by Calinda B
He opened his mouth, then closed it. The next time he opened it, he said, “I’m not truly against either choice.” He dropped his hand on top of hers like his mother made him do it. “But, because of my long-ago vows of celibacy coming against my growing-to-love-you-more-than-a-man-deserves, it’s complicated. I struggle to maintain the façade of vows which have been the cornerstone of my long, long existence. You’re asking for a snap decision on changing three hundred years of habit.”
She closed her eyes. “And you’re breaking my heart.” She tugged her hand out from under his and pushed to standing. “I’m leaving.” Eying the cross on his bed stand, she picked it up. Then, she dangled it over his chest. “This is getting in the way.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” His eyes grew moist.
Her eyes became flinty slits as she glowered at him. She dropped the cross on his chest. It fell limply, coiling into a dead snake shape.
“Not yet,” she said, in a crisp, icy voice. And then she whirled on her heel, tucked the sheet around her, and headed out the door for her home.
Chapter 6
Day 3, Thursday morning - Siobhan
Staring blearily out the front window of the Laughing Rat at the morose sky, Siobhan, perched in one of the burgundy leather booths, glugging her third cup of coffee this morning.
Outside, rain poured relentlessly from the heavens, making her wonder if Noah’s ark reality lay in her very near future. Maybe all her misery in Ballynagaul would be washed out to sea, and she could be done with it. She envisioned Dylan’s coffin bobbing past her while she stood on the deck of the ark. Ailis’ casket floated by, followed by the Dearg-Due. Her entire house lurched past next, furniture floating near the ceiling. In her mind’s eye, she watched them until they became dots on the horizon. And then she turned to shamble inside the crowded interior of the ark. Phew! She, Paul, and countless pairs of animals heading for a new world. She’d take it. Something had to give.
While the rich java helped her stay awake, it did nothing for her frazzled nerves. Once again, last night she’d awoken from a horrific dream in which Dylan lay dying, screaming, but she couldn’t hear him. It was like she watched a silent movie of his death, detached, unable to help. Then, Paul had burst awake, crying. She’d finally rocked him to sleep at 4 a.m., but she hadn’t been able to succumb to the sleep fairy’s pleas. Desperate not to miss work again, she’d contacted Mary Conway to care for her sick child today.
Laughter rang out from behind the bar. She turned to see what could possibly be so funny at eleven in the morning.
Petra, carrying a tray of beer glasses, and Lady Freddie strode through the kitchen door, sharing a chuckle. Already, Lady Freddie and Petra seemed far too close for Siobhan’s liking. As unrealistic as it seemed, she felt betrayed by Lady Freddie, as if her friend and employee had to choose sides. She’s the sister of that seducer, Ailis, who destroyed my marriage.
“So, why’d you leave Ballynagaul in the first place, Petra?” Lady Freddie asked. She picked up a cleaning cloth and began wiping down the bar top.
Petra set the tray of glasses on the bar top with a tinkling clatter that hurt Siobhan’s ears. “I needed to escape Bally. You know how you know everyone and their neighbor?”
“I’m learning. I haven’t been here that long,” Lady Freddie said, flipping her cleaning cloth to the other side. She kept wiping.
The smell of bleach forced Siobhan’s nose into retreat.
“Well, you’ll learn soon enough.” Petra placed the mugs in the cooler far too forcefully.
Each clunk made Siobhan’s teeth clench.
“We don’t need the Irish Mirror to inform us of Sharma’s going off with Mr. Whitlock, or Niall getting caught with his pants around his ankles by poor Mrs. Southerland. The gossip circle is swift and mighty in this town. News spreads like rats chasing cheese.” Petra finished with her annoying placement of the beer glasses and set the rack behind the counter. “So, when Jaxon Taylor, an Aussie, rolled through town during my eighteenth year on the planet, dangling love between his legs and a good time, I grabbed the bait. We eloped, and I escaped to the Gold Coast of Australia.”
Lady Freddie tossed her cleaning cloth behind the counter. “I married young, too. He cheated on me. Now I’m here.”
