For now, the picture stays where it is. So does my list, which hasn’t grown all week. Slowly, my life has become less about knowing Clementine and more about living as Jane. Now, when I think of my dad and Stephen waiting for me, the desperation to return to them is gone. I’ll be upset when I have to leave Jane’s life, and no matter how this ends, I’ll be hurt. That is the only inevitability in my life right now.
But today has the potential to be different. Today is significant to Clementine’s life and Jane’s. Today is notable.
I get dressed in a pair of Siobhan’s old tight jeans with intentional holes in the thighs and knees, a red-and-black striped T-shirt, and the Converse Stephen gave me. I am sure Siobhan wore these clothes better than I do, but having the added wardrobe options has been nice.
I walk out of my bedroom, notebook in my back pocket, and hear Kieran and Siobhan talking in the kitchen. I stop my approach.
“I need to tell you something,” Siobhan says, her voice lacking the edge it normally does. I hug the wall and eavesdrop on their conversation.
“You’re pregnant,” Kieran says sarcastically.
“You’re such a git.” The bite comes back to Siobhan’s voice for a second.
Kieran’s tone is softer when he says, “What is it, Von? You look tired.”
“It’s a girl, Kieran.”
A palpable silence lingers. I hold my breath, not daring to move.
Siobhan eventually speaks. “Say something.”
Kieran’s voice comes fast. “Does Dad know?”
Siobhan groans, and I hear her shuffle around the kitchen. “Of course not. He said the baby was bad for business, Kieran. Called me a slut and told me to get rid of it, or he’d cut me off forever. And when I didn’t, he banished me here so people in Dublin wouldn’t know. He still thinks I’m going to give it up for adoption, and we can all just go back to our lives like this never happened. But I’m not doing it. I’m not giving her up. I’ve made up my mind.”
“What will you do then?”
“I don’t know,” Siobhan says. “But I’ll figure it out. I don’t need him.”
Another pause. “You could tell—”
“No. They’re not to know. You promised me.”
“But they could help you.”
“No. I’ll find another way. I’m not telling them.”
“Think of what they’ve been through. It’s not right.”
“Not right?” Siobhan bites back. “You’re not in any position to tell me what’s right.”
When silence follows, I bite my nails, holding my breath.
“This is my fault,” Kieran says. “If I would have—”
“Stop it,” Siobhan snaps. “Stop blaming yourself. My problem is ruining your life. I won’t let that happen.”
“You’re not ruining my life, Von. I made my choices.”
“You came down here because I needed you, and I let you do it because I’m selfish,” Siobhan says. “You always come to my rescue. But now you’re the one doing the hiding. And who’s gonna rescue you? You’re avoiding your life, Kieran.”
“I can’t go back to Dublin. Not yet. I can’t face . . . everything.”
“Well, you can’t stay here forever. At some point, we all need to move on. That’s what I’m trying to do. I’m taking control of my life, Kieran. You need to do the same.”
The house goes quiet for a while. I almost think it’s safe to approach the kitchen until I hear Siobhan say, “She was right, you know . . . the Yank.”
“Don’t start,” Kieran says.
“She told me I don’t deserve you. That I only care about my problems.” Siobhan chuckles. “You were right. The Yank’s got spunk, no doubt. She’s relentless.”
“Reckless at times.”
“Kieran . . .” Siobhan’s voice is warm. “She was right. Now it’s my turn to help you. Something I should have done a while ago.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’re hiding.”
I try to process all that I’m hearing. It’s confirmation of what I’ve thought this whole time, but what Kieran’s hiding from is still a mystery, one he won’t let go of easily.
“A girl,” he says.
“A girl,” Siobhan echoes. “Do you think he would have been happy with a girl?”
I hear Kieran exhale. “I think . . . in the end . . . he would have left no matter if the baby was a boy or a girl. Nothing would have changed that.”
My heart breaks for Siobhan and the baby.
“I’m sorry,” Kieran says.
