by Mari Carr
Pop Pop lay a hand on his arm. “Drink.”
He lifted the glass and took a longer swig than he probably should have. Pop Pop was right about the heat. The burn as the liquor slid down his throat did warm him up.
“I’m not going to ask how you’re doing,” Pop Pop began, “because I know. You’re alternating between numb and pissed.”
Padraig nodded slowly.
“Yeah. I’ve been there. I get it.”
Something in his grandfather’s tone told him the old guy really did understand. Of course, he’d walked a mile in these shoes. It might have been nearly fifty years ago, but it didn’t appear time had weakened that memory.
“How did you do it, Pop Pop? How did you get over her?”
Pop Pop studied his face as if surprised by the question. “You’re asking the wrong thing. You’re never going to get over her. Never. What you have to do is get over this. The death part.”
Padraig didn’t see that happening. He’d had an entire year to prepare himself for this. This morning, he’d woken up, put on his Sunday best and realized he’d been a jackass.
There was no way to prepare for death.
“I can see you think I’m off my rocker,” Pop Pop continued when Padraig didn’t respond. “Focus on the life, son. You and Mia may not have had a long love, but you had a true one.”
He nodded. The greatest love. “It was the best year of my life. And the worst.”
“That’s life, isn’t it? Nothing is ever constant, nothing stays the same. If possible, perhaps you can find comfort in the fact that you’re not alone. Every single person on this planet has experienced the same things as you. Every last one of us will feel love, anger, hate, sorrow, fear, loneliness, friendship…before our time is up. Every one of us gets it all. The whole enchilada.”
Padraig grinned briefly, just a quick upturn of his lips before they fell again. “She told me not to be sad. Said it to me every damn day there at the end. Told me she was dying without a single regret. That her life had been perfect because she’d found me.”
Padraig’s voice broke, but he continued. “She made my life perfect, Pop Pop. And now I’m not sure how to go back to…God, fuck me…nothing. There’s nothing now.” He wiped his eyes, his chest tight with pain.
Pop Pop put his hand on Padraig’s arm again, his grip tight for a man of ninety-three. “You don’t have nothing. Son, you have everything. I know it doesn’t feel like that now, but you have your family, your friends, people who care about you and who are going to help you get through this. More than that, you have Mia.” Pop Pop leaned over and tapped Padraig on the chest. “You will carry that woman inside your heart every day until the second you breathe your last. Not a day has gone by in the last fifty years that I haven’t thought about Sunday. I can hear her voice, see her smile, feel her presence.”
“I just…miss her.”
“Paddy, if I’d known how my life with Sunday would end, if I’d known she would die so young, I still would have married her, still would have had this incredible family with her. Would you change what you did?”
“What?” Padraig asked.
“If it were a year ago, and Mia walked into the pub and told you about her illness, knowing what you know now, would you have followed her?”
“Jesus. Of course I would!”
“Then you have to do this part too. You spent the last year, trying to ensure that beautiful girl died with no regrets. It’s time for you to follow in her footsteps. Do your grieving. Cry, scream, punch, get drunk. Do whatever you have to do…and then move on. Open up the blinds, let the sunshine in, and live. To do otherwise would be disrespectful to Mia’s memory.”
Padraig took another sip of whiskey, certain he’d never succeed at any of that. “Okay.”
Pop Pop narrowed his eyes, studying his face. “Don’t just say okay to shut the old man up. Say okay because you mean it.”
Padraig grinned, and this time it stuck around five whole seconds before vanishing again. “I mean it.”
Pop Pop didn’t let him off quite that easy, looking at him for another full minute before he seemed convinced Padraig wasn’t lying.
“Good. Here. I want to show you something.” Pop Pop stood up and walked over to the wall that held all his beloved family photos. Padraig followed him. Each child and grandchild was represented there, the photos changing whenever Pop Pop found a more recent one that struck his fancy. Each frame was stuffed full, the new pictures going in on top of the old. One time, Padraig had taken his own frame down, opening it to flip through his life as seen through his grandfather’s eyes.
He grew from a chubby baby to a toothless eight-year-old, holding up the first fish he’d ever caught. There was one of him peeking out from under the hood of his first car, grinning from ear to ear as he tried to fix the piece of shit. There was one of him, Colm and Kelli standing on the football field right after graduation, their gowns hanging open and loose, the three of them looking like they owned the world, now that they had those diplomas in their hands.
