“Do you want to talk about it?”
Her shoulder lifts and lowers. “I just enjoy spending time together.”
Time together? That’s all I want.
I lean in and give her a quick kiss with all the love in my heart. I just hope it’s enough.
29
DECLAN
First, Maggie and I visit St. Patrick’s Cathedral, stroll through the Trinity College grounds, and stop to see the Book of Kells. Then we have fish and chips for lunch. After that, we hit the high street shops. While growing up, I couldn’t even afford to walk down the street, let alone buy something on sale.
Like the boss I am, I stroll into a luxe fashion brand boutique, ready to drop a few bills on some clothes for Maggie and me.
A spidery woman dressed all in black struts over. “Can I help you find anything special?”
I already did.
Turning to Maggie, I say, “Anything you want. It’s yours.” I follow up with a wink.
She wears a similar expression to when we were on the jet and then when we got to my house. It’s part prickly and part uncomfortable. Eyeing the door, she leans in and whispers, “Declan, I don’t want a things-ship.”
“A what-ship?” I ask, then gesture to Spider-woman to excuse us for a moment.
“You heard me correctly. I don’t want a things-ship or buy me fancy jewelry because you feel guilty-ship.”
“Do you have someone in your life like that?”
She nods slowly. “My parents. They were shallow, all about outward appearances and inward bank account balances.”
This is news to me, and I’m sorry to learn about the things-ship. “Then what do you want?” I ask, genuinely wanting to know Maggie’s answer.
“I want a relationship...and maybe a pastry or a cookie. A scone?”
I chuckle. “I know just where to go.”
When we get outside, Maggie takes a deep breath. Like a contagious yawn, I draw one too. It feels good to be outside rather than shopping. We stroll down the street, take a couple of turns, and then arrive outside a bakery cafe. The scent of loaves of bread and cakes filters from inside.
Maggie gazes wistfully through the window. Balloons reach the ceiling and the strains of the happy birthday song come from a little kid’s party.
After hearing My Maggie-o’s story about the lousy ex-boyfriend, Sylvester, who dashed her mobile cupcake shop dreams, she’s probably lamenting what happened rather than particularly hungry or in need of more cake.
She wears a sad smile when she turns to me. “Want to go visit your aunt?”
“But it’s Official Maggie Day.”
“She’s family. Plus, you said that you talk to her every day. While you’re here and while she’s still here, you should visit her every day.” The gravity in her tone keeps me from asking if she’s sure she wants to do that. “I’d also like to hear a few more stories.” She pats the buttons on my shirt and starts down the sidewalk, decision made.
It means everything to me that Maggie wants to visit my aunt. The hospice is only a short walk away and it starts to drizzle, so we hurry along the street.
Aunt Maureen is delighted and regales us with stories—including one about my seventeenth birthday—just a couple of weeks before Maggie and I met.
“We flew standby to Bermuda—” Aunt Maureen starts.
“Mind you, I’d only been on a plane once before when I flew with a one-way ticket from Dublin to Boston, so that trip was a big deal,” I interject.
“I wanted to show Declan that there was more to the world than the mean streets where he grew up. Nothing against these streets. They’re home, but he’d found his way to the worst of them.” Aunt Maureen slowly shakes her head.
