Falling For Them Volume 2: Reverse Harem Collection

by Nikki Bolvair

  Happiness fills me to have a place of my own. Smiling, I shut the blinds for the night and walk to the first bedroom down the hall. The king size bed, soft and inviting, fills most of the space. I shake my head at the extravagance of it, but I can’t turn down the gift. My nightstand wedges between one side and the wall. My dresser remains in the other room, along with the rest of my clothes.

  Tomorrow will be soon enough to move everything. I’ll need to buy sheets and a blanket, too, since I wasn’t prepared for the enormous thing. But Ava’s right, new sheets are far cheaper than a new mattress. With the expense I’ll save here, I can buy a new area rug and still have some left over.

  Boxes in the closet catch my attention, and I wander over to them, tired and ready for sleep, but determined to at least put the boxes in their corresponding rooms.

  The first one holds towels and a shower caddy, so I drag it out and put it in the bathroom linen closet for the morning. Pillows fill the next box, and I toss them onto the bare mattress. Beneath them, I find a smaller box made of red oak, the hinges and latch gold. My old hope chest.

  My fingers shake as I lift it out. Mostly, I stuffed it with silly things, like the candle from my thirteen birthday and the little notes Mom used to put into my lunch bag until I insisted I was too old for that kind of nonsense.

  I sit cross-legged on the floor, the box cradled in my lap. I last opened it five years ago, only wide enough to slip a letter inside. The last letter I ever received from Davin O’Brien. I’d been shocked to receive it after no communication for four years. The simple, familiar handwriting on the front had brought me to my knees.

  Hughe and Davin seem to believe the contents of those letters will change everything, and a part of me, a tiny bud of light deep within, is terrified they can.

  The latch resists, and I wedge my thumbnail beneath to pry it open. When it pops free, the hinges on the lid shriek in protest as it opens. The sound startles me in the silence of the room, my heart pounding.

  The last letter sits on top, the envelope spotted, the ink running in places where rain struck the surface. More spots were caused by deep, wrenching heartache. These letters proved that they remembered I exist, only I wasn’t enough to bring them home.

  I set it aside and lift out the others, four in total.

  The envelopes feel worn, the edges tattered from taking them out over the years to hold them, to remind myself the triplets existed. Like in the past, I lift them to my nose. Davin’s unique scent of wood shavings had long worn off, but my memory insists I can still catch a faint whiff.

  He always had a piece of wood and a knife in his pocket, whittling whenever he found his hands free. Inside the box, little wooden flowers mix in with plastic bracelets and a keychain with a stuffed cat on the end.

  Hesitant, I flip over the first letter, the one that arrived the same day the O’Brien brothers disappeared from my life. The glue on the back flakes as I slip a finger beneath the flap, and it pops open without resistance. The page I pull out looks to be torn from a notebook, one edge still lined with the broken holes that once connected it to a spiral binding. I unfold it carefully, the words at the top of the page catching my eyes.

  Vonnie,

  Mom and Dad are sending us away to live with our aunt. The school won’t let us come back, and Dad says they can’t afford boarding school for the three of us. They can’t move right now, not with dad’s business. We begged them not to make us go, but Dad won’t listen.

  We screwed up.

  We should have been better kids. We should have listened more, fought less… I don’t know. We should have just done more… There has to be some way around this.

  I don’t want to leave you, we don’t want to leave you, without seeing you one last time. Meet us in the woods outside the fence.

  Please, Vonnie. There’s so much to say.

  I cover my mouth with my hand, my throat clogged with tears. I hadn’t received the letter until the next day, long after they left. Instead, I had talked Mom into taking me to Shrieve Port for a girl’s day to cheer me up after the disastrous dance. We ended up staying the night so we could have pancakes at the Strawberry Farm Eatery before coming home.

  A single event that changed everything. If I’d been there to meet them, what would have happened?

  Gently, I pick up the next letter and open it.

