The Writer Gets Updated
Mrs. McCarthy soon had me in a bear hug, and I could scarcely breathe.
“Aidan! Look at you,” she exclaimed, holding me out at arm’s length so she could observe me. “You’ve grown inter a lanky creature! Have you been eating well?”
Her Irish accent was much more pronounced than mine.
I laughed. She hadn’t changed at all. “Yes, I eat very well – no need to worry there.”
Another voice sounded shortly overhead. “Thanks for abandoning me.”
“Ach, and who is this handsome lad?” Mrs. McCarthy asked, straightening her apron.
“A friend of mine, Mrs. McCarthy,” I answered, and she looked at me quizzically.
“Are ye sure?” there was a suggestive glint in her eyes.
“I’m very sure,” I said, tying my hair back so it wouldn’t fall in my face.
“My, my – the same Titian red hair,” Mrs. McCarthy clicked her tongue and shook her head. “What brings you ‘round these parts?”
“I came to visit papa.”
Mrs. McCarthy’s face became solemn. “He was taken to the hospital yesterday, Aidan.”