written in her name when her mobile sounded with the “Imperial March”—her brother’s ringtone.
She wanted to ignore it, but it was unusual for him to call this late. Worried something had happened to their parents, she turned down the stereo and answered. “Cormac? Is everything all right?”
“Of course.”
“Mom and Dad?”
“They’re still enjoying themselves in the States.”
She glanced at the clock hanging over the entrance. “Then why are you calling?”
“I figured you’d be on your way home by now, and I wanted to discuss the Dublin Philharmonic. Have you thought about it?”
Not at all, but she knew better than to say that to her brother. The more he was denied, the harder he tried to get his way. It’d been that way when they were kids. They’d always played the games he’d wanted to play and watched the movies he’d wanted to watch.
This was her life, though, and she wasn’t going to let him talk her into anything. “Actually, I have good news,” she said in an upbeat voice. “The Red Witch, the bar I work in, is up for sale, and I’m going to buy it.”
There was a profound silence on the other end of the line. She waited for him to exclaim what a great idea that was, that he was happy she was accepting a grownup responsibility and coming into her own.
But Cormac said, “Niamh, that’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard.”
She hunched, battered by the derision in his voice. “Can’t you be a little positive? You haven’t even heard any of the details.”
“I don’t need to hear the details. You aren’t a business owner. You’re a musician. You should be playing music.”
Been there, done that, and she’d been awful at it. “Shouldn’t you be encouraging me to do something practical that makes money? You of all people should be happy I’d have a proper profession.”
“Owning a bar is proper?”
“I’ll be a business owner, so yes.” She shook her head. “I know how to run a bar. I’ve worked at the Red Witch for ten years.”
“Which is ten years you’ve neglected your purpose.”
If he were here, she’d have thrown a glass at him. “You know, you may have known you wanted to build things from early on, but not all of us are that way.”
“You wanted to play music from the time you were born,” he pointed out. “Our mother would put on music and you’d sit there as a little baby and sway to it. When you started to walk, you always made a beeline to the stereo to play music. You’ve carried a notebook around your entire life to jot down whatever songs play in your head. Where’s your notebook now?”
She looked down at it on the counter next to her loan papers, but she pressed her lips together, angry that he knew her so well.
“You slept with your first violin, Niamh. Don’t tell me music isn’t in your soul.”
She pressed her lips together. “It’s not practical.”
“Since when were you practical?”
“You’re always telling me to grow up,” she yelled at him, frustrated. “Now that I’m trying to, you’re pushing me back.”
“Being grown up doesn’t mean going into debt up to your eyeballs and risking everything on a something you know nothing about.” Frustration made Cormac’s voice rough. “Niamh, I just care about you. I want you to be happy.”
“What makes you think I won’t be happy running the Red Witch?”
“What do you know about running a business?”
Insecurity flared in the pit of her stomach, followed by a sharp stab of resentment. “You could choose to support me, Cormac.”
“Don’t you dare accuse me of being unsupportive,” he exclaimed. “I supported you through college and getting your degree in music, because I believed that was what you were meant to do, and I wanted to give you every opportunity to be successful. I won’t support you when you’re being daft.”
“Daft?” she yelled back.
“You must be to think you want to be a bar owner. Jesus, Niamh, do you know how
She wanted to ignore it, but it was unusual for him to call this late. Worried something had happened to their parents, she turned down the stereo and answered. “Cormac? Is everything all right?”
“Of course.”
“Mom and Dad?”
“They’re still enjoying themselves in the States.”
She glanced at the clock hanging over the entrance. “Then why are you calling?”
“I figured you’d be on your way home by now, and I wanted to discuss the Dublin Philharmonic. Have you thought about it?”
Not at all, but she knew better than to say that to her brother. The more he was denied, the harder he tried to get his way. It’d been that way when they were kids. They’d always played the games he’d wanted to play and watched the movies he’d wanted to watch.
This was her life, though, and she wasn’t going to let him talk her into anything. “Actually, I have good news,” she said in an upbeat voice. “The Red Witch, the bar I work in, is up for sale, and I’m going to buy it.”
There was a profound silence on the other end of the line. She waited for him to exclaim what a great idea that was, that he was happy she was accepting a grownup responsibility and coming into her own.
But Cormac said, “Niamh, that’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard.”
She hunched, battered by the derision in his voice. “Can’t you be a little positive? You haven’t even heard any of the details.”
“I don’t need to hear the details. You aren’t a business owner. You’re a musician. You should be playing music.”
Been there, done that, and she’d been awful at it. “Shouldn’t you be encouraging me to do something practical that makes money? You of all people should be happy I’d have a proper profession.”
“Owning a bar is proper?”
“I’ll be a business owner, so yes.” She shook her head. “I know how to run a bar. I’ve worked at the Red Witch for ten years.”
“Which is ten years you’ve neglected your purpose.”
If he were here, she’d have thrown a glass at him. “You know, you may have known you wanted to build things from early on, but not all of us are that way.”
“You wanted to play music from the time you were born,” he pointed out. “Our mother would put on music and you’d sit there as a little baby and sway to it. When you started to walk, you always made a beeline to the stereo to play music. You’ve carried a notebook around your entire life to jot down whatever songs play in your head. Where’s your notebook now?”
She looked down at it on the counter next to her loan papers, but she pressed her lips together, angry that he knew her so well.
“You slept with your first violin, Niamh. Don’t tell me music isn’t in your soul.”
She pressed her lips together. “It’s not practical.”
“Since when were you practical?”
“You’re always telling me to grow up,” she yelled at him, frustrated. “Now that I’m trying to, you’re pushing me back.”
“Being grown up doesn’t mean going into debt up to your eyeballs and risking everything on a something you know nothing about.” Frustration made Cormac’s voice rough. “Niamh, I just care about you. I want you to be happy.”
“What makes you think I won’t be happy running the Red Witch?”
“What do you know about running a business?”
Insecurity flared in the pit of her stomach, followed by a sharp stab of resentment. “You could choose to support me, Cormac.”
“Don’t you dare accuse me of being unsupportive,” he exclaimed. “I supported you through college and getting your degree in music, because I believed that was what you were meant to do, and I wanted to give you every opportunity to be successful. I won’t support you when you’re being daft.”
“Daft?” she yelled back.
“You must be to think you want to be a bar owner. Jesus, Niamh, do you know how
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