I open the door, knowing that Amelia isn’t here.
The closet doors are open. Her wedding dress is still neatly draped over a hanger along with the black dress that she wore to the restaurant. The rest of her clothes are gone.
As I turn to leave, I spot the rings on the nightstand, and my heart almost lunges out of my chest.
“No.” My voice cracks. “Amelia?”
I try calling her from my cell, but it doesn’t connect. A second time. A third.
I run downstairs calling out her name, knowing that she won’t hear me.
Orla is still in the conservatory, but now she is on her feet, both hands clasped to her chest. “What did you do to her, Declan?”
“Not now, Orla. I have to find her.”
Because the thought of her walking out of this house, taking only the clothes that she arrived with, has sliced open my chest and stuck the knife in as deep as it could go. She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant, and she chose to leave with nothing, rather than stay with me. She weighed up her options and bringing up a child alone won.
What kind of fucking asshole am I?
How could I do this to the woman I love?
I can see it clearly now. In the stables, she told me that she didn’t want to hurt me, and I believe her. She didn’t tell me about Ruairi, because she didn’t know how. She was as blindsided by the truth as I was, only she handled it with more fucking maturity than I will ever have.
And what’s worse, she handled it alone.
“She’ll be on her way home.” Orla’s low voice settles on my shoulders like a film of dust. “She’ll want to be with her mom.”
I unlock my phone and check the departure schedule from Dublin Airport to New York. An American Airline flight left at 17:30. I call the airline and pace the room while I wait for them to confirm that Amelia York was booked onto the flight. She checked in online but never collected her boarding pass.
“She didn’t board,” I say dully.
The accusation in Orla’s eyes has gone. We’re on the same team now; we both want to find Amelia and bring her back here. Where she belongs.
“Perhaps she changed her mind.” Orla is thinking out loud. “She’s pregnant. Hormonal. Confused. Perhaps she thought it better to find somewhere to stay.”
“No.” That doesn’t feel right. “You said that she needs her mom. The first thing she did was buy a ticket home, so why would she change her mind?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Declan? Because of you.” Her voice has softened enough to make my breath hitch in my throat. “She loves you, Declan, any fool could see that.”
Any fool but me apparently.
My fingers stumble through my contacts. I locate the number of the woman who arranged Amelia’s contract and hit the green button.
“Mr. Byrne, how can I help you?” She’s all breezy efficiency, and it rattles through my nerves.
“Have you heard from Amelia?”
“No.” Cautious now. Worried. “Why, is something wrong?”
“Can you give me her mom’s telephone number?”
“Mr. Byrne, if there’s a problem, let me help you?—”
“You can help me right now by giving me her mom’s number.”
I don’t have time for pleasantries and politeness. Amelia didn’t board that flight, she’s been gone for hours, and taking care of her is my responsibility. I’ve let her down enough. It’s time to put things right.
She must hear the panic in my voice because there’s a moment’s silence before she reads the number out to me. I repeat it for Orla, who writes it down in her address book that must be nearly as old as me.
