by Eliza Watson
At the bottom of the stairs, a large curio cabinet displayed wooden nutcrackers lined up at attention. Nutcrackers creeped me out. Their slanted eyes and brows gave them evil expressions, like they were preparing to stab someone with their spears. One was missing an arm, another a leg, and several most of their paint.
“Welcome to the island of misfit decorations,” Zoe said. “When a decoration is damaged or hideously ugly, my mum can’t help but feel sorry for the poor yoke and buy it because nobody else will. She thinks everyone deserves a home at Christmas. And she always chooses the most pathetic Charlie Brown tree of the lot.” Zoe slid her gaze toward the room down the hall, where everyone had gathered, then back at me. “Can you keep a secret?” she whispered.
I nodded, hoping for a deep, dark secret about Declan.
“We decorated the tree weeks ago, then undecorated it last night so we could do it again with Declan. Mad, hey? But it means a lot to my mum, so we didn’t argue. Besides, that means more cookies and mulled wine. A tree-decorating tradition.” She hooked her arm through mine and led me to the living room.
Flames danced in a green cast-iron stove tucked into a brick fireplace, emitting a strong earthy scent. The overstuffed red furnishings made me want to curl up on the couch with a glass of wine. Christmas prints hung on the cream-colored walls, including one of a little girl placing a star on top of a tree. Declan once mentioned he was an artist. Had he painted it?
A glass of mulled wine in hand, Declan stood relaxed, chatting with his dad, who was stringing lights on a tall, scrawny evergreen tree in the corner. Open cardboard boxes with ornaments and presents filled its tree skirt. Declan introduced me as Caity, rather than coworker Caity.
Colin was a handsome man in his fifties, with graying hair, gentle blue eyes, and a charming smile. Exactly how I pictured Declan in twenty years, except Declan had bluer eyes, currently glassed over from too much alcohol. A contented smile curved his lips and warmed my entire body. I had to let Liam and Declan’s lie about his parents go. I couldn’t allow it to ruin my trip to Killybog.
Declan handed me a glass of mulled wine, which warmed me even more. I slipped off my green cardigan and draped it over the back of a chair, next to an orange cat. The animal wore a knitted reindeer stocking cap with a pom-pom on the end, its ears sticking through two slits next to the antlers.
Zoe turned on music and sang along to “Mele Kalikimaka.” She wrapped silver garland around her neck for a lei and hula danced to the Hawaiian Christmas carol. She swayed her hips against Declan’s until he joined in dancing. He appeared so comfortable with his family. Not like it’d been eight months since he’d been home. Was it the whiskey and mulled wine?
“This song was in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation,” Zoe said. “Have you seen it?”
“Every year,” I said. “It’s my favorite.”
“It’s Declan’s fave also.”
Declan nodded. “Brilliant movie.”
My phone rang. Mom. The call failed. She was probably checking to make sure I was tucked in safely at the B & B. No way was I telling her I was staying with Declan. I hadn’t mentioned our relationship for fear she’d slip up and say something to Rachel. I wasn’t sure how she’d react to me dating. I hadn’t given her the entire scoop on Andy, knowing she’d make it her mission to find me an appropriate young man. The same way she’d been trying to find me an appropriate job since I’d lost mine, sending me applications and submitting my résumé without my knowledge. However, if she wanted input on the holiday party, I couldn’t leave her hanging.
I excused myself to step outside to return her call. A set of French doors led into a sunroom with a red-cushioned wicker couch and chairs. A pair of yellow wellies with an orange beak painted on the toes and googly eyes stood by the door. Zoe’s, no doubt. I told myself they were ducks and not the rancid bird that had caused my mortifying mishap. I stuffed my feet and pants legs inside them.
I walked outside, the brisk air cooling my wine-flushed cheeks. The front-lawn decorations lit the sky over the backyard. I stepped from the wooden deck, and my feet sank into the cushioned grass. A moo echoed in the distance. A gray cat nosing around a shed spotted me and let out a meek meow.
“What’s wrong, baby?” I cooed.
