---

---

Queens, New York, 1975…

Mary sat on the old bed across from the laundry in the basement, staring blankly as the clothes tumbled in a sudsy froth in the washer. She was glad that she had managed to get her mother's dress in with this load, and she breathed out a heavy if somewhat relieved sigh. A moment later her mother Kate came down the basement stairs with another basket of clothes.

“Well, lazy bones…do you expect just to sleep the day away? “ The comment might have seemed light but for the smirk on her mother’s face. She turned away to compose herself; a futile effort, but at least her grim frown was hidden from her mother’s view. She turned back and spoke.

“Okay…do you want me to finish up the laundry? Any more baskets upstairs?”

“No, and no thanks to you. Peggy can handle it. Get going and start the lawn, or there’ll be hell to pay when your father gets home.” Her mother frowned. There always seemed to be a melancholic feel to her words; the anger seemed to be borne out of frustration and sadness rather than any real disappointment with Mary. Still, even false anger expressed is anger that hurts. Her mother shook her head at the girl.

“Martin Francis O’Flynn…Get a move on…NOW!”

Bi thusa mo threoru
I mbriathar is i mbeart
Fan thusa go deo liom is
Coinnigh me ceart
Glac curam mar athair
Is eist le mo ghui
Is tabhair domsa ait conai
Istigh i do chroi

---

---

Later that day…

A smallish Asian girl sat on the stoop in front of the large house on the corner of Martin’s block. Cheryl Kiu smiled as the boy sat down next to her, mussing her hair like a parent or uncle might. Martin tended to be very touchy with his friends; perhaps too much at times, but thankfully none of his friends had the same issues as he did. The girl punched him in the arm as he sat down next to her; the ‘hiya, pal’ expression seemed to disappoint the boy, since he really didn’t need a pal at that moment.

“You’ve got to tell your Mom. You have to!” Her words might have sounded too regional for some; ‘hafta’ belying her ethnic background while appealing to her place of birth in Flushing, New York.

“I can’t…” He put his head down. She touched his arm and he pulled back; startled. Even the most benign touch made him skittish if it was spontaneous and unexpected. Sometimes, Cheryl would shake her head in wonder when the most welcoming gesture would be met by withdrawal, but she understood and tried as best she could to help.

“He’ll keep it up…you know he will. No matter what you do or don’t do, you know…” She frowned and looked down the block at Martin’s house.

“Don’t, Cher...don’t say that….he wouldn’t dare.” The boy’s gaze lifted slightly and followed Cheryl’s stare down the block.

“He will…you know he will.” She took her time and placed her hand on his shoulder softly so he wouldn’t be startled. Her kindness and care proved to be too much and he fell into her arms, overcome with grief and fear that released at the welcome of her embrace. Cheryl looked down and saw the latest testimony to her friend’s pain; the physical evidence that was meant to help distract the boy from the inner pain he felt every day and the outer pain inflicted by an unloving parent.

New scars on the boy’s forearm seemed to trace the older lines like a re-paved highway. Her tears fell on the tracks; salt of a different kind that rather than harming, instead healed by the compassion which birthed them. She rocked the boy in her arms, hoping desperately that somehow her love could make up for the ignorance and hatred Martin’s father inflicted on a daily basis.

---

---

A short while later back inside...

Martin was exhausted after spending nearly all day doing the two-day's worth of chores his father had assigned that morning before heading to the tavern. Nevertheless, the boy still scurried about, anxious to please his mother. He sought no reward and would gladly settle for not getting the back of his father’s hand. He lapsed into hopeful faith; believing that his mother for once might take a stand against her husband. But she had three children, not one, and if push came to shove, her son could take care of himself. With two younger daughters, Kate could ill afford to defy her husband, even if he was her kids’ stepfather.

“You didn’t finish the lawn, boy,”the words were sudden, but not unexpected.

Martin turned to the sound of the voice; a low, almost drone-like rebuke. It always came to that. Children should receive a blessing from their Da, he had been told. Jimmy O’Rourke wasn’t the kind of man to bless anyone, unless it was his right fist followed swiftly by his left. The closest thing Martin came to receiving anything remotely resembling blessings would be when he was ignored.

