Frozen in indecision, I barely hear the front door open behind me.I assume Liam has returned, since most of the neighbours wouldn’t come in without knocking or ringing the bell first.A soft gasp has me whipping around to see Fiona standing in the doorway.My heart twists painfully at how beautiful she looks with the late afternoon sun illuminating her like a spotlight and bringing out the lighter red highlights in her hair.
“Sorry,” she says.I think the thing she’s doing with her face is an attempt at a smile, although it’s more like a grimace.
“No need to be sorry.It’s your house.”
She could let the door fall shut behind her, but instead, she takes her time closing it, giving me the impression she’s hiding her reaction to my unintentionally gruff words.After taking far longer than necessary to make sure the door is shut, she removes her shoes and lines them up neatly with the others piling up near the closet.
She straightens and finally meets my eyes again.“I was going to try to sneak past you while your back was turned, but then I realized how cowardly that would be.”
The guilt I felt earlier makes its presence known again, burning through me.I can’t blame her for not wanting to face me.God knows I don’t make it easy.“If it’s any consolation, I was having my own cowardly moment before you came in.”At her surprised expression, I wave a hand over my shoulder.“Mae’s in the kitchen with a bunch of the neighbours.I was wishing I could work up the courage to tell them all to go home so Mae could get some rest.She hasn’t been eating or sleeping.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”Her voice is almost inaudible, and her eyes are cloudy.She touches her throat, wincing slightly before letting out a little cough.“I’ll take care of it.I’m sure they’ll all make excuses to leave the second I walk in, but if they don’t, I’ll tell them I need some time alone with my mum.I’ll try to get her to eat and sleep.Maybe if I offer to lie down with her…”
She trails off, the hint of uncertainty fading from her expression as she stands up straighter and shakes out her clenched fists.This is the Fiona I’ve known my whole life: confident, take charge, and yet soft and caring.She’s exactly what Mae needs right now.
“Sounds good.Will you let Mae know I’m heading home, and tell her to call if she needs anything?”Without waiting for a response, I stride past her to the door.She murmurs a whisper-soft thank-you as I pass, and I give a jerky nod.I’m halfway down the porch steps before I remember I left my boots inside.
I groan and stare at the bright red door.A wave of exhaustion washes over me.Instead of going back inside to grab my boots like I should, I collapse onto the porch swing.I could go around back and see if Rex is still in the treehouse.The temptation to hide out with him is strong, but there’s no hiding from reality or the pain that comes with it.
I close my eyes and let my head fall against the high back of the swing.Despite trying to clear my mind, my thoughts refuse to be silenced.I’ve lived with so much inner turmoil for so long—an absent father, Fiona leaving and breaking my heart, my mom dying, and then Murph getting sick and dying—it’s possible some of my anger toward Fiona is misplaced.She’s a safe place to direct it because she’s hardly ever around.
And she won’t stick around long now, which means she’ll be gone soon enough, and it’ll be easier.It’s always easier not having to be near her.To hear her voice or see her eyes—brown like Mae’s, but holding the same sparkle of curiosity and mischief as Murph’s.To want to touch her and then hating myself for wanting to touch her.Hating myself more for hating her.
Wanting her gone is selfish, though.Having her here might be hard for me, but it’ll be good for Mae.Fiona’s not the staying sort, though.She’s not meant for Honeywell.Or for me.I accepted that a long time ago, despite what some people think.
My eyes pop open as the sound of voices moves toward the front door.It’s too late to grab my boots now without getting caught up talking to people.Socializing isn’t my favourite thing on a good day, and today is far from a good day.I consider simply walking home in my sock feet or giving in to the temptation to head to the treehouse when I spot my boots sitting outside the door.Without giving too much thought to the person who likely put them there while my eyes were closed, I cram my feet into my boots and head home.
CHAPTER FIVE ~ FIONA
God bless my dad and his twisted sense of humour.
He always joked about having a proper Irish wake when he died, but I’m sure when he said it, he assumed he’d be much older than sixty-three.Wakes are a celebration of life, a time to honour the dead and what was hopefully a long, full life.My dad’s life was a full one, there’s no doubt about that, but long?Longer than some, certainly, but not nearly long enough.
In a perfect world, he and my mum would have had another couple of decades together, a chance to revel in their golden years, do more travelling, and simply be with each other.Instead, his death is a tragedy, a life taken too soon, a hole in the lives of those who knew and loved him.
When Dad found out his cancer was terminal, he planned his own wake with help from his childhood best friend, Thomas.Dad initially told Mum he only wanted a small service with immediate family, because he didn’t want to put us through the agony of a visitation, funeral, and reception.Mum argued that as difficult as it would be, Dad deserved all those things, so they settled on a variation of an Irish wake, to be held in our house, and to be catered so Mum wouldn’t have to cook.When Thomas arrived from Ireland the day after I got home, I laughed tearfully as he told me how Dad really got into the planning, and how Thomas had promised him he’d get the send-off he deserved.
So here we are, a week after Dad’s death, with most of the inhabitants of Honeywell Hollow filling our house.
When I was home a few months ago before Christmas, my parents hosted their annual open house and invited everyone they knew to drop in to enjoy food, drinks, and Mum’s elaborate holiday decorations.Dad held court from his favourite armchair, telling stories and laughing with townspeople.The atmosphere is much more sombre today, but I keep having flashbacks to that wonderful day.
I also keep looking for Dad around every corner and listening for his melodic voice and his boisterous laugh.I keep glancing toward where his chair normally sits, although it’s been moved for the day.In its place is a poster-sized picture of the man himself: one of his favourite author photos, taken on the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, his salt-and-pepper hair tousled, and his smiling face ruddy from the wind.
A table sits beside it, holding two bottles of Jameson whiskey and an array of shot glasses.Platters of food cover every available surface, and music by various Irish artists, from the well-known like U2, The Cranberries, and Hozier, to an indie band Dad once saw in Galway, plays quietly from speakers in one corner.
“He’d have loved this.”
I turn to find Thomas standing behind me.As per Dad’s request for a casual atmosphere during the wake, Thomas is wearing well-worn dark jeans and a charcoal grey cable-knit sweater.I’ve seen several similar sweaters and flashes of green so far today, people’s way of honouring Dad’s heritage.It’s a true testament to how much he meant to the people of this town that the older women, who usually see an event like this as a chance to put on their best black dresses and pearls, actually heeded Dad’s request and came in slacks or casual dresses.
“And just think, people haven’t even started getting up to tell stories about him yet,” I say, giving Thomas a weak smile.“That would be his favourite part.”
Thomas lays a hand on my shoulder.“How’re you holding up?”
“I don’t really know how to answer that, Uncle Tommy.”
My gaze shifts past him to the group of people assembled around Mum, who’s sitting in the middle of the couch.Rex is nestled in her lap, and she’s absently stroking his thick, dark hair.Her eyes are blank and glassy, and a vacant smile is plastered on her face as people speak to her.
On the day I arrived, once I cleared the house and finally coaxed Mum into bed, she settled in and didn’t want to move.For the last two days, she only got out of bed for short periods, and that was just to pick at food, and speak to Nathan, Liam, and Thomas when they dropped by to check on her.They were the only ones I let through the door, despite the steady stream of people coming to check on Mum or bring more food.