  Vonnie,

  Aunt Ulla’s house doesn’t have a phone or any form of electricity. She lives in a shack near the sea. She says it’s only a stopping place, that we’ll be going somewhere else next week.

  Jameson keeps trying to run away. He’s angry and determined to get out of here. But Aunt Ulla has the knack from her grandfather, a Traveler, and she finds him right away every time.

  Why didn’t you meet us? Please don’t be angry. The fight wasn’t our fault this time, I swear. I know it looks bad, but please believe me, believe in us. You’re the only one who always does. I don’t know what I would do if we lost even your trust.

  Please, Vonnie, write back soon. I don’t know how long we’ll be here.

  The next letter had arrived months after the second one, the edges warped and stiff with brine. It crackles as I open it.

  Vonnie,

  We’re on an island in the middle of the sea. Aunt Ulla is a caretaker for one of the siren habitats, and she’s training us to help her out here. Since the sirens try to sink them all the time, the boats don’t come often. I honestly thought, on the ride in, that we would die. Their song almost lured Hughe over the edge. He didn’t have his earmuffs on right and only Jameson’s quick reflexes saved him.

  It’s lonely here. We’re lonely. We miss you so much.

  My fingers shake as I lift the final letter.

  Vonnie,

  Aunt Ulla’s sick, she’s dying. We know this means that, as her twin, Mom will pass away soon, too. We don’t know what to do. As it is, I’m writing this letter months ahead of the next boat that will bring us supplies.

  We can’t leave. Even after she passes, we have to stay until others can be found to take over the hunting grounds.

  Vonnie, please, when you get this, come to us. We need you.

  Tears blur the words, and I drop the letter, covering my face with my hands. My heart squeezes with a pain I haven’t felt in nine years. No. No, no, no.

  Our separation, all those years we lost, it was all my fault.

  Will-o'-the-Wisps

  “Mom, I can’t make it to dinner tonight,” I repeat into the phone for the third time. “I have too much to get settled, and I need to get ready to open the community center on my own tomorrow morning.”

  “Nonsense. You’ve been working there for an entire year, now.” In the background, I hear my little sister yelling in the background.

  “But—”

  “Besides,” Mom continues right over the top of my protest, “I’ve already made a casserole for you to take back with you, and you know Mr. O’Brien always brings over dessert.”

  “I’ll come by tomorrow after work to pick up the casserole.” I lean my elbows against the counter, exhausted by the conversation. “And Tomas can have my dessert.”

  “Siobhan Rosa McKathry!” Exasperation fills my mom’s voice. “You will present yourself at dinner tonight! Your family would like to celebrate your promotion with you!”

  I slump until my forehead touches the countertop. “Yes, Mom.”

  “When Mr. O’Brien brings out the cake, you will act surprised.” Steel fills her voice.

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “Don’t forget the rolls, dear.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “I love you, Siobhan.” Her tone turns sad, and a quiet sniffle comes across the line. “My wee Siobhan, growing up. All of my babies are leaving the nest.”

  “You still have Tomas and Maeve left,” I point out.

  “Your brother’s had his eye on the apartment listings for two months, now.” Mom sniffles louder. “It’s only a matter of time before he leaves
me, too. He wants to prove himself before he takes over for your dad at the hardware store.”

  I caught Tomas squirreling away the newspaper’s classified sections, too. “Can you blame him? You and Dad don’t make it easy for him to bring any girls home. He barely has a first date before you’re hearing wedding bells.”

  “Speaking of which,” Mom’s tone becomes overly casual, “Make sure you bring enough rolls for the O’Brien triplets. They’ll be coming over with their father tonight.”

  “I know, Mom.” They’re the entire reason I don’t want to come to dinner. I stayed up all night, rereading the stupid letters, mind whirling with impossible what-ifs. It left me exhausted and ill-prepared to face them again.

  “They’ve grown into such fine young men,” she adds.

