“Oh. Sorry about that.”
“We worried for Breen, you see. In this last year or two, more and more we worried. Dragging herself to the classroom when she didn’t feel suited for teaching.”
“I wasn’t.” Breen filled the blue teapot with water from the copper kettle on the stove, then pressed her hands on it to steep the leaves.
“That you weren’t, but you were a good teacher just the same, and far better than you gave yourself credit for. This was a worry, you see,” Marg said to Marco. “She thought so little of herself, expected so little for herself.”
The resemblance had already cracked the ice for him. Her words melted it away. “Speaking to the choir.”
That made Marg laugh and lean in as if sharing secrets. “Cover her pretty hair with brown so as not to be noticed, and wearing such dull clothes to hide her fine body.”
“Sing it.”
Marg laughed again as Breen rolled her eyes. “Would the two of you like to be alone?”
Marco ignored her as Breen set the teapot on the table, went back for white cups and plates. “Her mom pushed her that way. Mrs. Kelly was always good to me, but…”
“You won’t hear me speak against her. A mother is a mother, and when she and Eian made Breen, they made her with love as true as any.”
“I loved him. I want to say how sorry I am he’s gone. He gave me music, he taught me. He gave me a guitar on my ninth birthday, and changed my world.”
“He spoke of you.”
“He did?”
“Oh aye, and often. I knew you as a boy as well through my boy. Such talent, he told me, such a bright light. And as good and true a friend to his girl as he could wish for. He loved you, Marco.”
When his eyes filled, Marg reached over to take his hand. “Breen will take you to where he rests while you’re here. It’s a holy place. I know your visit here wasn’t planned, but if I’m honest, I’m so pleased you came. I’m so pleased to meet Breen’s dearest friend from the other side.”
“I can’t get used to it.”
“Well now, it’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?”
“It all happened so fast, and I haven’t had time to tell him everything.” Breen set the biscuits out, started pouring the tea. “We’ll go over to the cottage if that’s all right.”
“Well, of course. It’s yours, isn’t it? Finola’s having it stocked for you right now. And she’s looking forward to seeing the handsome Marco again.”
He flushed a little. “She didn’t have to do all that. We could go into the village for supplies. Jeez, we have to change money, Breen. I don’t know how much I’ve got on me.”
“You don’t need any in Talamh.” She sat, took a biscuit. “They don’t use money here.”
“Well, how do you get stuff?”
“Barter and trade,” Marg said as she sipped her tea. “And it’s our pleasure to make Fey Cottage welcome for you.”
“Breen said her dad, then you, sent the money to her.”
“That we did. There are ways to come by coin. Trolls mine, and we’ve craftsmen and so on. We have those on the other side, in other worlds, who buy and sell.”
“Ma’am, it changed her life. Not just the money, but the knowing her dad looked out for her. That she could use it to stop doing what she didn’t love, and try doing what she did.”
He looked down to where Bollocks happily snacked on the biscuit Breen had given him. “The book she wrote about this guy? It’s just great. Did you get to read it?”
“I did. So bright and fun, like its namesake.”
“She’s got the other going, the one for grown-ups. She won’t let me read that one.”
“Nor me.”
“It’s not nearly finished,” Breen put in. “I still feel like I should take a walk and leave the two of you alone.”
“We’ve considerable catching up to do, don’t we, Marco?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh now, call me Marg, as most do. Or, as you’re a brother to my girl, you can call me Nan.”
As she spoke, the back door opened, and Marco saw, for the first time, the silver-haired man.
Breen jumped up to embrace him, and Marco recognized pleased surprise. “Welcome home, Breen Siobhan. And welcome to you, Marco Olsen.”
“You really are real. Sorry I didn’t believe you were.”
“Ah well, you wouldn’t be the first.”