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As we turn the corner, a huge fluff of black fur flashes past my feet and scurries away.
“Christ!” I nearly leap out of my skin. “The fuck is that?” I hiss, trying to keep my voice down so I don't wake the whole house.
Valentina's covering her mouth, trying not to laugh out loud. “Looks like a cat,” she whispers. “A normal, domesticated cat. I bet your enemies would love to know all it takes to spook Torin McCarthy is an unexpected pet by his feet.”
“When I went away, we didn't have a fuckin' cat,” I mutter. “Where the fuck did that one come from?”
She shrugs. “First I've seen it too. You sure it belongs here?”
I watch the cat pad off toward the kitchen, then it bows its head and drinks from a bowl of water. “Don't think a stray cat that didn't belong here would have its own bowl.” I shake my head. “Must've forgotten to mention that to me when they were catching me up.”
“Right.” She nods solemnly, then winces when she walks.
Ice.
“How’s the foot?”
“Fine.” I don’t trust her fine. She’s got a ridiculous pain tolerance.
“Show me.”
She does, frowning. Thank Christ it’s healing well.
“Grand.”
She shrugs as if to say, I told you so.
I gesture for her to sit on the little ottoman as I open the door and take out an enormous first aid kit in a metal box.
“My god, that's the biggest first aid kit I've ever seen. Is that normal for the Irish? Do you not believe in hospitals or something?”
“My brothers and I all grew up learning how to box.” I shrug. “Mam was prepared.”
I take out an ice pack and smack it to activate it. “Here,” I mutter, wrapping it in a hand towel before handing it to her. “Careful, it can burn if it's too cold.”
Our fingers touch as she takes it—half a second, skin against skin—and something moves through me.
I give her the paracetamol.
“What even is that?”
“Paracetamol.”
“What the fuck is that?”
“A pain reliever. You call it something different in America, I suppose.”
How do we speak the same language and still not understand each other at all?
She squints at the tablets, sniffs them, then tosses them back dry.
“Thanks,” she says.
Upstairs, somebody opens and closes a door. Footsteps sound in the hall, and we both look. There’s a pause, then they retreat.
“Be quiet. No need to wake up the whole house.”
“You're making more noise than I am,” she says, rolling her eyes.