Pop Pop pointed to the wall, to Padraig’s spot, and he saw that his frame held a new picture—and the sight of it took his breath away.
“Your mom took it last summer,” Pop Pop said. “You were helping your dad plant trees, and Mia went along for the ride.”
In the photo, he was shirtless, and he had just come inside to cool off for a few minutes. Mia had given him a glass of lemonade and he’d kissed the top of her head.
He didn’t realize his mother had taken the picture, didn’t know that she’d caught them in that unguarded moment.
Padraig understood why his grandfather had chosen to hang this picture. It reflected the love and the friendship they’d shared. Looking at it made him smile, because he could almost smell the strawberry scent of her hair from her favorite shampoo, the way he’d remarked on how sweet she was. He remembered the way she’d giggled after that kiss, telling him his beard tickled.
Seamus had been standing between them, though he wasn’t in the picture. They hadn’t had the dog very long at that point, but he’d already become completely devoted to Mia. And jealous whenever Padraig got too close to “his human.”
Padraig hadn’t had the heart to leave the sweet dog home alone today. A quick glance out the window confirmed Finn was entertaining Seamus outside, playing a game of fetch with a tennis ball.
It broke his heart every time Seamus ran to the bedroom in search of Mia. He knew only too well how hard it was to forget for just a second she wasn’t there, to walk in a room to tell her something, only to discover the bed was empty.
“You were lucky to find her, lad.”
Padraig nodded. Lucky was right. “Yeah. I was.”
“Here.” Pop Pop handed him a box. It was wrapped in plain brown paper. “Mia asked me to pass this along to you after… Well, just after.”
Padraig shook his head, unable to lift his hand to claim the present. “I don’t…think…”
“Take it, son. I know what’s in it. Mia showed me. You need to see it too.”
He accepted the package, returning to his previous seat. Pop Pop followed.
Padraig opened the box and pulled apart the tissue paper. On top was an envelope with Mia’s handwriting. It simply said, “Paddy.” Beneath it was a book.
He opened the envelope first, his hand shaking as he pulled out the single sheet of paper.
My dearest Padraig.
My beloved husband.
Don’t forget to dream big.
Always yours,
Mia
He didn’t bother to wipe away the tears as he lifted the book and opened it. It was a scrapbook, and on the first page, Mia had titled it, The Book of Dreams Come True.
He flipped through the pages, smiling, even laughing through his tears as he looked at the photos Mia had selected. Each page contained the name of the dream and then a photograph of them doing it. There was a selfie they’d taken in front of the Hogwarts castle, one of them
at Sacré-Coeur, another of their karaoke duet. Page after page was filled with reminders of his most perfect year. It truly had been the year all his dreams had come true.
The last picture was of the two of them on their wedding day, their faces covered with chocolate cake, both of them laughing.
He ran his finger over the photograph, touching her face, wishing for the millionth time that she was still there.
“Turn the page,” Pop Pop said.
Padraig did so, surprised to find more. He thought the wedding picture was the last.
On the pages following, Mia had listed the rest of the dreams, sans photos.
They were his dreams.
There was a page for the Super Bowl, the Stanley Cup, the World Series, then, because she loved to tease him, she’d added spots for March Madness, the U.S. Open, the Tour de France, and a NASCAR race.
Mia had recalled all his dreams, including the Grand Canyon, the cruise to Mexico, the marathon, fishing and the Appalachian Trail. She’d even added, “Trip to Ireland with Pop Pop.”
The last two pages were reserved for “True Love, part two” and “Paddy’s Little Girl.”
He gripped the edges of the book tightly—and for several minutes, he let himself fall apart.
Pop Pop didn’t say anything. He simply reached over and put his hand on his shoulder, let him know he was there. Pop Pop had always been there.
After a while, he was able to pull himself together. Pop Pop handed him a hanky and Padraig wiped off his face.
Taking a deep breath, he looked up. He wasn’t quite sure how to explain it, but somehow the book grounded him, given him a purpose.
“There’s my lad,” Pop Pop said with a smile. “Mia’s given you a job to do. Are you going to let her down?”
