In that moment, I realize a lot doesn’t matter. What Michael would do with the bookstore when he visited me in Dublin. If Michael would stay with me, or at Niall’s, or possibly splurge for his own hotel room.
He wouldn’t get to see all the changes Niall has made to his store based on ideas he, Niall, and I had hashed out many nights over a bottle of wine the past year. He would never get the chance to drink a Guinness from the homeland.
Michael would never get to see if Niall could be more than just a friendly face on his laptop screen.
Because Michael was struck by a drunk driver walking home from the fair. A driver who fled the scene after Michael hit his head on the curb, just after the intersection of Main and Garden.
Where Michael died.
11
I hear the front door close from the bedroom. Michael must be home from the fair. I look over to find Colin but the bed is empty for some reason. I get out of bed, quickly putting on the pair of shorts and t-shirt from the floor.
I take the stairs two steps at a time, turning the corner to the living room. Michael is standing facing the door, slightly swaying in place.
“What are you doing?” I call out.
Michael slowly turns, his face a grimace. Then blood starts to drip down the right side of his face…
I jolt up from the couch, the blanket under me soaked through. The sun’s just setting, the living room dark when the knocking starts up at the front door. I stare at the door, listening as the knocking continues.
I lie back and roll over, smashing my face into the cushion.
An attempt to shut out the world.
12
“You’re worrying me,” Mom says, sitting on the edge of the couch. I look up at the clock, a few minutes before noon. “Sydney called me in a panic. You haven’t been answering her texts. Hell, you haven’t been answering my texts or calls either.”
“I just need to be alone. No one seems to understand that.”
Mom starts rubbing circles on my back, settling back into the cushion. “I understand completely. I lost your father. Hell, so did you. You should know it’s going to be tough, but you’ll get past it. Not now, not tomorrow, but you will.”
“He was my best friend.”
Mom sighs. “I know sweetie. Your father was my best friend. It’s going to take time. Even now it’s still rough some days, but each day is a bit easier than the last.” She stands up from the couch, hovering over me. “But you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t go to the service. If you never give yourself the opportunity for a proper goodbye.”
***
I’m sitting in the front row of chairs at the cemetery, flanked on both sides by Syd and Mom.
The world is muted, the words spoken about Michael sound distant and garbled. It’s taking everything in me tosurvive this moment, survive long enough so I can get back to the safety of the condo.
But one thing isn’t lost on me. I’ve done a quick assessment of who came to say goodbye to Michael. And not a single one of his family members showed.
Part Two
3 Months Later
13
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We’d like to thank you for flying with Aer Lingus today on this journey from Hartford to Dublin. The local time here in Dublin is 6:15, the temperature is seventeen degrees, or sixty-three degrees Fahrenheit for our American flyers. Please let any passengers through that have any connecting flights. We hope to see you in the skies again soon.”
14
I wheel my bag up to immigration check, which luckily is a relatively short line. I never know what to do when going through immigration, debating if acting too friendly makes you look suspicious or if you don’t engage it makes you come off as a stereotypical asshole American. I settle on a slight smile while I pass my passport over.
“What brings you to Ireland?” Jesus. That accent. That is going to take some getting used to. After all the FaceTime calls with Niall you would think I’d be better prepared. The immigration officer, Leon, now looks slightly annoyed.
