Luck of the Irish

I watch his expression change from confusion to shock, sadness, and then apologetic. It’s the normal sequence of events after I tell someone Kian is dead. The ‘I’m sorrys’, ‘I didn’t mean to bring it up’, and ‘Are you alright?’ come out in a stream of breath.

I avert my eyes from him, collecting myself as traffic roars behind me. I hope that I’m not going to be late, but the least I can do is explain. Kian is my own personal sadness. Losing him had been enough to make me want to quit everything. He’d died just after London, going home from the closing ceremonies with the promise to do everything he could to come home for Christmas. I’d shown him the final draft of my manuscript and with tears in his eyes he’d read the final page and then we sat on the couch of our parents’ hotel room and sobbed together. We’d both known what the final words were about and it was enough to reduce us to tears.

Standing atop the podium to get my gold medal days later, I’d searched him out in the crowd. He beamed at me just as much, if not more, than my parents and coach. Kian was the reason I was there and I had every intention of giving him the gold ring each Olympic athlete had been presented with. Instead, I buried him with it.

“It was mid- August,” I begin quietly as I drag Patrick to the corner of the building. “He was coming home from London and was in the car with his pregnant wife. It was a car bomb. She and the baby made it out alive… Kian wasn’t so lucky.”

“I…” he begins to try and string words together, but I stop him.

“Don’t, okay?” I don’t mean for my voice to be sharp. “I’ve heard it all before, alright?” I sigh half-heartedly and look down. “Thanks for this morning, Patrick, but I should go.”

“Wait,” he grabs my arm. “I’ll… talk to you? Soon?”

“Yeah,” my voice has gotten quiet. “I’ve gotta go.”

He nods with a faint – almost sad – smile. “Good luck, Jane.”

“You too,” a glimmer of a grin probably passes my lips before I book it across the street and back towards the apartment to change.



I watch her until she’s disappeared around a corner and I notice a few curious looks in my direction. Time to disappear.

I start off on my own way, glad to have a minute to process everything that had just been thrown my way. Her oldest brother was dead – recently too –and I’d haphazardly brought it up. I hadn’t known, but it was startling to have that dropped on you.

I think about her family and the little I knew about it. Her parents had met in Boston in a bar. She has – no, had – two brothers, Kian and Neall, and a twin – Joan. They all seem heavily invested in the family business and in Jane’s career.

I can’t imagine having my parents or sisters uninterested in what I do, much less one of them not being around at all. How does she deal with that kind of… pain?

It’s a question I think about a lot over the next several hours as I go through the motions of getting ready for the road trip. Per usual, I find myself packing my suitcase last minute before throwing it into the backseat and cruising over to O’Hare, drinking a protein shake on the way. At practice after lunch, I’d been obviously distracted, letting Jane and her revelation fill my head, and the guys had gotten in some good quality chirping.

In the parking lot we use to leave our cars while away, I unload my bag, pausing a minute to check my phone. Our texts from this morning are still open in my messages and I wonder how her meeting went. I don’t have time to call her, to have a real conversation, but would it be wrong for me to send a text?

The Cinco de Mayo me would have done a lot more than just text her, but now I’m not sure what to do, what’s okay for this.

Just wanted to see how you’re meeting was. Hope I’ll see your name on bookshelves everywhere soon. Will you sign my copy?

It’s not my best work by far, but it might just be my most mature work.

I bypass some of the guys at the front of the plane, settling into my usual seat in the middle. Just as the flight attendants are beginning to ask us to power down our devices for takeoff, my phone buzzes and I’m able to check it just in time.

Don’t know how soon that’ll be. But if you buy one and say you’ll read it, then for sure, I’ll sign it.

The attendants are coming down the aisle and I think quickly, wondering what I can say. An idea comes to mind and though it might be too forward, I decide it doesn’t matter. I am Patrick Kane, after all.

I’ll buy a dozen.