I’m about to push back from my chair and make up an excuse about needing to get home when his voice cuts through.
“My mother.”
“What about your mother?” I ask cautiously.
From the bits and pieces he’s shared over the past few weeks, I had a feeling she’d passed when he was young, but I never pressed for more information. It wasn’t my place.
Now I can’t help but be curious.
“I lost her, too.” His eyes finally meet mine. “In a house fire.Ourhouse.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “Oh, god.”
I wasn’t sure what I expected him to say. Maybe a car accident. Or cancer. But a fire? I can’t imagine what that must have been like. The helplessness as you watch your entire life go up in flames? It’s one of my biggest fears.
“It was Christmas Eve,” he continues softly. “I was eight and was at that age where I was questioning whether Santa was real. I decided I was going to prove it one way or another that year, so I tried to stay awake, listening for anything that might sound like reindeer and a sleigh.”
A nostalgic smile tugs on his mouth as he looks into the distance, as if watching a movie of his childhood play before his eyes. But then his expression falls.
“At some point, I dozed off. The next thing I knew, my mom barged into my room and woke me up. I was disoriented. Had trouble focusing. It took me a few seconds to realize why. There was smoke everywhere. She told me I needed to get out of the house. But in that moment of panic, all I could think about was our cat.” He laughs under his breath. “He was a complete asshole. Hated everyone except me, considering I was the one who found him in a bush by our bus stop. Regardless, she promised to find him, then told me to grab my brother and get out of the house.”
I’m almost afraid to ask. “What happened next?”
“I did as she asked. Ran into my brother’s room and got him out safely.”
“And your mom?”
“After what felt like an eternity, she stumbled out with the cat.” He swallows hard. “She handed him to me, then collapsed. The smoke… It was too much for her lungs to handle, and she died on the way to the hospital.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, seeing Declan in a completely different light. Seeing hisactionsin a completely different light. No wonder he overreacted when he heard my smoke detector going off. It must have brought back some horrific memories.
“And your father?” I ask after several long moments. “Where was he when all of this happened?”
“Out buying batteries so we’d be able to play with our presents when we opened them.”
“Sounds like a good man.”
“At one point he was.”
“What do you mean?”
“After that night…he wasn’t the same. He couldn’t stand Christmas.” His jaw tightens. “Or me.”
I furrow my brow. “Why?”
“He blamed me for what happened and had no problem letting me know it. He wasn’t wrong. Itismy fault my mother died. If I hadn’t begged her to find the cat?—”
“You can’t seriously blame yourself for her death,” I retort, my voice heavy with disbelief.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because it wasn’t your fault.”
He blows out a disbelieving laugh as he takes a large gulp of wine. “It’s a sweet sentiment, Claire, but you’re wrong. I’ve learned to live with it.”
Now I’m the one to push out a disbelieving laugh, because it’s obvious he hasn’t. He’s just learned to bury it beneath the surface.
“Your mother made a choice. If I were in her shoes and my son asked me to save his cat, I probably would have done the same thing. As for your father, I take back what I said. He sounds like a fucking asshole.”