Siobhan pauses for a long while. “Are you happy, Kieran?”
“Happy?”
“I’m not naïve,” she scoffs. “I have eyes.” My breath hangs on his answer, but I don’t get it. “He would have wanted you to be happy,” she adds. “And to stop hiding from your life.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“You’re the one who’s made it complicated,” she says. “You can set it right.”
I wish I knew who they were talking about. I wish Kieran would just open up and tell me the details of his life. I wish I wasn’t so drowned in lies that I could do the same for him.
“You’re really going to give it all up?” Kieran asks.
“Yes,” Siobhan replies. “Someone with an annoying American accent pointed out that I can’t just think about myself anymore. You could do it, too. You could be happy, Kieran.”
I wait for him to agree with Siobhan. To take control, like he wants to, like I want him to. But instead he says, “I don’t think so.”
“Then you have no one to blame but yourself.”
A few seconds later, the front door slams. I slink back against the wall, letting the conversation sink in.
A few minutes pass before I walk into the kitchen, fake yawning. Kieran is rinsing dishes in the sink. He’s already dressed.
“So what are we fixing today?” I say in a bright tone, but it doesn’t change Kieran’s serious stance.
“It’s Saturday, Bunny.”
“Does that mean we get to do something fun instead? Not that trimming David Cromie’s hedgerow isn’t fun, but . . .” I smile, hoping it’s contagious.
“The last time we had fun, you almost died.”
“I guess the bar is pretty high.” My joke doesn’t work.
Kieran stays focused on the kitchen sink. “As temping as that sounds, I can’t today.”
I sit down at the table and try not to sound disappointed. “You can’t?”
Kieran turns from the sink and says, “There’s a party at Paudie’s Pub for the annual Waterville Links golf tournament. It’s always a raucous madhouse. Loads of rich wankers looking to drink themselves into a stupor. I told Paudie I’d help behind the bar.”
I perk up. “I can help, too.”
“Not today,” Kieran says, turning back to the sink. “Can you manage on your own?”
“Sure.” I nod.
“It’s a day off. Relax.”
“OK,” I say, feeling uneasy.
Kieran dries his hands on a towel. “Just promise me you won’t try anything too fun while I’m gone.”
“I can’t promise anything.” I force my voice to sound positive.
“No,” Kieran says, as if he’s not talking to me now, but more to himself. “We can’t promise anything, can we?”
He leaves, and I sit at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of tea, my notebook open in front of me. I count the dash marks at the top of the page. Twenty-one.
I guess I’ll just have to spend my birthday alone.
CHAPTER 17
Stephen pointed it out when he looked at my chart three weeks ago.
“It’s almost your birthday, Clementine. You’ll be nineteen on July 9. That’s only three weeks away.” Stephen was enthused. “You’ll have a mad party back in the States. I bet the whole of Cleveland will come out to celebrate you.”
The empty cottage echoes. Stephen assumed that I would be home by now. Tha
t my memories would be back. That Clementine would have returned to her life and that today would be a day when memories stacked on top of past memories—this one with a special note because I had lived through the worst ordeal a person can, and survived.
Nothing is what Stephen expected it to be. Home isn’t Cleveland. I am not Clementine. And that stack of memories is as apparent as evaporated water on hot pavement.
But it’s still my birthday. Today I am nineteen. I don’t feel any different. My face is the same face I saw in the mirror yesterday. My purple hair is more muted and slightly grown out. My skin has a glow from being outside, and the chronic fatigue that rocked me when I first left the hospital is gone. But I feel an extra energy in the air, like something needs to happen.
I sit alone in the kitchen, mulling over my options. I could spend the day relaxing like Kieran said. Get out my Ireland book and read up on more places to visit. Maybe go see the golf course in Waterville. Catch a boat tour out to the Skellig Islands. But doing this by myself feels awfully lonely. I hate being lonely. And with my strength finally coming back, I never want to be bed bound again, relaxing or not. That’s no way to spend a birthday.
