At five in the morning, Lita was bringing Diarmid into her place. It was the first time anyone other than the girls were in the space and she was feeling nervous. He had been quiet in the cab ride from the hospital to her place.
He held up his phone, “my mom said she got home okay. Dad was still up. I knew he was. Worries about her like I do you.”
She gave a shy smile and turned the lights on in her space. She had the two lower levels of a brownstone right on the edge of Manhattan. Where most of the places in Manhattan were condos and apartment blocks, she had the rare find of a multi-level unit.
“The security of your front door is something else,” he closed the door and listened the whirring clicks of the locks sliding into place.
“When I bought this place, Clara insisted on having
