staring down the sun

[13] turn my bones to sand

Rubbing his eyes, Connor smells the night air falling around him and Murphy as they walk down the street. They spot a payphone, laughing to themselves when they see FREE THE SAINTS had been spraypainted on the side. But then the phone rings, and the twins look at each other, confused. Connor picks up the receiver, answering with a slow hello.

"Connor, is that you?"

He recognizes that thick Irish accent anywhere.

He can't help the lump forming in his throat as he locks eyes with Murphy. "Ma?"

Murphy's face falls with shock, and Connor instinctively angles the phone for his brother to listen. They press their shoulders together and huddle close to the payphone box.

"Yer brother there, too, yeah?"

"Aye, I'm here, Ma," Murphy confirms.

"I need ye both to listen to me," her voice is profound, her words clear and not soaked with alcohol for once. "Ye made me proud."

The boys pause, wondering if they heard her correctly. "What do ye mean, Ma?" Connor asks.

She lets out a long sigh, and they can hear her smiling on the other end. "I mean it. Ye boys made me proud. Ye still do. Yer good boys that are protecting all that which is good."

"But, Ma..." Murphy swallows hard. "We thought ye disapproved of what we were doing. Because of Da."

"Oh, Murphy, my son. Truth is, yer father tried to do what he thought was right. He just...well, ye know now, yeah?"

They nod simultaneously, choking out their agreement together. "Aye, we do."

"There's one more thing I need from ye," she says firmly. "Keep each other safe."

Connor and Murphy look at each other, tears stinging their eyes as they smile. "Yes, mother."

"And not just the two of ye lot. Take care of those who are helping ye as well."

"We will," Murphy softly replies.

"Promise," Connor assures as he blinks away the tears.

Ma draws her voice out like smoothing butter on toast. "There's my boys." She laughs lightly, and the boys listen to her for as long as they can, missing her with every breath. "Oh, and Connor?"

He raises his eyebrows, hopeful she's about to tell him he's the older twin. "Yes, Ma?"

"A little bird tells me the sun is shining bright in Galway."

. . .

Connor and Murphy wake up fast, looking at each other with wide eyes in the early morning sunlight. They each rub their faces and steady their breathing, letting their eyes focus before staring at each other again. Neither one says a word aloud; they don't have to as muted smiles curl along their faces.

Then Murphy's brow creases slightly, and he utters one question he's still wondering about. "Galway?"

Blinking hard, Connor shrugs and shakes his head, honestly not sure what their mother meant in saying that.

He reaches for his t-shirt while Murphy slides on his jeans. "I miss her," Murphy admits as he sits back on the bed to tie his boots.

"Me too." Connor steps into his jeans and fastens his belt. "I wish we could have gone back to Ireland sooner, ye know, before..."

Murphy presses his lips together, nodding slowly. Connor sits on his bed, pulling his boots on finally while his brother avoids eye contact. He sees it in Murphy's face: the memories, the regret, the grief.

They had gone into hiding for around six months following the Yakavetta trial, after revealing themselves to the world, sending the message that evil would fear the Saints of South Boston. For six months, they hid with their father on the outskirts of town until they got the call from Uncle Sibeal. They didn't believe it initially, thinking it was just another elaborate practical joke their mother wanted to play on them. But when Sibeal appeared at their door and showed them her obituary and prayer card from her funeral, Connor and Murphy lost it. "I'm so sorry we had to have the service without ye, boys. We wanted to keep ye safe," their uncle explained as tears streaked down their faces. Da had quietly disappeared to his bedroom, unable to come out for some time. That night, they heard their father crying, praying, and begging for forgiveness.

It took a couple of weeks for Sibeal to arrange for the MacManus men to travel to Ireland. Before they left, they called Smecker one last time. He asked Connor when they would return, but Connor couldn't answer. "Be careful," Smecker told them as Connor held the phone so Murphy could hear. And that was the last thing Smecker would say to them before he...

Connor smiles, laughing a bit at how memories can change. Murphy raises an eyebrow toward him, curious about what's on his twin's mind. "Oh, it's just," Connor starts, "Ye remember when we made it to Ireland? And when we went to the cemetery?"

Murphy's face falls slightly, almost angry that Connor is still on this. "Aye..."

"Ye remember that flower arrangement that was by Ma's gravestone? And that it had a card signed—"

"—signed by Smecker. Yeah, I remember that." Murphy places his hand over his mouth, the memory flooding back and returning the light to his eyes. "He had written some poem and then signed it, 'Your friend, Paul.'"

Connor walks to the other side of the room, fumbles with his coat to find the inside pocket, and pulls out a small, plain white card. His voice is gentle as he hands the card to Murphy. "Didn't have the heart to leave it there only to get rained on." He watches his brother's smile grow as he studies the card, the edges showing years of wear. Though it's typewritten from their hometown florist, the words are still from Smecker's heart.

"How the fuck did ye keep it all this time?" Murphy asks.

Smiling still, Connor returns to his coat, pulls another small card from the inside pocket, and hands it to his twin. "This might have been the saving grace when we got arrested." It's the prayer card from Ma's funeral, and the edges also show years of sitting in Connor's coat pocket.

Murphy lets out a slow sigh, not out of sadness but of comfort. "Jesus fucking Christ."

"Lord's fucking name!" Connor barks, sounding just like his mother.

They both laugh, giggling like little boys again. As Murphy calms down, he hands the two cards back to his brother, only for Connor to hand the prayer card back to him.

Doesn't matter who was born first...Connor will always be the unspoken big brother.

He lightly pats Murphy's shoulder, quietly reminding him they should get going. They pull on their coats and go outside, their stomachs already growling for breakfast at the diner up the highway. Another "devout follower," Duffy said of the diner's owner, and that she agreed to "close for a private party" whenever the group needed to blow off some steam. Today is one of those days.

The others have already left, so the boys stand at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for Elena. Murphy lights up a cigarette and hums a familiar tune that Connor can't quite place yet.

"Morning, boys," Elena greets them with a modest smile, sliding her jacket on as she descends the stairs. "You sleep well?"

Murphy nods as he takes a drag, still humming. He presses a hand to his chest, surely to confirm Ma's prayer card is still safe in his pocket, close to his heart.

The three walk along the gravel to the car, and Elena hands Connor the key. "What about you, Connor?" she asks gently.

He shakes his head, chuckling at the irony that after sharing the same dream, the twins have different opinions on the quality of their sleep. By the car, he answers as his brother climbs into the backseat. "Sort of."

Connor watches Elena as she slides on her black wayfarers, his breath catching in his chest as the sun lights up her face. She smiles, glowing beneath her sunglasses. "Sounds like you and I need some coffee, yeah?"

His cheeks feel warm as his grin spreads, and he can't tell if it's from the sun or Elena. That is if there's even a difference between the two anymore.