“Ye see,” he says, throwing out what looks like a grey fuzzy lump attached to a spool of thin rope, “this is the lure. And if Hooter was a good bird, he’d be trying to go after it, thinking it’s prey. But ye see he’s a lazy cunt and a little fat, so he’s not food motivated right now.” He gestures to the other cage, where the hawk lets out a piercing cry. “Clyde, however, is eager. He wants to hunt. I’d let him out to do it but I know that bird isn’t coming back.”

I’d read all about this in the books but I like the way Padraig is explaining things, so I don’t bother telling him that I know the whole point of falconry is hunting. It’s actually kind of a crazy ass sport. Instead of guns, people go out into the woods with their birds and the birds are the ones that do the hunting for them, bringing them rabbits and shit.

But no one will be hunting with these birds anytime soon.

“How is he?” comes Colin’s voice.

Padraig and I turn to see Colin coming out of the cottage and taking a few steps on his own. He’s got on pajama pants as usual but he’s also in rubber boots and a rain coat.

“Dad,” Padraig says, walking quickly over to him. He wraps his arm around his waist, supporting him. “What are ye doing out here?”

He makes a weak attempt to point to me. “I want to teach her about Clyde since I know ye damn well can’t.”

“Are you sure?” I ask as they come closer. “Are you up for it?”

“I’m here, ain’t I?”

“You’ve been sleeping for days, Dad,” Padraig says gently. “You haven’t been eating.”

“I’m fine,” he growls and then starts coughing up a lung, making both of them pause. He then taps Padraig’s chest. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”

A knot forms in my throat when I have the distinct feeling that this might be the last time I see Colin walking.

They come over to me and he says, “Let me see that ring, dear.”

I raise it up and flash it at him.

He smiles, open mouthed, looking absolutely tickled pink about it. “A beauty, just like you.”

I glance up at Padraig and he’s feeling emotional too.

“Now,” Colin says, “where is the gauntlet?”

Padraig picks it up off the ground but doesn’t give it to him. “Are you sure, dad? The gauntlet is heavy enough even without the bird.”

“Just give it to me, will ye?” he says and Padraig slips it over his arm.

Colin takes a few steps by himself, shooing Padraig away, and stops, facing McGavin who is on the furthest post about twenty feet away.

“Howya McGavin,” he says. He widens his stance, though Padraig goes right up behind him, ready to support him if he falls, and then to my utter surprise, puts his fingers in his mouth and lets out a loud, piercing whistle.

The owl looks at him in shock and Colin sticks out his arm, all the way. It’s shaking but he’s doing it.

The owl bobs his head and then takes flight, his big beautiful wings flapping twice before he throws them back and puts his claws out for a perfect landing right on Colin’s arm.

“Oof,” Colin cries out and stumbles a bit. Padraig is there, holding him steady and Colin manages to keep his arm fairly level, the owl still sitting on it and peering at him with those inquisitive eyes.

“How are ye my handsome lad?” he asks the bird, tickling its chest feathers with his finger. “You treating my daughter-in-law good?” The bird nods his head and I laugh. “Oh, really?” Colin says, pretending to have a conversation with him. “They did what now?” He leans in closer to the owl. “Ah, the cheek of it.”

Colin glances up and behind him at Padraig. “He’s yer bird now, Padraig,” he says to him. “He likes ye too, he always has. Promise me you’ll take good care of him. Give him mice instead of chicken. Let him go hunting every now and then, he might just find something in those woods. He wants to please ye, you know.”

“I will, Dad,” Padraig says, a strain in his voice.

“Good,” he says. “Come on, let’s get you back to yer roost.” With Padraig’s support, they walk together to the cage and open the door. The owl hops inside.

“Now,” Colin says, taking off his gauntlet and letting it drop to the ground, “to see Clyde.”

“Dad, you’re going to need this,” Padraig says, crouching to pick up the gauntlet.

“Leave it,” he says. “I know what I’m doing.”

Padraig looks at me with raised brows and then goes to his dad as he takes slow shuffling steps over to Clyde’s cage.

Once the hawk sees him, he lets out an ear-piercing cry.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Colin says. “You’ve been waiting for this for a long time, I know.”

“Dad,” Padraig says as his father fumbles for the latch on the cage.