“The boy has been cleaning the garage all day.” Kate couldn’t even bring herself to utter her son's name. Jimmy responded by feigning an uppercut. Martin flinched enough to miss avoiding the sharp jab to his stomach. The blow was painful, but softened by Jimmy’s post-tavern reflexes.

“G’wan, boy. You’re a fine lad, and never let anyone say otherwise, yeah?” Jimmy fancied himself Irish enough to talk with a brogue; he may have been born in County Mayo, but he grew up in Flushing. As he passed by the boy, he punched him hard in the shoulder, knocking him into the frame of the kitchen door. Bruises that everyone acknowledged seemed to hide the ones no one knew about but the boy and his step-father.

"Mind you get that mess of hair cut. You're lookin' like a downright sissy," Jimmy finished with another punch, this time to Martin's back as he walked by. Martin watched as Jimmy went down the short hall to the living room. He thought of Jimmy's rebuke and he honestly did not know whether to laugh or cry.

---

---

A few days later…at Cheryl's house...

“At least tell your mom.” Cheryl rubbed the boy’s arm, evoking a gasp of pain as her hand brushed across his sleeve, pressing the coarse fabric against new scars. He wasn’t upset with her. Somehow the pain of his wounds seemed to be a good distraction from the pain elsewhere; especially in his heart.

“She’ll take his side…she has to…She…she has no choice.” He looked down absentmindedly at his sneakers; the worn canvas barely holding together. His mother had noticed it earlier in the day and confronted him.

---

---

“What happened to the money from that job of yours? I know you don’t make much working at the store, but you should be saving it instead of throwing it away. I can’t risk buying you new shoes; Jimmy would just have conniptions and then where would we all be? “ She sighed.

Jimmy spent much of his time with his mates at the bar, so most of his extra money and even some of the not-so-surplus cash in the house went to his afternoon diversions. Kate could barely make do with the money she made on her own with her cleaning jobs, and she couldn’t afford confronting him, lest he pick up his sorry cheating ass and leave her and the kids. If she really looked around, she would have known Jimmy was filching the boy’s money as well. But sometimes discretion is the best form of self-preservation. She had her own bruises to account for that.

“Mom…” Martin tried to speak, but the words just got stuck way down inside. His mother had borne the heartache of losing her love; Martin Senior had been killed by a drunk driver and the boy couldn’t bear to bring more pain and sorrow to her. She looked up from her ironing; Jimmy was particular about his shirts.

“Never mind…it can wait. I’ll….I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll do better.” The boy could hardly do better than maintain a B+ average while doing all of the outdoor work for the home as well as working at his job at the A&P most evenings.

---

---

“Tell her. I’ll be right there with you in spirit.” Cheryl would have accompanied her best friend except that she couldn’t take the chance Jimmy would come home; he hated surprises and nothing said surprise more than arriving home and finding an Asian…. A half-Asian girl in his house. Jimmy was an equal-opportunity bigot…he hated everyone except himself. Martin looked down, as if the sidewalk in front of the house would reveal some wisdom or impart strength. Cheryl touched his upper arm, trying with some success to avoid the newer bruises.

"I'll be right here..." She pointed to the front stoop and sat down.

"I believe in you...Mary." Something began to stir in Martin and Kate's oldest child. An awakening? She always knew what she was in a way, but it took the encouragement of a girl who really was more than just Martin's best friend to help Mary O'Flynn to understand who she was.

---

---

Minutes later, in the kitchen...

Kate was sitting at the table, peeling potatoes.

“Mom….I gotta tell you something.”

He put his head down, trying not to cry. His sister Peggy wandered out into the kitchen just as he spoke. She looked at him and furiously shook her head. At thirteen, she was her mother’s supreme help at home, at least for all ‘girl’ things. Martin would have loved to help his mother in the same manner, but in 1975 Queens, New York, , boys didn’t do dishes or cook or clean except in only a few homes.

And of course, in 1975, there was no place for a boy to go ahead and explain just why he wasn’t a boy after all. So it fell upon Peggy to do most of the house work while her mother did the cleaning jobs outside the home. And of course she took care of the Colleen, the youngest at ten.