She seized a glass carafe and filled it with water from the stainless steel hot water dispenser to the left of the shelves of booze. Then, she slammed it on the hotplate of the coffee maker. A few droplets of water splashed over the side.
“Right.” Petra nodded, handing Lady Freddie the tin of coffee. “Jaxon cheated, too. Now I’m back to Bally.” Her words emerged strained, like daylight forced to peek through the clouds against its will.
Lady Freddie plucked the scoop from the tin and poured ground coffee into the top of the coffee maker. She flipped the button to On.
Petra let out a long, dramatic sigh. “You want to know what I wish for more than anything else on this planet?”
“What?” Lady Freddie folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the back counter.
“I wish I could find a relationship that lasted longer than a heartbeat. And, God, I wish I had a child.”
You’re the sister of a cheater. Low life. Kind of homely. Good luck finding love.
Siobhan slurped the dregs of her coffee. Her phone rang. She clapped her hands over her ears in an attempt to keep the jarring noise from detonating her brain.
Finally, she pulled them away, picked the device from the table and answered. “Hello?”
“Siobhan, it’s Mary. I need you to come home.”
The brittle edge in Mary’s voice jolted Siobhan like six shots of espresso. She sat upright. “Is something the matter?”
Mary hesitated, saying nothing.
Siobhan white-knuckled her phone.
“Just…just come home.”
Siobhan disconnected, left her mug on the table, seized her purse, and slid from the booth. Without saying good-bye, she zipped through the pub’s front door, colliding with Stephen Breslin. “Oh! Sorry!”
“Siobhan.” Stephen caught her by the elbows. “Is everything all right?”
Siobhan latched on to the comfort in his eyes, using it to keep her from crying. “I’m not sure. My childcare just called and told me to get home.”
“I can join you,” he said, a little too quickly. “I took a break from endless house calls to check out a little cottage here in town. I’m tired of living in Dungarvan and having to drive to see my friends or…” He hesitated, his gaze skipping away from her like stones on the river. “Or, Paul.”
Her insides twisted and tangled at the thought of him living here in Bally. She took comfort in knowing she could move through town without running into him. And yet, as she stood to face him, his warm hands on her elbows, the thought of him living here in town also caused her heart to lurch, dangling at the edge of a vast precipice.
“I see,” she said, stepping backward.
A flurry of wind swirled leaves around her ankles and messed with her hair.
He reached to push it out of her eyes.
She pulled away. “Something’s wrong with Paul. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to jet.”
“I’m coming, too,” he said.
Together, they scurried down the street, making haste for her home.
Fifteen minutes later, breathless from her hurried walk, they reached her once pretty home. Lately, she hadn’t put any energy into the flower bed, or the lawn. Blue paint flaked from the door. She and Dylan had so many plans to restore the house. He wanted a thatched roof. She wanted shingles. In the end, she’d gotten the same old tiles that covered the roof when they’d bought it. Now, she didn’t care if angry gods punched holes through the house.
Mary stood in the carport, clutching Paul. The child had been swaddled to the point of suffocation.
He began to squirm and reach.
“Unca Bres,” he cried. “Unca Bres.”
Stephen stepped ahead of he
r and held his arms out.
Siobhan shoved past him and scooped Paul into her arms.
“Ma’s here,” she said, kissing his soft, warm cheeks. “Why are you standing out here in the cold?” she asked Mary.
Mary opened her mouth to answer, but Lassi stumbled out of the side door.
Her complexion matched the white plaster walls.
“What’s the matter? Haven’t you been able to help Paul?” Siobhan said, her voice pinched and tight.
“No, I…” Lassi’s eyes flicked toward Stephen.
He frowned.
Siobhan’s gaze ping-ponged between Lassi and Stephen. They clearly shared an obvious rapport with one another. Jealousy vined through her, planting roots in her core.
“I can’t explain it.” Lassi’s normally calm voice shook.
Spider legs of fear crawled up Siobhan’s spine.
“Can’t explain what?” Instinctively, she bounced Paul on her hip.
“Come to see for yourself.” Lassi pivoted and headed back inside.
“Yes, come,” Mary said, following Lassi. “You, too, Bres,” she called over her shoulder.
