Flames are leaping to life in the hearth when a tingling at the back of my neck tells me Fiona has returned.I stand slowly and turn to face her.Her gaze is moving around the room, taking everything in, which gives me a chance to do the same with her.Her damp hair, which had been in a messy topknot before, is now cascading around her shoulders, the auburn tresses a striking contrast against the black of my hoodie.Her hands are tucked into the too-long sleeves, the hem hits her mid-thigh, and the rolled bottoms of the pant legs pool around her bare feet.Just like it did when we were younger, seeing her in my clothes stirs something possessive within me.
“Part of me expected everything to be the same in here,” she says, her eyes still sweeping the room.“Frozen in time, like my childhood bedroom.”
“Itwasfrozen in time until a few years ago,” I say.“I looked around one day and realized it was still my grandparents’ place, not mine.”My grandparents bought this house in the 1960s.My mom and I moved in with them when I was a toddler, after my dad left for good.Until a few years ago, the last major updates had been done in the ’80s.
“Ugly carpet, wood panelled walls, and busy wallpaper, oh my,” Fiona says with a fond smile.
“Exactly.Plus their furniture, artwork, and knick-knacks.I was tempted to sell the place and start fresh, but I love this house and the neighbourhood.Liam and I weren’t all that busy with the Handymen yet, so we took this on as our first big project.”
“It’s incredible, Nathan.”
Her soft, almost reverent tone fills me with pride.I wrestled with feelings of guilt over basically gutting the place, but my family had been gone for a long time, and I knew my mom especially wouldn’t want me to stay stuck in the past.So instead of some misguided sense of betrayal, I imagined how much she’d love the renovations we could never afford to do when I was growing up: replacing the hideous carpet with hardwood floors; taking out the panelling and wallpaper in favour of neutral-coloured paint; replacing the run-down furniture with new pieces, many of which I made myself; updating the kitchen and upstairs bathroom, and putting in a powder room downstairs.
Fiona comes to stand a few feet away from me, meeting my eyes with a nod.“It’s veryyou.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask what that means,” I say.“Will it make me sound like a dog again?”
She lets out a low laugh.God, I love that sound.“No.It’s…” Her mouth twists to the side as if she’s choosing her words carefully.“It’s…comforting.Masculine and understated, with a hint of softness to it.The whole place has a homey, comfortable vibe.”
“I can live with that,” I say lightly, hoping she can’t tell just how much her words please me.I motion for her to take a seat.She looks between the couch and the armchairs before curling up in the chair closest to the fireplace.I hand her a glass of whiskey and take a seat on the couch across from her.I wish I had some Hawkins Cheezies stashed away somewhere that I could offer her.
Fiona has barely settled into the chair before she’s back on her feet, moving to the mantelpiece, which is lined with framed photos.She scans them, smiling to herself between sips of whiskey.Her smile falters when she comes to the picture of Murph and me in Ireland.She lifts a shaky hand and picks up the frame, studying it for several long moments before turning to me.
The tears swimming in her eyes make my stomach clench.Fiona hides her sorrow well, especially around Mae, but I’ve seen it come through in quiet moments, like that day in the treehouse, or when she thinks she’s alone and she gets that far-off look in her eyes.This is something different, though.It’s sadness, but also…hurt?
“W-when did you go to Ireland?”she asks in a wavering voice.
I rise from the couch and join her in front of the fire.“Two, maybe three years ago now.”I look at the photo in her hand, and the full weight of her question hits me.“Wait, you didn’t know?”
She shakes her head, the movement sending a lone tear down her cheek.“I had no idea.No one ever told me.Henever told me.”Her brows are drawn together tightly as her gaze darts over the picture, taking in every detail.
I’m not sure what to say.Part of me wants to apologize, but for what?She typically only comes home once a year, and we’re not in contact otherwise.I assumed Murph or Mae would tell her about the trip.I can tell she’s working through something in her mind, so I remain silent.
“I can’t believe you went to Ireland.”She lifts her head to meet my gaze again, and her eyes have not only cleared, they’ve brightened.I’ve seen that sparkle of curiosity countless times between her and Murph.“How did it feel to travel?I mean, considering I didn’t know about this trip, you could be a globetrotter, and I’d be none the wiser.But what did you think of Ireland?And the cottage?”
Her rapid-fire questions make me chuckle.The only thing Fiona loves more than travelling istalkingabout travelling.Murph was the same way.Something about that storyteller blood, I guess.“Let’s sit, and I’ll answer all your questions.”
Unable to resist the urge to touch her after seeing her cry, I grip her shoulders and guide her back toward her chair.She takes the photo with her, the frame still clutched tightly in her hands.I top up her whiskey before returning to my seat.
“First, Ireland is the only international trip I’ve done, so I’m not a secret globetrotter,” I tell her.“Murph was invited to some big book festival in Dublin that year.He and Mae were supposed to go together and then have a mini holiday afterward, but there was an emergency at the café, and Mae didn’t want to leave.Everything was already booked and planned, so Murph asked me to go with him.I waffled for a bit until I realized there was no good reasonnotto go.”
“And?”Fiona asks, shifting to the edge of her seat.I haven’t seen her this animated since she got home.It’s like she anticipates that whatever I’m going to tell her will fuel her, maybe even soothe the ache in her—the one to travel, but also the one caused by Murph’s loss.It hit me the other day that there’ll be no more new memories or stories with him, so I understand wanting to hear about anything connected to him, and hoarding it away like a squirrel storing nuts for winter.
“Saying I loved it feels like a massive understatement,” I say.A modicum of the heaviness that settled in my chest when Murph died lifts at the way Fiona’s whole face lights up.“It was all so overwhelming at first.Dublin was crowded and noisy, with all these unexpected sights and sounds and smells that seemed so foreign.I ended up loving it, but it wasn’t until we headed away from the city that I really started to relax.That’s where…” I trail off, hesitant to sound too starry-eyed and flowery.And yet the words that come to mind are exactly what Fiona would want to hear, and I’d do anything to keep that sparkle in her eye.
“Where what?”she prompts.
“Where I fell in love with Ireland,” I say.“It took a few days to realize I was seeing things through too narrow a lens.Like some stubborn, immature part of me wanted to dislike the country as a way to stick it to you.”I give her a little shrug, and she presses her lips together to hold back a laugh.At least she appreciates my honesty.“So I changed my attitude, and everything changed with it.I’m sure it’s no surprise Murph and I spent a lot of time in pubs on our travels.He introduced me to old friends and acquaintances, plus random people were drawn to him, the way they always were.”
Her eyes go misty despite the smile still gracing her lips.“Seamus Murphy never met a stranger.”
I nod.“And suddenly I could see the magic that you, Murph, and Mae always talked about.Even the crowds stopped bothering me, and you know how I feel about crowds.I found myself hanging on to every word of every story, immersing myself in the music.God, Fi, themusic.I’ve never been so moved.I had no idea a fiddle could nearly bring me to tears.”
She lets out a delighted laugh and nods enthusiastically as if she understands exactly what I mean.“And the cottage?Did you love it too?”
“So much.I’ll admit there was a bittersweetness to being there.Knowing you loved it and considered it a second home.Seeing little hints of you all over the place.I always imagined if I ever got to see Ireland and stay in the cottage, it’d be with you.”
Her smile softens, turning wistful.“I always thought that too.”
