“I’ll keep that in mind.”I watch her stand and adjust her borrowed clothing.She avoids my eyes the entire time.
“You might also think about taking someone with you.Mum might be ready to travel by summer.Or Liam and Rex?Like Dad said in his letter, fill the whole cottage.It’s up to you, of course; it’s your house now.”
Something about Fiona’s rambling unsettles me.It’s like emotional whiplash, going from heavy, intense feelings to the strange, almost detached tone she’s using now.
Before I can second-guess myself, I reach out and grip her sleeve, holding her in place at the same moment she tries to move away.“It may be my house, but it’ll always be your home.”I almost add ‘Just like this will always be your home’, but that’s not right, is it?Honeywell isn’t her home and hasn’t been for a long time.I’mnot her home, no matter how strongly I used to believe she’d always see me that way, even when she was halfway across the world.
Her brow furrows, and she presses her lips together until the colour drains out of them.I know that look.She wants to argue.Instead, her shoulders slump, and she folds in on herself like a deflated balloon.There’s that emotional whiplash again.
“I’d give you the house right now if I could, Fiona.”I tug on her sleeve until she looks at me.“Just know that whatever happens, it’ll always be your home, and you’ll always be welcome there.”
She gives a jerky nod.When she lifts her head, the mask she’s been wearing with various degrees of success over the last few weeks is gone.Grief is etched into every delicate feature of her face, and her eyes are pools of such deep sorrow I feel like I could drown in them.
Without thinking, I pull her toward me.It’s graceless and rough, causing her to stumble forward and fall against me.The second she’s in my arms, muscle memory takes over.I band one arm around her waist and cup one hand at the back of her head.She wraps her arms around me and presses her cheek into my chest.She’ll be able to hear my heart racing, but that’s better than her being able to hear my racing thoughts.
Time slows the way it always used to when I held Fiona close.We still fit together perfectly, her soft curves molding to the shape of my body, her head tucked under my chin.I have no idea how much time passes when she releases a shuddering breath and shifts away from me, fisting her hands in the front of my shirt.
“Thank you,” she whispers.Her big brown eyes search my face, lingering for a moment on my mouth.My gaze dips to her lips, then back up to find her watching me closely, her expression inscrutable.She sighs and sways forward slightly, bringing us so close I can feel her breath on my face.Voices whisper in my mind, one telling me this is a bad idea, and the other wondering if it would really be so bad to take comfort in the familiarity of Fiona’s embrace.
Both voices are silenced as Fiona wrenches away from me and practically runs across the room.She pauses in the living room doorway, eyes wild.Her mouth opens as if she’s going to speak, but nothing comes out.With a shake of her head, she lifts her hand—a wave?A signal not to follow her?—and then hurries away.
By the time my body cooperates and moves me toward the door on legs that feel like heavy, creaking tree trunks, she’s gone.Gone.A common theme with Fiona.Gone, and I’m left here, haunted by a lifetime of memories and her lingering mango scent.
Something she said a few minutes ago niggles at the edges of my mind.“I’m your girl.” She said it innocently, in relation to her offer to help me plan a trip to Ireland, but it was something she used to say to me when we were together.“I’m your girl, Nathan.Always.”
Turns out ‘always’ didn’t last as long as either of us thought.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN ~ FIONA
With spring being the start of the busy season in the tourism industry, I haven’t returned to Honeywell Hollow at this time of year in at least a decade.The contrast between this tiny Ontario town and the places I usually frequent in the spring—England, Scotland, Ireland, France, and Italy—is stark.London is in full bloom right now, with its cherry blossoms, magnolia trees, and various flowers bursting in a riot of colour across the city.Tourists and locals alike flock to the parks and tree-lined streets to photograph the beauty of nature blossoming to life.
Honeywell, on the other hand, is still in that in-between time.The Spring Equinox was almost a month ago, but the trees are still bare, and nothing more than tiny green shoots of daffodils are poking out of the ground.A few places around town still have dwindling snowbanks from where plows piled the snow high during the worst of the winter weather.Having lived away for so long, I nearly forgot how long winter lingers here.
I pass one of those slowly-melting snowbanks now on my way to Sweet Escapes.The only evidence that it is, in fact, spring is the beautiful sunny weather, so I decided to take advantage of that and head to the café for a change of scenery.
The movie crew is filming elsewhere today, but the café is still packed when I step inside.Mum is bustling around behind the counter, pouring coffee and plating or packing pastries while Regina rings people up.Mum chats with people and offers her customary cheery smile as she works.I wonder if anyone notices that the sparkle in her eyes has dulled or that her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes the way it used to.
A hint of that sparkle enters her eyes when she sees me, causing a mix of relief, gratitude, and love to rush through me.I lean over the counter to plant a kiss on her cheek, and she takes my hand, squeezing my fingers.
“You left early this morning,” I say.There was a note waiting for me on the kitchen table when I got up, informing me she’d be at Sweet Escapes for most of the day.
“I had a sudden urge to be around people,” she says, waving at someone over my shoulder.“This seemed like the place to be.”
I can’t help but think that’s a good sign.Her usual reasons for coming into work are that she needs to catch up on things or oversee this or that, even though she’s trained her staff so well that Sweet Escapes runs like a well-oiled machine.Before Dad died, Mum was a fixture behind the counter and spent a lot of time interacting with customers around the café.Since I’ve been home, she mainly stays in the office, usually with the door closed.She’s also been turning down invitations from friends and neighbours to go out.
As a fellow social butterfly, I was worried she was isolating herself too much, even though I understood her reasons.Unless people have suffered a similar loss, they can’t understand, no matter how sympathetic or well-meaning they are.The fact Mumwantedto interact with people feels like a step in the right direction.Mind you, with the ups and downs of grief, that could change at any moment.
“Need some help?”I ask.
“I think Regina and I have it covered, but thanks,” Mum says.“Why don’t you find a seat and let me surprise you with a treat?”
I’d nearly forgotten this was something we used to do when I was younger.I often had trouble choosing what I wanted since every single thing in the bakery case looked mouth-wateringly delicious, so Mum would pick for me.“Sounds perfect.I’m heading for that free table in the back.”I kiss her cheek again, pleased at the soft, genuine smile she gives me in return.
Once I’m seated, I pull out the notebook and pen in my purse.I’ve been spending more time online over the last few days, scrolling through social media, and browsing travel blogs for both entertainment and inspiration.I’ve posted a few travel photos I’d never shared before on my BeSocial account, and they’ve all racked up thousands of likes and comments.Rather than continuing to post sporadically as I have been, I decided to make a list of things to share, and attempt to stick to a semi-consistent schedule while I’m here.If I can’t travel right now, I can do the next best thing: inspire others to travel, or at least dream of travelling.
Within a few minutes, an idea for a different list tickles the edges of my brain.After talking about Ireland the other night with Nathan, I’ve been thinking of all the places I’d suggest to him if he decided to take me up on my offer to help him plan a trip.I flip to a new page and start jotting down ideas.
Mum swings by the table a few minutes later, wordlessly setting a cup of coffee and a slice of cake in front of me.She plants a kiss on the top of my head, then spins to return to the counter.