Horrible secrets can lose their hold on us when they are shared... mostly. Martin pursed his lips and scowled. He wasn’t at all angry with Peggy, but with the real reason why she insisted he stay quiet. But he had to risk all for her sake as well as for Colleen. He turned back to his mother.

“Well…what is it.” His mother grew impatient; mostly because she hoped his plaint would something innocuous enough to quickly grant or ignore completely. He disappointed and saddened and angered her with his next few words.

“I….”

“Out with it! I don’t have all day.” She snapped at him. His reluctance to speak only reinforced her dread that what he was going to say couldn’t be anything good, and likely would be very, very bad.

“I think…” He turned and Peggy shook her head before running back silently to her room; her face was a mixture of anger and sadness and fear, and none of it directed toward her big brother. Another who knew if he spoke it might destroy their world.

“Martin…” His mother insisted and he looked at her. At thirty-five, she looked nearly ten years older, and he feared that his words would add to her already-burdened soul. Nevertheless he spoke.

“Jimmy…” It was almost a dream as time stood still; glimpses coming back to him that swiftly became a waking nightmare...

---

---

“Well…lookie here!” The man laughed wickedly as he walked into the bedroom. Mary turned and found herself face-to-face with her step-father. The girl was wearing her mother’s dress; a green rayon sleeveless shift. Her blonde hair was only a bit longish but nicely combed, and she resembled her mother almost as much as her sisters. A look of horror crossed her face as the man before her grew frighteningly quiet.

“I….I was just…” There usually are no adequate explanations for a boy at fifteen caught wearing his mother’s dress, but it gets exponentially worse when the boy’s step-father is a cruel but charming deceiver. He never liked any of his step-children, but least of all his 'good-for-nothing' step-son. Martin had just given Jimmy one more reason to hate him. He went to take the dress off, but Jimmy smirked and held his hand up.

“No…that’s okay.” He put his hand at his belt, and the boy winced, fearing the beating to come. But the man didn’t take his belt off, but merely undid it. He let his pants drop to the floor and he stepped out of them. Grabbing the boy by the wrist, he twisted it sharply. Old scars cried out in pain as the boy doubled over even as the man shoved him rudely onto the bed. He fell on top of the boy and his breath was heavy with the smell of beer and cigarettes.

“Let’s see what you can do….darlin’?. No one’s at home, and it’s just you and me for hours.” Martin’s eyes widened in fear as the man sat on the bed. Jimmy laughed; a cackle almost and straight from hell.

“What’s yer name, darlin’?” Martin remained silent until Jimmy’s right hand slapped him hard in the face.

“I said…what’s yer name!” He raised his hand again and the boy stammered.

“Martin.” He cowered and the man laughed.

“NO, you fucking idiot.” He pointed to the dress the boy wore.

“What’s YOUR name?” Martin put his head down and said in a frightened whisper,

"Ma...Mary...”

“Well….Mary O’Flynn….seein’ how we’re not blood kin….there’s nothing to say you can’t…” His voice trailed off to a dull, wheezy laugh as he pointed to his crotch. The boy shook his head but another slap came; quickly followed by a rough hand grabbing his hair.

“Let’s get…acquainted, shall we?”

---

---

“If you breathe a word of this…I’ll fuck both of your sisters. Understand?” Jimmy turned back to face the boy who lay sobbing on the bed.

“I knew you were a fucking weakling.” He walked to the bedroom door before turning back one last time.

“Don’t forget about your sisters….Mary. He laughed and walked down the hall.

---

---

“Mom….I ….I wore…..”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! “ Her patience was wearing extremely thin. It was now or never.

“Mom…I wore your dress.” He put his head down and started to cry.

“Is that all? Dear Mother of God….you’re not the first boy to try on his mother’s clothes and I expect you won’t be the last. But that’s going to stop….right now. No more sissy stuff. Your step-father would kill you if he found out.” Her face grew grim at the thought, but she half-smiled at him.

“No more!” She snapped and frowned at her ironing. He spoke up again; softer and with a stammer.

“That’s….that’s not…all.”

“If you’ve ripped my new nylons….” She shook her head. He had to speak, so he practically blurted it out.

