When they handed down the verdict of my suspension, my first thought had been to blurt, ‘But my dad just died, you can’t take this job away from me too!’I’d swallowed the words, though.Emotional manipulation is more Sanjay’s style than mine.
“What’re you going to do?”Mila asks.“Will you be able to stay in the house?”
Shit.I hadn’t even thought of that.“I was so shocked and upset at the hearing, I didn’t think to ask, and they didn’t bring it up.”I have money in savings if I need to move out, but I love that house and the quiet, tree-lined street we live on.“I’ll contact someone tomorrow and see what they expect me to do for the next two months.”
Mila waves dismissively, as if she can’t believe I’d ever think I had to do this on my own.“I’ll handle it for you.And if they say you need to vacate your room, you can stay in my room for a bit.It’s not like we haven’t bunked together before.”
This is true.The first trip we ever co-hosted was a week-long camping trip across the Highlands of Scotland.We’ve shared hotel and hostel rooms since, but nothing has ever compared to sharing a cramped tent for a week.Talk about getting to know someone intimately.In a situation like that, you either end up the best of friends or wanting to kill each other.While we had moments where we snapped at one another, we ended up closer than ever.
Not a day goes by that I don’t thank my lucky stars to have a friend like Mila.“You’re the best.”
“I know.”She grins, her dark eyes sparkling.I can’t help but smile weakly in return.“I’ll book your flight home too.Is tomorrow too soon?”
I sigh again.“No, I should go as soon as possible.My mum will be surrounded by people, but I need to be with her.I already feel like the shittiest daughter alive for not going as soon as I got the news about Dad.”
Mila makes a sympathetic noise.“What if…” She trails off, and I wait for her to continue, eyebrows lifting in anticipation with each passing second.“What if you stay in Honeywell Hollow for a bit after the funeral?I’m sure Mae would love having you around.”
Stayin Honeywell Hollow?The thought makes my skin feel too tight.Being there without my dad, even for a few days, will be torture.We were always so close; when he got sick, I told him I’d take time off and return to my hometown, but he forbade it.He actually used those words: “Iforbidit, Fiona Mae Murphy.”
With a terminal cancer diagnosis last year, we all knew Dad wouldn’t getbetter, but I thought he was doing okay.I thought we had more time.We talked every day, either via phone call, video chat, text, or email.My parents promised that if they saw the end coming, they’d tell me so I could be there to spend time with Dad and say a proper goodbye.I’d recently been toying with the idea of surprising him with a short trip home before the busy season kicked off, or even seeing if he was well enough to travel to Ireland to stay in the cottage he owned, even if it meant hiring a medical team to accompany us.
Now, instead of a few days in my childhood home listening to Dad’s stories, watching him work in his study, and sipping Jameson as we swap travel tales, I’ll be listening for his laugh, expecting him to enter the room at any moment, and feeling his absence every single second.
But as difficult as it will be for me, it’ll be a million times worse for my mum.She and my dad were married for nearly forty years, and have lived in the same house since before I was born.I always struggled with considering Honeywell Hollow my home, but it’s always been exactly that to them.My dad was a pillar of the community, and his death will be felt by the entire town.
I doubt this dense, suffocating feeling of guilt and grief will dissipate any time soon, but maybe being there for my mum will help.I’m sure she’d be relieved and comforted to have me at home for a while…even if there are others who likely wish I’d never step foot in town ever again.One person in particular comes to mind.Someone with a deep voice, work-roughened hands, and piercing blue-grey eyes that always spoke volumes, even when he didn’t say a word.
I shake those thoughts and return my attention to Mila.“Could you book me a plane ticket with a flexible return date?”
Despite Mila’s answering smile, I can’t help but notice the sadness in her eyes.“Of course.”She pats my hand where it rests on the table.“Everything is going to be okay, Fiona.It might not seem that way now or even for a while, but you’re one of the strongest, most resilient people I know.You’re going to get through this.”
I know she’s right, but at this moment, it’s hard to truly get my heart and mind to believe that anything will ever be okay again.
CHAPTER TWO ~ NATHAN
Seamus Murphy is dead.
Father figure.Childhood sweetheart’s dad.Friend and ally.How is it possible that the man who played so many vital roles throughout my life is just...gone?We knew it was coming, but some part of me refused to believe it would actually happen.If anyone deserved an eleventh-hour save from some higher power, it was Murph.The man seemed invincible.Larger than life.Fullof life.Now he’s gone, and the world feels like a darker, colder place.
My gaze drifts to the electric kettle on the kitchen counter.Steam wafts from the top, although I have no recollection of turning it on or of it boiling and shutting itself off.I barely even remember coming into the kitchen after offering to make Mae Murphy a cup of tea.With a shake of my head, I wash Murph’s favourite mug—one of those wraparound photo collage ones with a collection of family pictures—and toss a teabag in before adding the water.
Mae has insisted on using this mug since Murph died.At first, I thought she was a masochist; then I realized she’s surrounded by his possessions, along with four decades of memories.If using his mug and wearing his clothes and disappearing into his office for long stretches of time brings her even an ounce of comfort, who am I to judge?We all have our coping mechanisms.
Apparently, one of mine is spacing out, because I don’t notice my best friend Liam’s nephew until he’s standing right in front of me.
“Hey, boyo.”I wince the second the word leaves my lips.Murph often called Rex ‘boyo’.He used to call Liam and me that too when we were growing up, and still used it occasionally, despite us being in our late thirties.
A fleeting smile passes over Rex’s face before the sadness creeps back in.The kid looks exhausted.At eight, this is the first death he’s experienced, and it’s one that’ll leave a lasting impact.He doesn’t have any living grandparents, his dad has never been in the picture, and his mom has had her struggles over the years, which left him largely in Liam’s care, with help from me and the Murphys.We’re the only family he knows, and he’s been Murph’s shadow since he learned to crawl.
“Do you need anything?”I ask.I want to pick him up and cuddle him the way I did when he was little, but I somehow doubt he’d take too kindly to that.Or, hell, maybe he would.I’m not ashamed to admit I could use a good cuddle right now.
Rex shakes his head.“Uncle Liam wanted me to tell you that Aunt Mae went to lie down.”
There’s yet another cup of tea that will go cold and be poured down the drain.This has been a pattern for the last few days: make Mae a cup of tea, fix her a small plate of food from the endless supply of dishes the neighbours have brought, then watch it all go untouched.There have been moments when I’ve had to plead with her to take a sip of water or tea so she doesn’t get dehydrated, especially since she’s been crying so much.She can survive for a few days on the occasional bite of food, but dehydration is no joke.She’s miserable enough without adding that to the mix.
“Thanks, buddy,” I say.He inches forward, so I hold out my arms in invitation.His small shoulders sag as he leans his head against my stomach.
“Do you think Smurph is in heaven, Uncle Nathan?”