And while baking usually makes me feel better, it seems desperately lame to bake my own birthday cake.
Fun won’t be found in the cottage, I’m sure of that. With my notebook in my pocket, I head out to find some, hoping this time Kieran is right—it won’t end in a near-death experience.
At the Secret Book and Record Store, Clive and I watch Siobhan organize a rack of vintage dresses for the third time. This isn’t exactly what I had in mind, but when I walked down the stairs, into the familiar scent of cardboard boxes and plastic wigs, and saw Clive chewing on his lower lip, concern written on his face, my quest for fun shifted.
“She’s wearing bloody runners,” Clive whispers to me, discreetly pointing at Siobhan’s feet. She’s wearing a pair of dark-blue sneakers that look like they’ve never been worn. The place is empty on this Saturday afternoon. In all honesty, I’ve never really seen the place very busy. I’m not sure how Clive stays in business. Most people who come to this part of Ireland want shops with wool sweaters and Celtic crosses to hang on their walls, not fishnet stockings and spike-studded bras with matching garter belts. “I’ve never seen her in a pair before,” he says.
“Never?” I ask. Clive shakes his head.
“They’re too bloody ordinary for her. The closest I’ve seen was when she came in wearing four-inch platform pleather boots that came up to her midthigh. That’s casual for Siobhan.”
Her makeup is even muted today, and her pink hair is pulled into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck.
“Look at her hair,” Clive whispers. “Not a speck of product in it. She looks like a buggy-pushing mum who hasn’t opened a glamour mag since uni.”
“Maybe she’s practicing for when she has the baby,” I offer. “Trying on a more sensible look.”
Clive shakes his head. “Von has never used the word ‘sensible’ in her life.”
It’s not my place to share the conversation I overheard between Siobhan and Kieran. Clive may pride himself on knowing everyone in town, but some secrets should remain so.
“Something is definitely off,” Clive says. “Siobhan would never wear runners. It’s just not like her.”
“Why don’t you just ask her?”
Clive gives me a sarcastic face. “When has asking Siobhan a question ever ended well for you?”
“Good point.” I start to bite my nails. What Clive is saying makes sense when put together with what I overheard this morning. Siobhan’s dad wanted her to get an abortion or give the baby away. And now that she hasn’t done either, her whole life is about to change. “What would Jane Austen say?”
Clive shakes his head. “This is so Marianne and Willoughby from Sense and Sensibility.” He leans in close. “Marianne falls madly in love with the dashing young rogue, Willoughby, only to have her heart broken when he marries another woman for money.”
“What happens to Marianne?”
“She falls into a deep depression and almost dies.” Clive puts his hand to his mouth. “This isn’t good.”
“But it’s just a pair of sneakers, or runners, or whatever you call them.”
Clive gives me a hard glare. “It’s never just a pair of runners. People are defined by what they wear. It’s a walking mantra. Von’s clothes usually say, ‘Go fuck yourself.’ That outfit says, ‘I’ve given up. Pass me a bonbon.’ Go talk to her.”
“Me? She doesn’t like me.”
“So it can’t get any worse!” Clive shoves me in Siobhan’s direction. I stumble and glare back at him, but he waves me toward her. She’s reorganizing the rack of dresses for the fourth time as I approach.
“Hi,” I say quietly. Siobhan doesn’t respond. I shoot Clive a skeptical look, but he gives me a visual nudge to keep going. “I found this on my walk over here. Not very unique, but I thought you might like it anyway.” I offer Siobhan another piece of blue sea glass.
She takes it from me and puts it in her pocket without examining it. “Thanks.”
“So how are you today?”
“Grand.”
This isn’t going anywhere.
“So . . . ,” I say. “I never properly thanked you for the clothes.”
“Don’t bother.”
“And what I said the other day . . . I was upset—”
“No need to explain.” Siobhan moves to another rack of dresses.
Another dead end. I’m running out of options.