  I groan and gently bang my head on the counter. “You can’t know that from one visit with Hughe.”

  “A mother’s intuition is always right.” My sister yells again in the background, and Mom releases a put-upon sigh. “I’ll see you at six, dear.”

  “Love you, Mom.” Blindly, I smack the receiver against the wall until it catches the cradle, then wrap my arms over my head.

  I’m a coward.

  Ever since reading those letters last night, I can’t help but recall every accusation I’ve thrown at Davin and Hughe about them abandoning me. While I still feel left behind, I now realize some of those lost years stem from my stubborn refusal to open the stupid letters.

  They sit on the counter next to me, the edges creased, the ink smeared from me bawling over them. Now my head pounds, my eyes gritty from lack of sleep. The skin on my face, tight and hot from crying all night, aches to the touch. What I need is a long shower and an evening on the couch with a cold washcloth. What I don’t need is a night at my parents’ house, where my siblings shout to talk over each other to be heard. What I really don’t need is three sets of hopeful, whiskey-colored eyes focused on me in expectation.

  Because while I understand, now, why they stayed away, it doesn’t make those nine years vanish. And Hughe returned to town at least once before now. Why hadn’t he sought me out then? Did he take my refusal to come to them as an answer and chose to avoid me?

  With the clock steadily ticking down the minutes, I force myself to get ready for the night.

  The new bathroom offers one small comfort. I no longer have to share the hot water tank with my younger siblings and my parents. I luxuriate in the ability to just stand under the spray of hot water, letting the steady flow loosen the tension from my shoulders.

  My fingertips turn to wrinkled prunes before I finally step out of the shower. I haven’t wasted that much water since I last stayed at a hotel in Shrieve Port after driving out a delivery for Dad when I was still in college.

  With the towel wrapped around myself, I wipe the condensation off the mirror and quickly finger comb my hair, working out the small tangles in the curls before I apply anti-frizz lotion. I don’t know why I keep trying. My hair turns into a frizzy poof whenever the air holds even a hint of moisture.

  I lean close, fussing with my part, and catch a glimpse of the red, puffy bags beneath my eyes. Those won’t go away before I have to be at my parent’s house for dinner.

  With a sigh, my hands fall to the sink, gripping the cold porcelain for a moment as I pull in deep breaths. I can do this. I need to do this. If for no other reason than to settle things once and for all. My life can’t stay stagnant forever. It’s like Hamilton said, the past nine years have been a straight, unwavering line of complacence.

  Tonight, that will change. I just wish I knew if the waves set in motion will bring me up toward happiness or plunge me even deeper into the depths of loneliness.

  ~

  “Siobhan, lass, you’re late!” Mom yells from the kitchen.

  “I’m half an hour early,” I call back as I shrug out of my jacket and hang it from the hook in the entryway.

  When I only find my family’s coats and boots there, the tight knot in my stomach eases. Mr. O’Brien and his sons haven’t arrived yet. The familiar scent of honey glazed ham fills the house, along with a rich, comforting aroma of scalloped potatoes.

  “You’re early ta bein’ late!” A loud clatter comes from the kitchen, followed Maeve’s laughter, and my mom yells, “Come quick, and help yer sister set the table!”

  A slam comes from the back of the house, and a cold rush of air blows past, chasing out the warmth of the wood stove. A moment later, Dad stomps into the family room, arms laden with a new log for the fire.

  “Let me help, Dad.” I rush forward and grab the potholder hanging on the wall, then crack open the door to the squat, round stove.

  My hair blows back in a blast of heat, the necklace around my neck heating in an instant to sting my skin. Stepping to one side, I wait for Dad to toss the log in, then quickly close the stove door to trap the cloud of sparks that rise into the air.

  “Thank you, lass.” Dad straightens and rubs his rounded belly. His sharp gaze studies me for a moment. I worry he’ll question the coat of makeup I smeared under my eyes, but he only grunts. “How are you getting on in your new place?”

