Not having her here, not being able to see her smile, punched deeper than ever as I caught sight of the green garland wrappedaround the windows. Declan almost hadn’t bothered with the St. Patrick’s day decorations. Why bother, he’d asked. Finn and I didn’t have an answer except that Maeve would have wanted it. Bree wanted us to move on with our lives. Impossible without her, but we did our best.
The decorations made it worse, somehow. Bree should have been in here, standing on that stupid ladder and trying to hang garland around every available surface. I should have been able to walk in and help her while she argued with Declan about the placement of the window clings and lined up Maeve’s empty bottles for good luck. Declan’s attempt at decorating hung over the empty pub tables, looking sad and alone.
“Fuck.” Declan’s roar rolled out from the kitchen, followed by a crash of metal.
I ran into the kitchen, the sudden sight of melted plastic and the acrid stench of water and fire knocking me into a hard stop. My body swayed. “What happened?”
Declan stood in the middle of the kitchen, his hands laced together on top of his head. He kept his back to me, barely moving. “Wire short-circuited this morning. Caused a fire.” He bent at the waist and cursed. “Finn and the fire department just left. They managed to put it out before it spread through the whole pub.”
Obviously. I’d seen that for myself, but Declan probably needed to say it out loud. I understood. Sometimes hearing the obvious made it real in a way staring never could. “Guess Maeve was wrong about the kitchen not needing renovations.”
Declan’s shoulders rose, then fell as he straightened, hands still on his head. “She always kept up the maintenance. The wiring should’ve been fine.”
I’d learned a long time ago that ‘should have’ failed more often than not. I took a slow walk around the kitchen. The fire must have started in the wall, or the stove in front of it. A large black hole punched through the wall and into the open freezer on the other side. Smoke curled up in slow spirals. Soot covered half the kitchen. A large section of the ceiling had fallen onto the floor, and the firemen had drenched the entire kitchen while putting out the flames.
“This whole thing will need to be redone.” I stopped close to the back door and rubbed soot off the frame, darkening my thumb in the process. “There’s no way you can use any of the equipment after this.”
Declan growled and kicked the stove. “That’s what I figured.”
Good. At least he was able to think beyond the moment and what this meant. “It’s going to cost a lot to repair.”
“You mean an entire remodel?” Declan grabbed a broom and pushed a pile of soggy ceiling tiles into a dustpan. He carried them to the large trash can and dumped them inside.
“You probably shouldn’t do that yet.” I took the pan from him and propped the broom in the corner. “The insurance adjuster needs to see all the damage before you clean up.”
Declan had never dealt with anything like this before. He ran the pub, and he did a damned fine job, but he’d never faced anything like a fire.
My pulse slowed, then raced again as the truth of it all came crashing down on me. “You have to call Bree. She needs to know about this so she can decide what to do next.” It was her place. Declan could try to take care of it himself, but even with insurance, it would cost a lot of money to get the kitchen up and running again.
“Maybe we just shut down the kitchen. It’s not making us much money anyway. Hardly anyone comes in for food.” The defeated posture returned, and he palmed the edge of the nearest counter, dropping his head between his arms. “I don’t want to call her, Ronan.”
We’d discussed it a couple times since she left. I’d lost count of how many times I picked up my phone and tapped her name, just to swipe away without calling.
Telling her we missed her wouldn’t solve any problems. I’d written it out once, typed it all out, read it back, then deleted it. I’d needed to see it. Three sentences that said nothing useful except the truth. We were broken without her. I’d taken two extra jobs the last few months. Declan had noticed but not mentioned it. We all dealt with her absence in our own way.
“She hasn’t been back, Ronan.” The pitch of Declan’s voice, the posture, showed his defeat.
I forced my feet into motion, moving across the room and putting a hand on his back. “She might not come back now, either. She might take the money and close the pub. You need to be prepared for that possibility.”
“Like you are?” Declan raised his head. Red rimmed his eyes, and I didn’t know if it came from the smoke or misery over Bree.
Both, most likely.
The back door creaked open and Finn stepped through. “Sorry I couldn’t stay earlier. Had to finish my shift.” He rested his hands on his hips and turned the same slow circle I had. “Shit. I knew it was bad. Kitchen fires almost always are, but seeing it like this…” He shook his head. “I never see them afterward, you know? It’s surreal.” He kept talking, verbally processing what we all felt.
The strangling sensation eased with every word Finn said. He might talk to keep things from turning too quiet, but it helped me and Declan too.
Declan straightened and dug his phone out of his pocket. “Here goes nothing.”
35
BREE
Being a single mom turned out to be the most precious, chaotic, beautiful thing in the world. Sleepless nights sucked, but the rewards of being Clara’s mom made it all worthwhile. I used my foot to bounce her rocker up and down as she napped beside me.
Diane had been the most understanding boss in the whole world. She let me work from home as much as possible, and I had permission to bring Clara to the office when I had no choice but to go in.
All the challenges, all the fear, threatened to overwhelm me sometimes, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I loved Clara. Like loved her so much I lay awake some nights watching her sleep, unable to believe she was real.