I slowly approached the animal. A vicious bark shattered the silence. The cat’s back arched, its fur puffing out. I about peed my pants. The barking continued from behind the shed. The cat shot across the yard toward a field. I raced for the house. I flew through the back door, slamming it shut while glancing over my shoulder for a ferocious dog. Heart pounding, I turned and ran smack into Declan, splaying my hands across his chest, his heart thumping against my palms. Our gazes locked. Realizing everyone had joined us, Declan stepped back and I lowered my hands.
“I didn’t know”—I sucked in a shaky breath—“you have a dog.”
“Don’t have a dog, merely his bark.” Jane glared at her husband. “Colin’s alarm on the fuel shed.” She gave him a swat to the chest. “Nearly gave the poor girl a heart attack, ya did. You were supposed to adjust the sensors.”
“Sorry ’bout that,” Colin said. “When you go out to the loo, steer clear of the shed.”
They had an outhouse?
“He’s only messin’ with ya,” Declan said.
“Turn that bloody thing off,” Jane commanded over the barking.
“Ya won’t be saying that once I perfect it and we’re making millions selling the yokes.” Colin marched outside to deactivate the alarm.
“Worried about theft with the recession and cost of fuel so high,” Jane said.
“It doesn’t keep the neighborhood cat burglars away,” I said. “I just gave some cat a heart attack.”
“It’s motion and time sensored. Only goes off at night if a person approaches it. Used to go off every time a bunny hopped by until the neighbor threatened to take his hurling stick to it. I’m going to take one to it. Come inside, luv, and we’ll get you some mulled wine and cookies.”
I sent a text telling Mom I’d call when I had better cell service. And when my voice wasn’t trembling with fear. I returned to the living room and gulped down a mulled wine. The orange cat was curled up on my sweater, sound asleep, undisturbed by the alarm.
“I can’t believe your cat allows you to dress him up.”
Zoe rolled her eyes. “Quigley is totally mad. He growls if we try to take the cap off. My granny, auntie, and I make them to sell at craft markets. It’s crazy what people spend on their pets. The extra quid is brill until I graduate in May and open my own decorating shop.”
“My mom once tried to put an elf hat on our cat Izzy and ended up in the emergency room with a wicked bite Christmas Eve.”
“Zoe ended up in the A and E Christmas Eve after cutting the roof of her mouth on a cookie,” Declan said.
“Wasn’t my fault. You could stab someone with Auntie Fiona’s candy cane sugar cookies. Of course, Mum didn’t tell her that her cookie put me in the A and E and made up some mad story that I had a paper cut in my mouth. I’d have to be totally daft to do such a thing.”
“I wouldn’t be ripping on Auntie Fiona’s baking.” Declan smirked.
“What? I’m a brilliant baker.”
“Like the time you couldn’t get gingerbread cookie dough rolled out, so you stuck it in a loaf pan, thinking you’d make ginger bread?”
I smiled. “I can totally relate.” I shared my broiled banana bread story.
We all laughed.
Thankfully, Declan didn’t bring up my goose curry incident.
“Did Declan ever mention that he fancies dolls?”
Declan rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t this story ever get old?”
Zoe grinned. “Nope. One Christmas he got up early and unwrapped every bloody present under the tree, including mine. Took a fancy to my Barbie doll and wouldn’t give her up. I cried for two days until the stores reopened and Santy brought me another.”
Declan shrugged, palms
up. “I was eight. I thought she was hot.”
I tried to convince myself that Declan hadn’t wanted me to meet his family for fear of all the embarrassing stories they’d disclose.
His dad finished weighting down the scrawny tree branches with lights, and we began decorating. Zoe held up a glass ball ornament. Santa had an orange suit, Rudolph a pink nose. “Declan painted these one year for our mum and dad. He’s quite talented—just a wee color blind.”
“I was avant-garde,” he said. “Like Picasso.”
He’d stopped painting after his muse, Shauna, died. I’d discovered that the hard way in Paris, sticking my foot in my mouth as usual. I certainly wasn’t going to ask if he’d done the painting on the wall.
After we finished decorating, I helped Zoe stack empty ornament boxes by the stairs to be carried up to storage. Something slid around inside one. I removed a snowman ornament.
