath.” 

“Oh, this is nothin’. Wait till August.” 

“August?” 

“That’s usually the worst month for heat and humidity, with September almost as bad.” 

I began to float, as if my feet were no longer touching the floor. I dropped the iron to the counter and just managed to ask, “Aunt Mari, when am I to go home?” 

She did not look at me. Just busied herself with folding the paper bags. “Oh, I...um, I’m not so very sure what’s to happen next.” 

I did not like the sound of that...the meaning of it...“Am I banished?!" 

She only sighed and put the bags into a cabinet drawer.She wasn't answering me. She was trying to avoid my question. 

I could barely breathe. "Why? What did I do?” 

She took in a deep breath and turned to me. “Nothing. It was just an accident and...” 

"Accident? It was a bloody bomb that took down half a...!" 

Her eyes grew sharp and she snapped, "No! Ya were nowhere near a bomb. It was a farming accident. Ya saw yer father decapitated and..." 

"What the bloody hell are you on about?!" 

"Whist that talk! Listen to me. Brendan Kinsella left Derry before that bomb. He had a passport and his mother got his note, showing he left. It was after that, when the bomb went off." 

Then it hit me. "You said I was nowhere." 

She very deliberately said, "We don't know where Brendan is or went. We've no way to contact him. You are Brennan McGabbhin, third cousin to me. From a farm in Donegal." 

“But I was...” whispered from me. 

"Ya were in a farm accident! Nowhere near a bomb." 

"But that's not true...it's not...not..." 

Danny looked around at me, startled, his eyes wide and I turned and started to run for the shop but I slipped on the wet pavement and the world vanished in a cloud of white smoke and fire and silence and I was lying on the ground, blood covering my face and screaming and Danny grabbed me and forced me to my feet and held me as Colm punched me and... 

I was staring at the ceiling, a cold rag to my head and my heart pounding like the devil. It took me a moment to realize I was stretched out on the kitchen floor. Aunt Mari was kneeling over me, a portable phone to her ear.“...When he just keeled over,” she said. "Oh, he's comin' 'round."