“Jimmy raped me, Mom…he made me…”

He had barely gotten the words out of his mouth when his mother lost it. A disconnect between a truth she had held at arms’ length and a desire…a fear-driven need to keep the family together, whatever that meant and whatever that required. She walked across the room and slapped him hard; the harshest rebuke that a child can ever receive from a parent. He went to speak and she slapped him harder while speaking through clenched teeth as the tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Don’t you ever say that about your father again!” The boy turned to run out of the room but he felt her hands grab him by the shoulders, spinning him around. He cringed at the sight of her raised hand, but she pulled him closed and began to sob; stammering herself.

“I…I’m so sorry…..I…I’m…sorry.” She held Martin as if he was going to run away forever if she let go. He wept in her arms. After nearly two minutes of sobs and silence she pushed him away enough to look at him. It was the strangest, most fearful but wonderful moment in their relationship. An odd mixture of sad and eerily enlightening as she noticed the difference in her oldest child; the very first meeting between Katherine O’Flynn and her oldest daughter Mary.

---

---

Several minutes later…

“Mommy?” Kate turned to see her youngest standing in the hallway, barely awake from an after school nap. At ten she had barely begun to live and had seen way too much, despite Katherine’s vain attempts at protection.

“What….what is it, honey?" Katherine stammered. Even as she spoke, Colleen wandered down the hallway with her mother and her…sister…trailing after.

“Peggy is in the bathroom and I gotta go. She won’t come out,” the girl pointed to the door.

“Peg….Peggy, hon….Your sister needs to use the bathroom.” Kate knocked sharply on the door, but she heard nothing.

“Peggy….You open this door this instant!” She hadn’t meant to be harsh, but her emotions were well above the surface and she was already anxious from her oldest child’s news. She tried the door and the knob didn’t turn.

“Peggy?” Her tone became worried; a shiver went up her spine and she began knocking harder on the door.

“Peggy?” She felt a hand on her shoulder; Martin had gone to the kitchen and brought back a butter knife. He pushed it between the trim of the door jamb and the frame. A moment later the door pushed open, revealing Peggy’s motionless body.

“Oh dear God…” Kate began to panic. Colleen looked at her calmly and grabbed her hand. Martin leaned down and checked his sister. She was breathing, but shallow and slow. He spotted a pill bottle on the floor.

“She took some of your medicine, Mom….flu…fluoxetine?”

“Oh god, no….” Even as she spoke she was rushing down the hall. She dialed ‘O’ and spoke.

“Operator…dear god….Yes….my daughter took some of my medicine. Yes… pills…anti...yes…antidepressant…no…I think there were only four or five…maybe six? Dear god….yes…okay….yes….13 Bowne Street…yes…”

Kate hung up the phone and felt a tug on her sweater sleeve.

“Don’t worry, Mommy. Peggy is going to be all right. I just know it.” The tears in Colleen’s eyes practically belied her words, but she smiled bravely, evoking a return half-grin. A mother has to put on a brave face, aye?

“She’s coming around, Mom….” Martin’s voice rang out down the hall, giving everyone a bit of relief. Twelve minutes later the doorbell rang. Kate ran to open it and the ambulance crew rushed in. Moments later they were off out the front door with Peggy on a stretcher; Kate was given permission to ride along, since Jimmy had the family car.

---

---

New York Hospital, Flushing, Queens….

Somewhere in between, Kate had called the tavern, but Jimmy was no where to be found. Normally, the lads down at the bar would cover for him if he didn’t want to come to the phone, but with the news about Peggy, even Jimmy’s best lads wouldn’t lie to her. He wasn’t there. With just one favorite place to drink and make merry, his absence let her know that he was probably with one of his girlfriends. Kate turned to see her other children along with their next door neighbor Aggie.

“Listen, Kate…I’ve got to go pick up my Tommy at LaGuardia…give me a call when you get in, okay? God bless!” Aggie kissed Kate on the cheek, pulling her into a soft hug before running toward the elevator.

“She’s going to be alright, right?” Colleen asked as tears spilled off her face; even a brave girl can be scared, and she feared for her sister’s life.

“She was waking up, Col…that’s a good sign.” Martin squeezed her arms softly and hugged her. She felt safe enough to be her ten-year-old frightened self, and she burst into tears.

