‘What penguin?’ Realisation dawned and he shot her an insulted look. ‘It’s apuffin.’
‘Exactly. I swear he went on about it like Rodin himself had sculpted it.’ Sweeney let out a noisy breath. ‘My point being, your dad loved you. He thought the sun shone out of you. And sensing your unhappiness would have been drip torture for him. He was a doer. A fixer. And his entire life he only ever wanted the best for you and your mum. Do you think, if he’d known that was going to be his last day with you, his last conversation, he would have said those things?’
‘Of course not.’
‘And you and I both know after he’d simmered down, that he would have hated that angry words between the two of you had resulted in you leaving.’
Michael Murphy had always been slow to anger and quick to apologise. Sweeney had liked that best about the man.I’m a lover not a fighter. That had been one of his favourite sayings.
‘Now why he chose to write you a letter, I guess we’ll never know.’ She lay her head on his chest, her cheek to his sternum, listening to the steady thump of Fin’s heart. ‘But I bet it says something to that effect, as well.’
‘What if it doesn’t?’
‘It will.’
Sweeney tightened her arms around his waist and shut her eyes as Fin’s hand slid to her nape. She didn’t know what else to say to convince him, or even if she should, she just knew it felt right to be his person to lean on in this moment.
‘You read it.’
Sweeney’s eyes flew open.‘What?’She lifted her head, searching his eyes. Was he mad? ‘No.’
‘I can’t.’ He shook his head. ‘I just couldn’t bear it if…’ His hands slid to her biceps. ‘But I do want to know.’
‘Fin…’Thisshe had not expected. ‘Don’t you think this should be private?’
He barked out a half laugh. ‘Please, like I wouldn’t show it to my fiancée.’
Sweeney humoured him with a smile, but still didn’t think she should be privy to what should be such a personal moment. ‘How about I open it, give it a quick scan and if it’s what I suspect it’s going to be, I hand it over to you?’
Rolling his eyes, Fin took a step back and offered her the envelope. ‘Good compromise.’
It was Sweeney’s turn to look at the letter like it was a live snake, but she knew however hard this was for her, it had to be ten times harder for Fin. Her fingers trembled as she pulled the letter out, unfolded it, then read.
She didn’t need to go far to know that it was going to be okay. Moisture gathered at the backs of her eyes as she looked at him. ‘It’s good,’ she confirmed, her voice husky as she handed the letter over.
Eighteen
Fin took it on automatic pilot, staring at the scrawl of black ink without really seeing it, looking through it almost, as the importance of this moment overwhelmed him, blinding him to the content.
Would he find what he needed most in his father’s last words?
That his dad knew how much Fin loved him? How much hedidn’twant his father to butt out of his life? Not really. That Fin knew how lucky he was to have had such an amazing role model in his life? How proud he was of his father and how he admired him as a man, not just a father?
All the things he would have said had he known it was his last day with his dad.
Fin’s pulse washed through his ears and thundered through his chest as the jumble of words in front of him floated fuzzy and indistinct. He felt physically ill, just like he had that morning driving to Ballyshannon after his father had died, grief and guilt that their argument had killed his father waging a knock-down, drag-out fight inside his head. But slowly, his brain came back online, and the words came into sharp focus.
My darling Finley.
As an opening line, it packed a mighty punch. A visceral one-two jab to his gut that pulled the breath from his lungs on a strangled gurgle.
‘I’ll give you some privacy,’ Sweeney murmured and turned to go.
But every cell in Fin’s body, every fibre of his being, every strand of his DNA rejected her suggestion.No.Just no. He snagged her hand as she swung around.
‘Could you stay?’
Sweeney glanced at their joined hands before she lifted her eyes to him. ‘Of course,’ she said, a small smile breaking up the solemnity of her expression.