“We missed one,” I said.
Zoe snatched the ornament from my hand, her gaze darting to her parents and Declan chatting in the living room. She tossed it back in the box. “We don’t put that one up. It’s dated the year…she died.”
It was dated three years ago, so I knew who she was.
Apparently saying Shauna’s name was taboo.
Declan’s family wasn’t going to give me insight into Shauna, or help him heal, if they didn’t even dare utter her name out loud. Declan wasn’t the only one who needed to heal.
I glanced up at the empty nail on the wall. A sadness hung over the house that all the festive Christmas lights and cheery decorations couldn’t hide.
Supposedly, a picture was worth a thousand words, yet so was the absence of one.
Chapter Ten
Peering out the car window at Killybog’s colorful buildings, I drummed my fingers against the crinkly plastic wrap containing the gingerbread house. We were getting closer to Sadie Collentine’s and to uncovering Grandma’s past.
Declan stifled a yawn, attempting to shake the sleep from his head. As we drove past Molloy’s, he glanced over at me with bloodshot eyes. “Sorry about drinking so much at the pub. But driving is another first for ya.”
“It also could have been my first accident.”
“Speaking of accidents, me driving the tractor into the creek was Peter’s fault. We were at his uncle’s. I had no idea there was a creek. At least it wasn’t a Deere.”
I smiled despite Declan avoiding the topic of getting drunk because of Liam.
Sadie’s yellow ivy-covered bungalow sat just outside of town. Puffs of smoke rose from a stone chimney, filling the air with the earthy scent of peat. The house’s green wooden door swung open and out stepped a petite elderly lady and man. She wore a dark-green wool coat, and a fancy black hat with feathers sat atop her tightly curled gray hair. A dark suit swallowed the man’s thin frame. They looked like they were off to church. Had we miscommunicated on our meet time? I should have called and reconfirmed our visit.
We returned their enthusiastic waves. Declan took the platter of cookies his mom had made, while I carried the gingerbread house and the wrapped photo and letters.
Sadie’s blue eyes sparkled, and she wore a welcoming smile. “It’s grand to finally meet ya.” She gestured to the gingerbread house. “Oh my, that’s simply lovely.”
“Lovely.” The man nodded in agreement, straightening his red bow tie.
“And so is that.” She gestured to the Coffey pin on my purse strap. I wore the pin with the hope that random Coffeys might approach me and inquire about my family history.
We stepped into the foyer, which was filled with the aroma of pumpkin spice. We set the cookies and presents next to a stack of holly wreaths on a credenza.
Sadie folded me into a warm embrace, her hat’s feathers tickling my nose. She placed a hand on the gentleman’s arm next to her. “This is me cousin Seamus. Your grandmum’s sister Ellen’s son.”
Mom’s middle name was Ellen. She hadn’t known she was named after her aunt until I found the family in the 1911 census. Sadie and Seamus were Mom’s first cousins, yet at least twenty years older than her. Grandma had been in her early forties when she’d had Mom, now fifty-eight.
The man smiled wide. “Seamus. Like the famous sheep.”
His only sheeplike feature was the white tufts of hair on the sides of his otherwise bald head. Thick black-framed glasses weighed heavy on his hollow cheeks.
Sadie smiled at Declan. “I don’t think you can be Rachel, now can ya, lad?”
I explained the reason for Rachel’s absence.
“Oh my, that’s too bad. Hope your father’s on the mend.”
Seamus shook his head. “Too bad.”
“I know you just arrived, but we were thinking if it’s all right, it might be best to go straight out before you get your coats off. Seamus just had cataract surgery, so his sight isn’t the best, and I’m not driving right now due to…a wee incident.” The two of them exchanged nervous glances. “’Twasn’t me fault.”
I’d be the last person to judge anyone for having an accident on these roads.
“Anyway, we thought this would be a lovely way for you to meet your rellies.”
“That’d be great. Where are we going?”
“The cemetery.” She grabbed a stack of holly wreaths off the credenza. “Such a lovely day for a cemetery visit, it is. Best to get the wreaths placed before the winds pick up, as they’re expected to be fierce.”