“Shhh…shhh.” The boy stroked her hair softly. Somewhere in the back of his mind something clicked. An awakening of sorts; perhaps for the whole family, but certainly for him…rather…her. Big brothers can often be relied upon to protect their siblings; sisters too, of course. But at that moment, the protective nature that can only be found in big sisters and aunts and grandmothers and moms kicked in. Whatever was left of Martin slowly seemed to merge with Mary as she held her little sister in her arms; feeling like a mother for the very first time.

"Excuse me?" A man in a white lab coat walked up to Kate.

"Your daughter...." As he spoke in hushed tones, Kate's widened in shock. She put her hand to her mouth as the doctor continued to speak.

“She’ll be alright. Quite a scare, Mrs….” Kate stared at the doctor a moment before answering softly but with a resolve never known in their home; her own awakening.

“O’Rou…Kate…Katherine O’Flynn.” She smiled even as her eyes filled with tears. A page had been turned in the family story; a plot twist that no one could have seen coming, but necessary for the development of the characters, so to speak. She turned to Martin and Colleen.

“They won’t let you in, but I’ll be sure to tell her you asked about her, okay?” Colleen began to cry softly and Martin stooped down on one knee to face her; bravery comes in all sizes, and this little girl’s heart was huge even as her stature was small.

“It’ll just be a few days. We can go over to Aunt Moira’s and make her a get-well-card, okay?” She nodded reluctantly, wiping her face with her sweater sleeve. He stood up and stepped close to Katherine, hugging her tightly as if to never let go.

“Be careful, M…Mar…” Her words stuck as she struggled. Something had taken place between them; an irretrievably wonderful moment between a mother and a daughter. She loved her son; she would treasure his life to that moment for a lifetime, but she no longer had a son. Perhaps she never did and didn’t realize it.

“Mar...reee…” The boy began to sob, falling into his mother’s arms, feeling ashamed and scared. She pulled him closer and finished his words.

“Mary? After my mother?” He…she nodded. Traces of the son she raised would remain forever, in a way. A child of character and courage, her daughter would still enjoy the Mets and even remain a life long New York Islander fan. But the odd memories came back to Kate as she held her sobbing child. All those things that make up being a girl; nameless and perhaps fluid between gender for some, but she realized how much of a girl her oldest child actually was. It was Martin who comforted ‘his’ sister, but it really was her daughter Mary that soothed the girl like only an older sister can.

“It’s alright, baby.” A word she hadn’t used since Martin was a toddler; she felt that it quite suited her oldest like no other endearment would. She stroked Mary’s hair….for that’s whose hair it was; a special moment of awakening for the family once more. Colleen pulled her mother’s sleeve. Kate turned to look and saw the girl beaming from ear to ear.

“I…I’ve got a new sister?” Both Kate and Mary nodded and girl once more burst into tears; this time extremely happy and secure.

---

---

At home later that night…

Mary…Martin for the moment…walked into the house. It was dark, save for the glow of the TV. The living room smelled of beer and cigarettes. A half-eaten pizza lay face down on the floor along with a quart bottle that had spilled its contents all over the carpet. The figure in the recliner in front of the TV struggled without success to get up.

“Where’s that bitch of a mother of yours?” Jimmy slurred.

“Don’t you talk about my mother like that.”

“Oh…and what are you going to do about it, you fucking pansy?” He made an effort to rise but fell back into the seat once again.

“Nothing, Jimmy…nothing!” The words were innocuous, but the tone dripped with anger.

“Don’t you take that tone with yer father, boy!” He rose from the chair; seemingly energized by the power he had over the family. He went to pull his belt off; this time a beating was in store, but he fumbled with the buckle and gave up.

“Never mind. I’ll fucking just hit you with my fists, you fucking pervert.” He went to swing and fell past the boy and onto the couch.

“You’re not my father. My father was better than you’ll ever be.”

“Your father…ah yes…the sainted Martin Fucking O’Flynn. Quite the legend!” He laughed snidely.

“You stop!” Martin shook his head; the tears in his eyes were less anger and more frustration and sadness at the memory of his father…a man that Jimmy would never even approach.