“This doesn’t concern ye,” his father says, glaring at him over his shoulder. “Step back, please.”

Padraig takes a step back.

I take two steps back.

His father opens the cage and pushes the door wide.

The hawk jumps down to the edge of it, peering up at Colin with golden eyes.

It’s probably the most beautiful bird I’ve ever seen, let alone a hawk. Everything about it is sleek and stunning, the shimmering brown and rust feathers, the brightness of the sharp beak.

“Hello old friend,” Colin says to the hawk, his voice becoming so soft and gentle, loaded with emotion. “I’m finally here for you. This is your big day.”

I exchange a look with Padraig, what’s going on?

Colin reaches out and pets the top of the bird’s head, stroking between the eyes and down on to its neck. The bird seems to relax a little.

“I’m going to miss ye, old pal, but I know that ye deserve to be free with the rest of yer days, that’s all we can ever want for ourselves.” He takes in a shaking breath. “You see my son here, he has his woman to take care of and his career and he’s got his whole future ahead of him. Plus an owl, ye know? And I know Agnes won’t have much time either with ye. So, I think it’s time for you to go live your life as free as ye can. Do it for me. Soar high into that sky and soon I’ll be doing the same.”

I can barely see through the tears that are streaming down my face.

Colin steps back and then with a feat of strength, throws his arm out, gesturing to the woods.

The hawk cries out and then leaps from the cage, taking flight with pumps of its long, majestic wings.

It flies high above the field, then higher above the trees, and then finally until it’s out of sight. All you can hear is its cry, fading as it goes.

“Dad,” Padraig says, running his finger under his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d let him go.”

His dad shrugs. “I had to. That bird was special. He only wanted to be with me. Would only really eat if I fed it. And he hadn’t been fed in a while. He’s hungry. He’s not coming back here. But he’s free now, ye see. He’s free now.” He closes his eyes and then starts to sway on his feet. “I think I should go lie down now.”

Padraig quickly takes his arm and I take the other, putting it over my shoulder, feeling how light and frail he is. We take him back to the cottage and get him in his bed and he’s fast asleep within seconds.

Once we’re outside of the cottage, I throw myself into Padraig’s arm, spilling a few tears. To witness Colin already saying his goodbyes is too much for me. And from the way that Padraig holds me, I know it’s too much for him too.

“We’re running out of time,” he whispers as he holds me. “What I wouldn’t give for time to slow. Not even to run backward. That’s asking too much. Just to slow the fuck down.”

He pulls back and stares deeply at me. There’s a feverish intensity in his eyes that I can’t quite read, too many powerful emotions mixing through him at once.

“Time will go too fast for me,” he says. “For me like this. How much longer do I have just like this, just being able to hold ye?”

It’s not just his father right now. Time is moving his disease forward too.

“What happens when I can’t hold ye?”

“Padraig,” I say softly. “You know you can’t think like that. None of us have a certain amount of time allotted to us and for all of us it goes too fast. You just have to live each moment that you can and just love as much as you can.”

“That’s not enough,” he says. “It will never be enough, not with you.”

I wish that wasn’t true.

I can’t sleep.

Every time I close my eyes I see hawks and owls flying over moonlit forests. I feel the emptiness of the branches, the hardness of the frost. I feel so utterly alone and so scared and everywhere I look, I can’t find Padraig.

I hate to think what my dreams might be like.

I roll over and look at my phone. As usual I have some texts from Brielle and Angie because they always forget about the time difference. Angie wants to know how it’s going, Brielle wants to know when I’m coming home because she has another friend that wants to take over her couch.

I text Brielle and tell her that I don’t know when I’ll be coming back but to not hold onto the couch for me.

I text Angie that everything is fine, even though I know she knows things aren’t. She can always tell, even through a text. Fine usually means not fine.

Because they aren’t, not really.

I’m beside myself with joy because I’m in love with Padraig and he loves me. But I don’t know what the future brings us. I don’t know how to get out of this mess that we’re in. When Colin dies, the sham will be over. But that will hurt his nan. And we’re obviously not going to get married, I can’t even think to call us a couple in real life.

So what do we do?

I need to talk to Padraig.

I at least need to be with him. I feel so cold and alone in this room, even though I can hear Nan snoring in the room next to me. These walls are not soundproof.