  I link my arm through his as we walk to the kitchen. “Mrs. Flanagan purchased a new mattress for me.”

  “So Tomas said.” He pats my hand. “The cranky old bat has a soft spot for you.”

  I glance up at him in surprise. “You think so?”

  “Darcy comes into the craft store all the time. She likes the sequins.” His brow furrows for a moment, probably confused by the old woman’s obsession with fancying up her headbands. He shakes his head. “Anyway, she mentioned to your mom that Mrs. Flanagan sings your praises at Sunday tea.”

  “Well, she could have sung them to my face a few times,” I grumble. “I thought she hated me most days.”

  “She’s a tough nut,” Dad agrees.

  “What’s taking you so long?” Mom hollers in the same moment we step through the archway into the kitchen.

  Flour powders the front of her apron, her red hair tied back into a frizzy bun. A large, foil wrapped pan with a long casserole dish beside it rests on the counter in front of her. An empty basket, already lined with a flour-sack towel, waits for my rolls.

  Behind her, Maeve scurries to the long table set off to the right, a heavy stack of plates in her thin arms. Her long, red braid swings against her lower back, her face flushed bright pink from the heat of the kitchen. Through the back window, I catch sight of my brothers kicking a ball around the backyard with the small amount of light left in the day.

  “Here, hang this up.” Mom strides forward to thrust a roll of paper into my hands. “It can go on the wall above the sideboard.”

  “What’s this?” I unroll it to find rainbow letters spelling out Congratulations. My eyebrows lift, incredulous. “You’re having me hang my own celebration banner?”

  “Not like you didn’t already ruin the surprise.” She sniffs and pulls a large bowl of salad from the fridge, then pauses to look me over. “That sweater looks lovely on you, dear.”

  I glance down at the royal blue knit. A diamond pattern extends over the top of the chest and down the arms, with a simple knit at the waist. Mom made a matching emerald green one for Maeve and gifted them to us at the last Solstice celebration.

  “Thanks, Mom.” I give her a wry smile before tossing the bag of rolls onto the counter in front of her and walking into the dining room.

  Grabbing one of the chairs from the table, I climb up and use the clips Mom keeps attached to the wall year round to hang the announcement. The bubbly letters make me feel like a kid again, but these kinds of small things make Mom happy. Every birthday, holiday, and special event, she gets out her scissors and glue, then settles down at the craft store and makes a new banner.

  The front door opens and closes as I climb off the chair.

  “Is that you, Arthur?” Mom calls.

  I stumble in the process of pushing the chair back into place as my head
whips toward the invisible entry way. My heart lurches, head going light as all the blood rushes to my feet.

  “Just me and the boys,” comes a gruff response.

  “I’ll call everyone in,” I mutter and stumble to the back door just as heavy feet enter the kitchen from the front room.

  Out on the back porch, I gasp in deep lungs full of icy air. I’m not ready for this. They’ll know, the moment they see my face, that I read the letters. My family’s here. I can’t do this in front of them.

  My head becomes fuzzy, my gasps of air doing nothing to ease the panic that shivers through my body.

  Bending, I place my hands on my knees for balance.

  “Siob, you okay?” Tomas’s worried voice comes from in front of me a moment before his boots fill my line of sight.

  Mud cakes the soles of his shoes, the grass in the backyard made swampy from the melted frost. Come nightfall, it will turn into a treacherous field of frozen mud spikes. The sight gives my brain something to focus on, and the panic recedes enough to allow me to straighten and force a smile.

  I wave a hand in front of my face, as if to fan myself. “Just got a little warm. Dad stacked another log on the fire, and with the heat from the oven, the kitchen’s boiling.”

  “He likes to fuss,” Tomas agrees, though his gaze remains concerned as he studies me. “Sure it’s just the heat?”

  “What else would it be?” I wave away his concern, not giving him time to start guessing. “Dinner’s about ready. Time to wash up.”