“After the funeral. My mom’s dealing with enough, I’m not adding to it. I waited nine years to find out myself, they can wait a few more days.”
“Guess so. Have you seen Harper again since you found out?”
“Yeah. I can’t keep away.” Cal’s sigh was full of regret and longing. “I’m a fucking idiot, Dare. I never should have left her.”
“You didn’t know, man.”
“I knew I loved her, and I left her anyway,” Cal said. “I left her to raise my kid on her own.”
“She chose to keep this from you,” I pointed out, playing devil’s advocate. I didn’t understand it myself, how she could keep something so momentous from him. I’d be livid if I were in Cal’s shoes.
“Would you have told me, if you were her?” Cal sighed. “I ghosted her. I’ve been drinking my face off since I left. Screwing around, practically throwing it in her face. No wonder she didn’t want to chase me down.”
I shook my head, searching for something to say to comfort my friend but coming up short. There wasn’t much I could say: Cal was right. He hadn’t been the most responsible person, and a lot of his escapades were caught by the paparazzi. I could understand her hesitance in seeking him out, but I couldn’t help but think that if shehadreached out, Cal wouldn’t have spiraled as bad.
It would have given him a reason to come home sooner.
Not that any of it was Harper’s fault. It wasn’t her responsibility to keep Calum on the straight and narrow, but she’d come about it naturally. He’d wanted to be better for her, to be what she saw when she looked at him.
Now that I had Connor, I got it. I wanted to be worthy of her. I’d do anything to make her happy, even swallow my tongue and choke on silence, if that’s what she needed of me.
“I still don’t think it was fair for her to keep it from you, but it’s not my place to judge,” I finally said. Especially considering I was secretly in love with his little sister. “Are they coming to the funeral tomorrow?”
“Don’t think so. I didn’t mention it…I don’t exactly want the kid’s first time meeting me to be at a funeral for the great-grandpa he never knew he had.”
“Fair enough.” I nodded. “Well, we’re here. I dropped Evan off a couple of hours ago. We’ll be at the funeral.”
“Bet that made Tai happy.”
“She’s coming to town,” I warned. “I’m not sure if she’ll make it to the funeral, but she’s requested a sit-down with us all tomorrow evening.”
“The night of the funeral? Fuck that. I’m not ready to talk shop yet.” I could hear the frustration in his voice.
“Not much to talk about, Evan and I could probably handle the meeting. But Tai will want to talk to you before she leaves town.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll talk to her,” Calum promised. “Look, I’ve got to run. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
Connor
Music had always beena part of my life, so interwoven into each and every aspect of it. It started in my earliest of memories with my mother, with her long flowing red hair and her beautiful voice lifting us all up in harmonious songs. She loved to sing,a trait she’d inherited from her mother before her, and one I’d inherited from her.
I loved singing, just as much as I loved sitting at Nan’s piano and watching her play. At two, she started teaching me how to play alongside of her. I became one of Gramps’s songbirds, like Mom and Nan. It’s a nickname that’s followed me my whole life, as it followed my mother and my grandmother.
Gramps had been a line drummer for the Cape Breton Highlanders when he met Nan, who sang Tuesday nights at a local pub in Mahone Bay. They fell instantly for one another. All it took was a simple glance and Nan’s pretty voice to capture Gramps’s heart, so the story goes.
They infused music into almost everything they did. Melodies had poured from every facet in the Murphy home, rhythm seeping into every crevice. There wasn’t a week that passed without some happy gathering there; Gramps and Nan loved entertaining.
Like Mom, Nan would sing while going about her chores, especially while she tended to her gardens. She’d pull weeds and sing to the flowers.
When I was about four years old, I asked her why she sang to her flowers when she gardened. She’d replied,“Because, my sweetest songbird…singing to flowers helps them grow faster! Give it a try!”
I joined her, singing alongside of her and pulling weeds. I happily did this task, enjoying it as much as I enjoyed playing the piano alongside of her. Back then, I believed my nan’s voice held magic, and that belief really took hold a few years later, when Nan got sick with cancer.
After she died, I noticed her flowers didn’t bloom as brightly as they once had without her songs. This upset me so much, I’d cried for hours until Mom packed me up and brought me over to Gramps’s. She picked up Nan’s garden tools and started singing to the flowers, urging me to do the same.
“Nan might not be with us in body anymore, but she’s here in spirit. In the things that we do in her memory. Keep singing to the flowers, and they’ll keep blooming,”she’d said, coaxing me into singing through my tears. They bloomed just as brightly as before.