I shot Declan a discreet glance, which he avoided. A meltdown in a Paris cemetery had led him to confide in me about Shauna’s death. This would hit much closer to home than some random Paris cemetery.
We piled into the small car. A few miles up the road, we encountered an abandoned medieval church with an uneven landscape of gravestones and weathered Celtic crosses covered in ivy and moss. I stepped from the car, and a brisk wind cut through me. I nestled into the blue mohair scarf wrapped around my neck. Declan’s gaze narrowed on the cemetery.
Please go in. Face your demons.
“I’m gonna wait here,” Declan said. “Need to ring a client.”
My telepathic abilities were obviously on the fritz.
Declan pulled out his phone to place his fictitious call.
I tried to hide my disappointment. After all, this cemetery visit was about meeting my dead rellies.
Sadie, Seamus, and I passed by the old church. I stopped and peeked through a narrow, arched window. Between the wavy distorted glass and dark interior, I could vaguely make out green foliage growing up a wall. I joined my rellies in the cemetery. Evergreen wreaths, small mangers, Santa figurines, and miniature Christmas trees decorated both older and newer graves. More recent graves lined the front of the cemetery, providing easy access, while older ones stood farther back on uneven ground overgrown with grass and ivy.
“Nice to see people still respect some traditions, placing wreaths on graves at Christmas,” Sadie said. “Such a shame that much of society has moved away from holding a proper Irish wake. Don’t see as many as you used to, and certainly not as grand as they once were.”
Seamus shook his head in disgust. “Won’t be putting me body in the ground without a proper wake.”
Sadie stopped in front of a large tombstone engraved with a Celtic cross and introduced me to her sister Catherine Ryan, who’d written Grandma about her sister’s death. “It’s a shame we didn’t know you last year before Catherine passed. Was the grandest wake Westmeath had ever seen.”
“Simply grand.” Seamus smiled, a reminiscent glint in his gray eyes.
“Don’t know how I’ll outdo it. But I will.” Sadie gave me a wink. She gestured to the wreaths in her cousin’s stack. “I think you have the artificial one.” She peered over at me. “Catherine was allergic to spruce.” She secured a green plastic wreath on a stake in the ground so it didn’t fly away.
“Can you take our picture by the tombstone?” I asked Seamus. “Might sound strange, but I want to make a family scrapbook.”
&nb
sp; “Not odd at all, luv,” Sadie said. “Our cousin has an album filled with selfies of her and rellies in their coffins. ’Tis a bit disrespectful.”
It took me a few moments to recover from that vision and to teach Seamus how to operate my phone’s camera feature. After he snapped several pics, I snapped one of them, just in case.
At the next grave, they slowly shook their heads.
“Paddy Smyth was me sister Julia’s husband,” Sadie said. “What a funeral that was, never seen the likes of it before and hope we never do again. Julia was so distraught she threw herself on the casket. Wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t already been lowered into the ground. Cracked two of her ribs and the top of the casket. Just a wee crack, but she demanded that Martin Shea, who’d sold her the casket and attended the burial, replace the casket straight away. That her Paddy wasn’t being buried in no dodgy casket. Martin insisted she was mad. She told everyone about the incident, and a year later he went out of business.”
I came from a very assertive line of women.
“I can’t imagine loving someone so much I’d throw myself against his casket in the ground,” I said. Maybe that was how I should evaluate my relationships. Do I love this guy enough to throw myself into his grave?
“If you do, don’t be wearing no dress,” Sadie said.
“Or at least have on a proper pair of knickers.” Seamus rolled his eyes. “Aye, what a sight that was.”
Sadie took a pic of Seamus and me next to the tombstone. We continued on to a grave for Jimmy and Theresa Lynch, née Coffey, Grandma’s sister. The epitaph read Last Call. Sadie removed a silver flask from her purse and poured a golden-colored liquid over the graves. Whiskey, I assumed.
“Me parents were publicans. Me nephew Riley runs it now. Oh, Mum, can you believe this is Bridget’s granddaughter from the States?” Sadie handed me a wreath. “You place it on the grave. She’d like that.”