“I was hoping you could help me with something,” I say.
“What, Yank?”
The first idea that comes to mind slips from my mouth. “Well, it’s my birthday, and I thought I’d buy a new outfit. Since you’re the most fashionable person I know, I thought maybe you could help me pick something out?” Then I add quietly, so Clive can’t hear, “Plus, I haven’t seen a customer in here all day. I’m a little worried about this place. I’d like to help Clive out.”
From across the store, Clive yells, “It’s your bloody birthday! Why didn’t you say something!” He crosses the room and grabs me in a hug, squishing me in his arms.
“It’s just a day,” I say, pinched in his grasp.
“It is not just a day.” Clive sets me down. “We need to do something special.”
“You really don’t need to do that.”
“Yes. We. Do.” Clive is emphatic. He thinks for a second, and then his whole face brightens. “Let’s play dress-up.”
“Pardon?” I say.
Clive pulls a red pleather halter-top dress from the rack. “Von and I used to do this all the time when the place was dead.”
“When is this place not dead?” Siobhan says, a little more pep to her voice.
“Thank goodness you work for free.” He smiles at her and continues. “We’d dress each other up to pass the time. Now it’s your turn. Let us dress you up for your birthday!”
“I don’t know.” I back away.
“Come on. It’ll be fun,” Clive pleads. He turns to Siobhan. “Von, I need your help.”
It’s right now that I realize this isn’t just about my birthday. Clive is doing this for Siobhan, too.
I take the dress from Clive’s hands. “Please. I don’t trust Clive. I’ll end up in that.” I point to a pair of assless pants hanging on the wall.
“You’d look damn good in those,” Clive says.
I beg Siobhan. “Save me?”
Dark circles hang under her eyes, but a hint of a spark returns to them.
“I think you’ve proven you’re not a girl who needs saving,” she says. “You do fine on your own.”
It’s the first compliment Siobhan has ever given me, and possibly the best birthday gift I could ask for.
“OK,” she says. “And no assless pants.”
Clive rolls his eyes. “You’re such a fucking prude.”
Siobhan grabs a stack of dresses
, her posture straighter as she walks toward the dressing room. “That word hasn’t been used to describe me in a long time.”
After twenty dresses, ten pairs of shoes, and more jewelry options than I can count, Clive and Siobhan finally agree on my birthday outfit. The dress is white with cherries decorating it. The neckline is heart shaped with capped sleeves, which Clive says accentuate my “perfectly voluptuous” chest. A red belt cinches my waist. The bottom of the dress flares at an A-line from waist to knee. Siobhan adds a pair of lavender T-strap shoes, saying they give the outfit the perfect muted accent.
“It’s a refined pinup look,” she says, examining me from head to toe.
My reflection barely resembles the girl who walked in the door. “You should do something in fashion one day,” I say, but Siobhan waves me off. I’ve spent every day in jeans and T-shirts that can get covered in paint or stand up to whatever task Kieran and I have set out to do. But not since I’ve been here have I dressed nicely. It makes me stand up straighter. I actually feel pretty and girlie—a feeling I didn’t know I liked until now.
I spin to make the dress flare. “Clive, if clothes speak, what does this dress say?”
“Fuck me.”
I stop twirling. “I’m taking it off.”
But Clive grabs my arm as I turn for the changing room. “No, you will not. You look brilliant. What’s wrong with a little sex appeal? Right, Von?”
Siobhan just glares.
“It’s not right,” she says. “It’s just not right.”
Clive seems worried again. “What’s not right?” I ask.
“The picture’s not complete.” She grabs me by the hand, drags me over to a chair behind the counter, and pushes me down in it. “Stay there.”
Siobhan disappears into the back room, only to return moments later with her large purse. She dumps the contents on the counter—makeup, a curling iron, gum, money, and more makeup.
“You can’t wear that dress without black eyeliner and red lipstick.” Siobhan searches through her makeup bags.
The Upside of Falling Down Page 14