Siobhan hurried inside, with Stephen right behind her.
“What is it?” Siobhan said, hustling through the mudroom to the hall. “Tell me. You’re creeping me out.”
She came to a halt in the front room. The mantel, which held so many beloved framed memories, had been ravaged. The wedding photo of her and Dylan lay face down on the mantel. The picture of her and Dylan on their honeymoon had fallen to the floor, face down. The glass had shattered. Other photos, which had been on the wall, were on the floor, cracked, or unbroken.
She let Paul down in the hall, away from the glass.
“What the hell is this? What are you trying to tell me, Lassi? Is this a sick way to tell me to let go?” Her face grew flamed.
Paul cried, lifting his arms in the air.
Stephen stooped and picked him up.
Paul wrapped his arms around Stephen’s neck and sniffled into his shoulder.
“I’ve got you, Paulie. Uncle Bres has you.” He gently rocked Paul.
Conflicted emotion at Stephen’s easy way with her child swept through Siobhan like a tornado. Ignoring it, she whirled to face Lassi. “What did you do?”
“What did I do?” Lassi snapped. “I just got here, that’s what. To help.”
Siobhan pushed past her and rushed along the hall. Every photo of her and Dylan lay face down on the floor. Any photo without Dylan still hung in its proper place. Sharp spikes of terror shot through her skull. She raced into the guest room. Same thing. All the photos of her and Dylan had been placed face down.
She zipped to the bedroom, nearly tripping over a pile of clothes. Again, all the pictures of her and Dylan had been turned down. Her hands flew to her temples. Who could have done this? Mary? She did a 180.
Lassi and Mary stood in the hall, eying her.
Mary rubbed her elbows.
Lassi pinched her lower lip with her fingers.
“How could you? One of you must have done this, right? It didn’t simply happen. Maybe there was an earthquake,” she said, stretching for a plausible explanation. A very particular earthquake.
“No, there was no earthquake,” Mary said, her plain face drawn. “I took Paul with me to the store to buy lunch food. When we returned, I found it this way. I called Lassi, and then I called you.”
Siobhan stooped to retrieve one of her favorite pictures of her and Dylan flying along a zip line on an adventure challenge course they’d taken a year into their relationship. She turned it over. Each of them bore a huge smile. They wore colorful green and blue helmets, and bright green jackets, much like parrots sailing through the trees. Now, jagged cracks in the glass zigzagged over Dylan’s face. She dropped the photo, leaping away from it as if she might catch a disease.
The glass shattered, shooting fragments against her legs.
Her hands took on a life of their own, slapping her mouth and cheeks. “No, no, no. No, no, no. This is someone’s idea of a sick joke. My neighbor Louise has been nagging me lately to move on. Maybe she did it. Yeah, that’s it. It must be Louise.”
She raced through the doorway and shoved past Lassi, Mary, and Stephen still holding Paul.
“Siobhan, where are you going?” Stephen called, in his caramel cream voice.
“Out. I’ve got to get out of here.”
A dark terror threatened to pull her under. Hysteria wound around her guts. She had to get away. She had to find a place where nothing could touch her. If she let the dread consume her, she didn’t know if she would be able to return. While Stephen, Lassi, and Mary called her name, she sprinted from the house in search of something she didn’t think she could ever find—peace.
Chapter 7
Day 3, Thursday afternoon - Lassi
If ever an exorcism was called for, now was surely that time. And who better to perform said ritual than Cillian Ward, the three-hundred-year-old Leviathan priest?
I just hope he wants to talk to me.
Lassi marched out of Siobhan’s bedroom, heading for the mudroom. She’d left her purse hanging on a hook when she arrived. With her gut bound tight in an anxious twist, she retrieved her phone. But first, she had to send someone to find Siobhan.
The poor woman went sailing out the door with the fright of devils on her shoulders. Her mental status is already off the rails. All these down-turned pictures snapped her sanity.
She scooted one of the framed photos in her path out of the way with her shoe. Still, it was a mystery how they had gotten that way.
She headed out of the mudroom, into the kitchen, with crisp, determined footsteps.