“What the fuck, Marty me lad? You gonna stop me? You and what fucking army…you fucking pansy-assed waste of my fucking breath!” He tried to rise off the couch, but fell sideways and onto the floor. Martin did something that would be regretted for a long time afterward, and not by him. He reached down and helped his step-father up to his feet.

“Oh…gonna fight me….” He started to laugh; a wicked, almost hysterical and secret-hiding cackle. He pointed at the boy.

“What, Jimmy?” The boy practically begged for an answer; something he nearly regretted, but grew to understand as part of his awakening.

“Yer father….got himself killed by a drunk driver, right?” The laugh was evil; as if to be used as a weapon to kill the boy’s spirit. Jimmy kept talking, and it became clearer by the moment that he was ‘digging his own grave,’ as the saying goes.

“Well….Roosevelt and Main as I recall.” He laughed again. Most of Martin feared what Jimmy was about to say, but part of him…part of the daughter Martin Sr. would have loved…welcomed the horrible truth.

“It wasn’t an accident, you fucking bastard.” Jimmy scoffed. Martin winced and in a second Mary rose up in defense of herself and her mother and her sisters. Defiant would have been an understatement…She was… horrified as the dreaded words spilled out of the man…not nearly a man… Jimmy spoke with a bravado that was both foolish and ineffective.

“I fancied yer mother….For a mongrel, she’s quite attractive.” He laughed; recalling Kate’s mother’s side… Pavelich. Mary stepped forward and with every bit of strength she had, she hit her stepfather in the chest, sending him crashing into the coffee table, which collapsed under his dead weight.

“You’ll pay for that, boy.” He wiped his chin with the back of his hand; the other quart of beer had spilled onto his face when the table broke. Mary anticipated another go at it as the man struggled once again to his feet, but the near lethal blow came not from his fists, but from his mouth.

"You see….” He paused for effect, chortling with a near zeal at the hurt he had done and was about to do once more. The girl cringed; she knew exactly what he was going to reveal even before he spoke it. He recognized her fear and laughed again before finishing.

“He never had a chance. At least thank me for being kind enough to make it quick, aye?” Another pause followed by deathly and overwhelmingly sad silence.

“Never knew what hit ‘em. They never pinned it on anyone… I stole the car and drove it over to Jersey after…well, after I did the deed.” A horrible word to use; reserved for valor and bravery, the ‘deed’ was about as cowardly and evil as anything the girl could imagine. But… Jimmy couldn’t stop there.

"And your mum none the wiser. I got what I wanted." He laughed.

“You know….we had a deal, right?” He grinned and Mary shook her head wondering what he meant. And then it dawned on her.

“You…you hurt Peggy?” She was almost blinded by the tears that spilled off her face onto the dirty carpet below.

“Oh…you needn’t feel too bad. I was fucking her before I even got around to you.” He was bragging as if he had done Mary a favor by relieving her of a small measure of guilt. She shook her head and hit her left hip with her fist; a punishment for being so stupid and gullible.

“Oh…she’s a good lay, alright, but nothing like what that little brat will be when get my hands on her. But you wouldn’t dare tell anyone. I’d kill both of your little whore sisters before I’d let you say a fucking word.

“I don’t care….You won’t… I’ll stop you!” Mary cried.

“Oh really, you fucking queer? Over my dead body!” He laughed for a moment; the evil filled the room until he felt a rude shove in his back with something very hard. Jimmy’s revolver.

“That can be arranged, you goddamned fucking bastard!” Katherine O’Flynn spoke calmly while tears poured down her face. She nudged Jimmy and he put his hands up; almost playfully as he turned toward her.

“You don’t think you’re gonna use that, now do you?” He laughed.

“You killed the only love I ever knew.” She cried. Her hand lowered slightly and he stepped closer. She quickly raised the gun and pointed it at his chest.

“Now Darlin’….I don’t know what you think you heard…me and the lad here… we were just talkin’ is all.” The charm seemed to sway Kate until she spoke.

“No, Jimmy…you’re not going to talk your way out of this.” She thrust the gun forward a few inches to make her point.

“You hurt me…you hurt my children…and you’re going to pay.”

