Maggie leans in.
It’s then that I realize that Aunt Maureen must think we’re a couple. My insides crackle.
“If you can believe it, Declan used to be a pipsqueak. A scrawny boy. I only know this from a few photos and his own accounts, but after his mother passed, he learned to get along on the streets. Do you understand? A real punk,” she says to Maggie.
“Aunt Maureen, are you getting tired?” I ask, trying to thwart her account of my childhood.
“Tired? Not anymore. You’ve made my, well, your visit made my day.” She coughs. “Back then, all Declan’s flash and fame were more like grit and grime. He toughened up, dare I say a bit too much. Fights, trouble with the Garda. My, oh my, he was naughty.”
I pump my hands. “Okay, okay. Let’s hear a more uplifting story. Tell Maggie about the time you visited the Royalty in Concordia.”
“Oh, what a grand place. The castle, the ball, the glamour,” she says. Her eyes dip as if in reverie. “Before I get to that, Declan, did you hear about Keefe? His mother paid me a visit about a week ago. Says she tried to get ahold of you.” She turns to Maggie and her expression darkens. “Has he told you about Keefe? Talk about naughty. No, that word is too kind. Keefe was a—” Her tone thins. “I suppose it was inevitable. Tragic though.”
My throat tightens. Then my gaze shoots to Maggie and it’s like I have a vision of two closed doors. Behind one is a pit of loss and loneliness that’ll swallow me up. Behind the other is a future with this woman, who is my best friend, with the potential for more. So much more.
It’s as if my whole life has been driving me toward making this choice, minus the detour of the last few years.
I know the destination I desire and she has hazel eyes, a sweet smile, and the kind of warmth that could thaw the coldest, darkest of hearts.
But I don’t deserve her. After everything that’s happened in the past, my fate lies behind the first door.
25
MAGGIE
Ishift nervously. I knew that not revealing to Declan the full voicemail would come back around, but it isn’t my business.
At the time, I didn’t expect we’d be in Ireland. As soon as we touched down here, he’d iced over. At the mention of Keefe, he positively freezes even though the room is toasty warm.
I don’t know how, but I have to fix it.
After several of Aunt Maureen’s stories, including one about a case of mistaken identity which brought her to the castle in Concordia, it’s time to say goodnight. Noting the cross above the bed, I hold Declan and his aunt’s hands and say a prayer.
The older woman smiles with gratitude as she asks about future plans—engagement, wedding, honeymoon.
I open and close my mouth, but the correction that Declan and I are not a couple doesn’t come out. I feel caught in another lie, but how can I take this small happiness away from the woman?
Declan stands in the corner, his face partway in shadow. Certainly, he heard the comment, but must feel the same way. No sense in dashing his aunt’s happiness.
I give the two a few moments alone and wait for Declan by the front desk. His eyes are glassy and we remain quiet on the short walk to the waiting car. I consider suggesting that he explain to his aunt that we’re not together the next time he sees her.
A secret part of me doesn’t object to the mistake, even though being with Declan is a silly and impossible thing to desire. There is no way a regular girl like me would interest a famous football player like him. End of story.
End zone, friend zone.
But the correction that truly needs to be made is by me. I should confess I heard the full content of the voicemail and didn’t convey the entirety of the message. But I’m afraid that’ll only complicate matters and make things awkward.
As the car idles at a traffic light, I break the silence. “It was really nice to meet your aunt. She’s proud of you and it’s obvious how much she cares about you.”
Declan remains quiet until the traffic signal changes and the car accelerates. “She’s a special woman. All those years ago, she took me in and loved me even though I was a street thug—I’d gotten in so much trouble. She forgave me. She also introduced me to Jesus, and it’s in Him that I seek forgiveness.”
“I hope you’ll forgive me for not correcting her about us. I didn’t want to disappoint or upset her, all things considered.”
My heart thuds, filling in the gap between what I say and what it wants. “Right. We’re just best friends.”
“We get along really well.”
“When you’re not blasting me with water.” My laugh is a pitch too high to be believable as I try to skirt this conversation.
