The Last Will of Moira Leahy Read Online Free PDF Page B

adventure.
    Avventura .
    How easily that word had rolled off my poppy’s tongue, become the mantra for his life. I knew what he’d do with a mystery, no matter the size. Research. Dig. Figure it out.
    Why not shun work tonight? It was a holiday, after all.
    I turned on the computer and Googled, “What is a keris?” And when the screen lit with knowledge, I leaned in, took another swallow of wine, and gave thanks to technology.

Out of Time
Castine, Maine
OCTOBER 1995
Moira and Maeve are eleven
“No humming at the table, Maeve,” Mama said as they sat down to Moira’s favorite meal of crab salad and corn on the cob and mashed potatoes and salad with ranch dressing.
“It’s a new song about a hungry fox,” Maeve said as she reached for the corn.
Moira grabbed an ear, too. “It’s sad, though.”
“Yeah,” said Maeve. “The fox is trying to get—”
“This had better not be about the baby again.” Mama clutched her small round belly and made her neck tall and taut.
“No, it’s about gooses,” Maeve said. “The fox thinks they’re tasty, so he’s trying to get them all.” She bit into her corn. Butter dripped down her chin.
“Geese.” Mama shook her head. “I’m sorry for being so jumpy, Maeve. It’s my hormones.”
Daddy smiled but said nothing. Gorp, not as wise, barked. “Quiet, dog,” he said, but Gorp kept howling and then ran out. Daddy stood, followed the dog. Maeve followed Daddy, the corn still in her hand.
Noise erupted—Gorp barking; the front door opening; Mama’s chair scraping against the wood floor; Maeve whooping; Daddy saying, “John, what a surprise,” as Mama exclaimed, “Dad! Why didn’t you tell us—?”
Moira rounded the corner and landed beside her sister in their grandfather’s open arms, his coat sleeves scented with the unfamiliar.
“Has my daughter been feeding you two magic growing beans again?” Poppy squeezed them, and they giggled and squeezed back.
“You’ve burned yourself.” Mama touched his pink face. “Where did you come from?”
“Oh, just Cairo. I don’t suppose anyone would be interested in having some real, ancient Egyptian papyrus?” He shrugged out of his coat, smiling, as Maeve and Moira squealed.
“You’ve made it in time for supper,” Mama said. “I’ll fix you a plate.”
“I’ll get your bags,” Daddy told Poppy.
“Mama’s having a baby. Just one this time,” Moira said, when she and Maeve were alone with their grandfather.
“Yes, I’ve heard!” Poppy ruffled her hair with his big hands. “Are you excited?”
“Wicked excited!”
“And do you want a brother or a sister, Moira?”
“A sister.”
“And you, Maeve? What would you like?”
“I don’t know,” Maeve said. “I think something’s wrong with the baby.”
Poppy’s smile drooped. “Wrong? Abby didn’t say—”
“Shh!” Moira poked her sister with her elbow, and Maeve’s corn dropped to the ground. Gorp was out the door with it within seconds.
“Thanks a lot, Moira. That was good corn.”
“Sorry, but you know Mom doesn’t want you talking about your funny feelings anymore.”
Poppy bent close to them and whispered, “Lucky for us those funny feelings don’t always pan out. Last year, you thought something might be wrong with me!”
Maeve smiled. “I’m glad I was wrong about that.”
THAT NIGHT, poppy told stories of lost cities and found pyramids. He showed them photographs of rediscovered passageways and dark-skinned people and old paintings. Maeve asked a relentless stream of questions: “What did you eat? Did the natives dance and make sacrifices? Were there poisonous spiders? Snakes?” Poppy answered between frequent outbursts of laughter.
After dinner, while everyone recovered from big pieces of blueberry pie, Maeve played her saxophone. Moira closed her eyes and saw Egypt, felt it: the dance of a cobra in a minor-key melody; the whip of sand in a brief ascension; the persistent hot sun in a wavering high note; the tension of a dig and