Wild Card

Nathan sat beside his grandfather, Rory Malone, on the crude front porch of the shack he lived in.

Nathan was only ten, but he knew exactly why Grandpop didn't live with him and his parents.

Because Nathan's father, Grant, was ashamed of him.

"He's too fucking Irish," Grant would rage for hours after visiting with his father. "He uses that

brogue like it's something to be proud of."

And God. forbid that Nathan should let a hint of that brogue free, though he practiced it as often

as he could away from his father.

Nathan's father didn't like being Irish. He didn't like people knowing he was Irish. If he could

ship Grandpop off somewhere, then Nathan sometimes thought that his father would do it. But

Grant Malone couldn't make Rory Malone do anything. The old man was as wise as the

mountains and the cliffs around them, and just as stubborn.

"Nathan, my boy, look at that sunset." Rory pointed out the majestic colors that washed over the

mountains. "Almost as pretty as Ireland, she is. Almost." And Nathan heard a whisper of

homesickness in his grandpop's voice.

"Why don't you go back?" Nathan asked. "Dad says you have enough money to live anywhere."

He looked at his grandfather's weathered face. The bright blue eyes, just like Nathan's, brighter

than Nathan's father's and without the hints of green his father's had.

Grandpop smiled. A strange, sad little smile.

"Because my Erin is here." He pointed to the small graveyard.

There. Nathan's grandma, Erin Malone, was buried. On one side of her were buried the two sons

they lost in Vietnam, his uncles, Riordan and Rory Jr.. and the daughter that had died of a fever,

Nathan's aunt Edan.

"Grandma wouldn't want you to leave?" Nathan frowned. His grandma was dead, what would she

care?

"Oh, now my Erin, she'd smile down on me no matter where I walked." Grandpop smiled that

little smile again. "But I'd be separated from her, and I'd feel that separation in my soul, you

see?"

Nathan shook his head.

Grandpop sighed. "You have the Irish eyes, boy. One of these days, you'll see from eyes, not

your own, feel with a heart outside your chest. Wild Irish eyes. Nathan. When you love, love well

and love true, and take care, lad, because those Irish eyes are windows into not just your own

soul, but the soul of the one you love." Grandpop looked out at his Erin's grave. "And when you

lose that heart, you can't leave the places where your memories are the best. And if I left her, I'd

not be buried beside her."

Grandpop stared back at him then, and Nathan felt his chest grow tight at the thought of ever

burying his grandpop in the hard, bleak soil.

"Wild Irish eyes," his grandpop murmured then. "My father gave me the same warning I give you

now, boy. Don't lose the one you love. You lose a part of your soul when you do. The legacy of

those eyes will ensure it."

Nathan frowned. That didn't make much sense, but maybe he'd ask his uncle Jordan about it later.

Uncle Jordan still remembered his mother. He had been five when she died, just before Nathan's

birth. But Uncle Jordan was in Houston right now on summer break with Nathan's older uncle

Doran and his family.

"So my eyes are bad?" Nathan finally asked.

"Not bad." His grandpop sighed. "Not bad at all, boy. You'll see one of these days. One of these

days, you'll see. Wild Irish eyes see what they shouldn't see, but even more." His grandfather

stared down at him sadly. "The one who holds your soul, who holds your heart." He thumped

Nathan's chest. "They see through you as well."

"Dad doesn't have Irish eyes then?" Grant's eyes had flecks of green. He always frowned. He

always growled.

Worry flickered over Grandpop's face. "Your dad is a good man." He repeated what he always

said.

"Is he, Grandpop?" Nathan thought about the baby sleeping in the house. The tiny baby that

Grandpop said was his brother. The baby Grant Malone denied. "Little Rory should have a dad

too."

Grandpop touched his head gently and said softly, "Nothing is as we think, boy. There are always

layers, and layers, shades of gray and shades of black or white. You gotta find why, not see

what."

"Because he doesn't love us," Nathan whispered, accepting it as only a child can.

And Grandpop hook his head. "Layers, son. Remember that. There's always what you don't know

and what you don't see. And love doesn't always do what we think it should. Just remember that,

and you'll do fine."

And he grew. He looked for layers, he looked for shades of gray. Nathan Malone matured,

became a SEAL, and the layers drifted from his mind. But they were there. Always shifting,

always moving. Until the day he saw hell. And from the ashes of hell, he learned there were

layers he never knew existed.