I’d have done a whole lot more if only Declan had lowered his barriers and let me in.
“I-I’m so sorry that you’ve had to deal with this.” He holds my gaze, and I try to read between the lines of what he’s saying out loud.
I wish I could hold his hand.
I wish I could stand on tiptoes and kiss his lips.
I wish I could link arms with him, greet the funeral guests as they arrive, and let him know that he doesn’t have to deal with this alone. Any of it. Because I’ve been right here all along.
This is the first time we’ve been alone together since the night I spent in his bed. I could tell him about Ruairi now, get it off my chest, tell him that his son and I had a connection. It’s on the tip of my tongue.
I met Ruairi. It’s all I have to say.
Jeez, why is this so hard?
But then Eoghan joins us on the porch looking every bit as smart and handsome as his father, and the moment is gone.
“There you are,” he says to me. “Are you sure you’ll manage the catering while we’re at the funeral?”
“Yes, of course.”
I don’t tell him that I can’t face the kitchen right now, because even the coffee aroma is making me feel queasy. It’s tension. I’ll be fine once today is over.
With one last glance at Declan who is looking straight ahead, I head back inside, digging my fingernails so hard into the palm of my hand that I draw blood.
Why am I such a coward?
The alternative to telling him the truth is living with the guilt that I fucked his son shortly before he died. As secrets go, it’s about as big as they get. And it seems that overnight, my conscience has reared its head and warned me that if I bottle it up, it’ll start to fester. Become something toxic. Until eventually, it will destroy any relationship that Declan and I might have had.
I don’t see him again until after the funeral when the guests come back to the house for the wake. I’m kept busy serving refreshments and telling Orla that I can manage without her, but my eyes constantly seek out Declan. Every time I look at him, I find his gaze on me, and it warms me inside.
Cups of tea and coffee are soon replaced by brandy and whiskey. The conversations grow louder. The laughter becomes more raucous. Someone switches on the sound system and zippy tunes—heavy on the fiddle—that I don’t recognize start to fill the rooms. Guests wander between the living room and the conservatory, spilling out onto the decking to smoke cigars and to vape.
I’m trying to get ice cubes from a plastic tray when I feel warm breath on the back of my neck.
“Here, let me help.”
“Declan? I…”
I peer around to see who else is in the kitchen with us. We’re not alone. I don’t know the names of the guests, but no one is paying any attention to the housekeeper and her boss.
“I’ve missed you,” he keeps his voice low, between us.
I can smell brandy on his breath, but when he looks at me, I see the same gleam in his eyes that he had before his son got killed.
“I’ve missed you too.”
He shakes the ice cubes into a cooler. As he turns away to rejoin the wake, his elbow brushes my breast. I don’t react, but I know that he felt it too from the way his eyes linger on me.
“Declan, I want a word wit’ you.” The voice belongs to a man with thick blond hair turning gray. A relative perhaps.
The two men wander off together in the direction of the foyer, and I don’t see them again.
I get through the day on caffeine and roast potatoes, not the healthiest diet in the world. My feet are sore by the time the guests start leaving after midnight. Every room on the ground floor is littered with empty glasses, beer bottles, paper plates, and crumbs. I start on the decking while people are saying goodbye with hugs and tears and lipstick kisses, picking up glasses and loading a black sack with anything else that I find.
I’m clearing up the mess in the conservatory when Orla joins me.
The neat black dress that she is wearing with a simple silver cross around her neck makes her look older than her years. Her eyes are puffy and raw. There’s a lipstick imprint on her forehead that she is obviously unaware of, and her shoulders are bowed from the weight of her grief.