When she crossed the kitchen, both Mary and Bres emerged from the bedroom.
“I have a plan,” Lassi said.
Mary and Bres stopped in the hallway, facing Lassi.
Empty hooks, where pictures once hung, dotted the blue and gray wallpaper.
Bres held a yellow plastic duck with one hand and clutched Paul to his hip with the other. “Which is?”
Paul began to whimper.
“Quack, quack, quack,” Bres said, bobbing the duck up and down.
Paul giggled. “Kak, kak, kak.”
Lassi smiled at their obvious affection for one another. “Mary, you go find Siobhan. I don’t think I’m her favorite person at the moment, and she blows hot and cold with Bres.” Lassi waved her hand at Bres.
His expression drooped. “True enough.” Then, he said in a silly, sing-song voice, “Who gets to take care of Paul? Uncle Bres, that’s who.”
Those items handled, Lassi shivered. All the freaky fuckery in Siobhan’s house with the pictures of Dylan and Siobhan face-down chilled her bones. And, she’d tried to lend some healing magic to little Paul to assist him in recovery. Nothing had happened. Not even a spark coughed from her fingers. Unwilling to ponder her failures, she marched out Siobhan’s side door and into the rain. Clutching her phone, she stood in the carport, hoping for privacy. While leaning against Siobhan’s Subaru, she dialed Cillian.
He answered on the first ring. “Lassi, this isn’t a good time.”
His frosty demeanor took her by surprise. Sure, they’d been fighting when she last saw him, but she hadn’t managed to say a word on this call. How did he know she wasn’t calling to apologize or say something kind? She held the phone away from her ear and stared at it, expecting to see it flash freeze and shatter in her hand. She brought it back to her head.
Snark erupted from her mouth. “Oh, shall I make an appointment, then? We’ve got a disturbing situation here at Siobhan’s that could use some help. When you have the time, that is.”
The rain poured down in such a torrential sheet, it created a virtual wall between her and the street. She stuck a finger out from underneath the carport to make sure she wasn’t trapped by some impenetrable force field. Weird shit happened to her all the time now, ever since she’d arrived in Ballynagaul. A magical wall of
water wasn’t out of the question. Her hand slid through the water and came away wet. She breathed a sigh of relief.
The deafening sound of the downpour made it difficult to hear Cillian. But, then, maybe he’d hung up on her.
“Are you still there?” Needing to hear better, she stepped back into the mudroom.
“I’m here.”
“So, can you help? We may be at odds, but this is outside the scope of relationship problems.” She settled her butt on the mudroom’s lone wooden bench seat. Then, she placed the phone on her lap and tapped the speaker button.
Bres peeked in the door, still holding Paul. “Did you reach him?”
So much for privacy. Oh, well, Bres’ seen me at my worst at work. Lassi nodded, pointed at the device in her lap, then focused on the quietude that circled her phone. She hoped Cillian would say something, anything. The silence made her squirm.
“I’m sorry, Lassi, I won’t be able to make it over there any time soon.”
A wave of panic prickled through her spine. Cillian’s with someone. He’s leaving me for another. What other reason could there be for his odd behavior?
“Why the hell not? Who is she?”
“What? It’s not a she, it’s a he.”
“Uh huh. That’s what you told me the last time you disappeared. You said you were taking care of a parishioner. Is it the same fictitious person?” She groaned, inwardly, and smacked her forehead with her palm. I'm irrational. But then, who turns into Rational Rita when they’re pregnant? “Who is it?”
Another pause stretched between them, thick and viscous like taffy.
Then, Cillian answered. “It’s Seamus. He’s dying. Someone has to give last rites, and that someone is typically me.”
His words proved as effective as a slap to the face. If the smartphone weren’t resting on Lassi’s lap, she’d have dropped it. Her gaze flew to Bres’, giving him that look medical professionals shared to signal an impending emergency.
“What on earth happened?” Her voice had taken on a sudden shakiness. “I just saw him a couple of nights ago.” She pictured his poet’s eyes sinking behind the horizon like twin moons. A sob pressed against her throat.
