Chapter 23.

My decision to spend the evening at the hotel pub was a logical one. A professional one. I prefer thinking of it that way, as it's a little too hard on my ego to admit I'm here largely to look at Noah. 

I'm not being stalky. You can say I'm a woman on a mission. 

Most of the tables are full— families, couples, tour groups, the Kingston boys huddle together over pints and glasses and conversations. A young boy who can't be more than fifteen sits in a corner playing a weepy tune on a concertina. A fire is being lit, as with the evening weather had gone chilly and damp, and around the red glow of simmering turf a trio of old men with wind raw faces sit smoking contemplatively and tapping booted feet to the music.

I see Lacey at the far end of the bar, having what appears to be the most serious of discussion with a man who had to be a hundred and two years old. 

The past two days have been what you can call the longest days of my life. Si