He was singing the cheesier of the Irish ballads, Americans would rather hear of Molly Malone and her cockles and mussels than Pádraic Pearse and his...butchered schoolboys. They would rather think of Ireland as a place of happy leprechauns, drunken and merry, rather than the true tragedy of Bridget’s homeland. Bridget sighed, despairing for her adopted countrymen. Before her was a half-full bottle of Jameson, a chipped ashtray brimming with butts and ash, and a damply empty glass. The red-haired. ..”I’m thinking that ol’ Harv’s chickens are coming home to roost as far as his reputation is concerned, tagging Laney when she was a paralegal in his law firm, but saying that again wouldn’t help the present situation.“I can imagine what it would do,” I said, dredging up as much compassion as I could fake. “So what am I expected to do here?”“Look,” she stated, “Deena’s been talking about moving in with you. Even with your new bride...” That last clause had a thick coat of sarcasm. I ignored. More

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