“For what, Katie my love? For what this pervert told you?” He swept his hand in an arc; pointing it toward Mary.

“No, Jimmy. I can’t prove that. It’s your word against hers.” She shook her head as the tears began to fall once more. Jimmy smiled and winked; a gesture he would regret…a brief forever. She lifted the gun and fired once into the chair behind him.

“Now is that supposed to scare me?”

“No, Jimmy. The hospital doctors found….” She couldn’t bear to speak the unmentionable horror which had left its marks…almost indelible scars both inside and out, but proof enough of what he had done to Peggy.

“You don’t expect me to go to prison….after all we’ve meant to each other?”

His words spoke with bravado, but the tremble on his lip showed otherwise. He smiled weakly until she shook her head once again. She was crying freely now; for her children and their father….her dear Martin. And she was crying for Jimmy as well. But no more. Jimmy smiled even as he reached for the knife in his pocket. Pulling it out, his expression was one of sheer defiance, a mocking grin gleamed as if he believed he was indestructible.

“No Jimmy…I expect you to go to hell.” With that, she calmly aimed the gun at him and shot him in the chest…twice. Mary looked at her mother and fell at her feet, holding onto her legs as she cried harder than she had ever cried in her whole life.

“It’s over, baby...It’s over.”

---

---

Shortly thereafter…

A tall, kind looking man stood by Kate. He closed his notepad as if to say, ‘that’s it.’ He spoke.

“I don’t see as how you had a choice…Mrs?”

“O’Flynn. Ka…Katherine O’Flynn…”

"You said he came at you with the knife on the floor there. I don’t think he expected you to fight back.” He frowned as she nodded. He looked back at the knife and shrugged his shoulders; who could say what he would have done?

“I don’t know how you put up with it for so long,” the detective said as he looked down into Jimmy’s lifeless eyes. Another time and another cop and it would have been a rebuke; the blame-the-victim so often wielded by ignorant men over women whose only crime in that era was to just stay alive. This cop was different.

"Such...courage, Ma'am."

It helped her that Jimmy had a reputation in the neighborhood; everyone knew he was brutal bully but also feared what he might be doing behind closed doors, though they had no proof. The detective looked over at two figures sitting on the couch and sighed.

“It must have been hell for you and your kids. I'm glad your little ones weren't home. How're your son and daughter there holding up?” He half-smiled, trying to be an encouragement as he pointed to the two.

“I've got...oh...those two? That’s not my son…she’s my daughter…Mary…. And her best friend Cheryl…Mary’s named after my mother, you know?”

The detective smiled and nodded. The girl seemed awfully plain, but there was just something about her that spoke ‘girl’ once he looked again; a transformation of sorts? But really just someone beside Katherine and her children finally realizing that there were indeed three girls in the family.

---

---

A while later on the front steps...

“I’m so proud of you. You’re so brave!” Cheryl rubbed the girl’s arm, evoking even more tears. Something about feeling safe enough to cry.

“I’m not brave at all. I was…I am so scared.” She put her head down until she felt a soft touch on her cheek, gently lifting her face.

“Being brave is being scared…we all are…but standing up for what’s right anyway. I am so very proud of you, Mary O’Flynn!” Cheryl smiled through her own tears. Mary put her head down once again only to feel the gentle tug of a hesitant caress. She lifted her head to face the sweetest girl she would ever know; and know the first of the sweetest of many kisses as well.

Bi thusa mo threoru
I mbriathar is I mbeart
Fan thusa go deo liom is
Coinnigh me ceart
Glac curam mar athair
Is eist le mo ghui
Is tabhair domsa ait conai
Istigh I do chroi

---

---

Be my eyes, O king of creation
Fill my life with understanding
And patience
Will You be my mind every night
And every day
Sleeping or awake
Fill me with Your love

Will You be my guidance
In my words and actions
Stay with me forever
And keep me on the right path
As my Father take care of me
And listen to my prayers
And give me a place
To live inside Your heart

Bi-se I Mo Shuil Part Two
Gaelige adaptation of
Be Thou My Vision
Words by Hugh Brennan
Music by Iona
English adaptation by
Adodh O Dugain
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Su4fba6aJ_g