Padraig shook his head. “No. It’s funny…I know we spent so much of this past year dealing with the fact that she was dying, but when I look back on it, all I can remember is how much Mia taught me about living. I can’t shut down, Pop Pop. Can’t stop moving. I’m never going to stop loving her.”
“I know. But that’s the beauty of being alive. We can love as many people as we want to.”
Padraig glanced down and ran his hand over the cover of the book. For the first time in weeks, he managed a genuine smile. “She made a hell of a list for me.”
Pop Pop chuckled. “Then I guess you’d better get busy.”
Dear Reader
I was warned not to write this book by pretty much everyone: my author friends, my beta readers, my family. I was told this wasn’t a romance, and that there was a good chance I would lose some long-time readers. I genuinely believe this is a romance novel.
So obviously, I wrote the book anyway. I couldn’t not write it, because these characters wouldn’t leave me alone. The story wouldn’t go away because so many of the things Padraig and Mia struggled with are things that have kept me up more than a few nights the past couple of years.
I turned 48 this year. I don’t consider that old. Honestly, as the years go by, I swear I actually feel younger. However, there have been several “moments” in my life lately that have made me begin to think more closely about life, death, regrets, and love.
There are several themes in this story, things that have begun to come clearer to me as I’ve watched loved ones deal with serious health concerns, and as I’ve tried to face some of my own fears about death.
Love doesn’t stop when someone discovers they’re dying. If anything, love seems to be the one thing that grows stronger, rings out more truly, because people become less afraid to say how they feel. Why is it so hard to look at those we care about on an ordinary, nothing’s happening Wednesday and say, “I love you” or “You matter to me” or “You make my life better”? Those words shouldn’t be reserved for times when we fear we’re losing the ones we love. They should be spoken every day…without reservation.
Life is too short to hide who you truly are. Padraig commented to Mia that now was the time to be real, to reveal to the world who she truly was. There is a freedom in feeling comfortable enough to say, “This is me. Warts and all.” Life is hard enough. Wearing a mask and pretending to be someone we aren’t only adds to the struggle.
You want to know who I am? I’m an overweight, middle-aged wife and mother who drinks way too much wine, curses her ever-growing curves and spends too many nights wide awake suffering from panic attacks she can’t explain. But I also have a good sense of humor, and I think I’m a pretty solid friend. No one cries (or drinks) alone in my presence! In the story, Kelli talked about the yin and the yang in life. I suspect we all have things we love and hate about ourselves. You know what? Own them—the good and the bad. They’re there and they’re yours.
Live every day like you’re dying. Don’t assume there’s going to be a tomorrow or a next week or a next year. I have a motto I like to live by. If I’m going to die tomorrow, I’m going to be full and hungover (hence those ever-growing curves). Padraig and Mia planned the dream trips, they took the long drive to the ocean on a whim, they sang karaoke—loud and off-key. They unplugged from computers and phones and spent quality time with family and friends. They found time to do the things that make life worth living. So many of the things on Mia’s list are also on mine. And I have been working my way through them, determined that I won’t have any regrets at the end.
Happily ever after doesn’t have to mean forever. One of the main things that bothered my friends when I talked about this book was the fact that Mia dies at the end. To them, that meant the story didn’t have a traditional happily ever after. I disagree. Mia and Padraig found a very true and meaningful love. Dying young is sad—dying alone is tragic. Mia didn’t die alone. She died in the arms of a man who adored her, who gave her his whole heart unconditionally. If that’s not a happy ending, then I guess I don’t know what is.
It all boils down to this: I hope this story touched you in some way. That it makes you think, allows you to appreciate your blessings, encourages you to take an impromptu trip somewhere fun just because you want to and you can. And in the end, I hope you will indulge this author for her unconventional view of life and what constitutes a happy ending. Because I will always believe those who have lived well, laughed often and loved deeply have already found their happily ever after.
Always,
Mari
“Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.” –Dolly Parton
With that in mind…
March Wind Frequently Asked Questions
…that haven’t been asked yet
(I’m being proactive)
Q: What the hell did you just do?
A: I’m going to assume that’s a rhetorical question and move on.
Q: Is Padraig going to get another story?
A: Yes. He is.
Q: Are you going to give him a happy ending that lasts more than five minutes?
A: Probably.
Q: Have you lost your freaking mind?
A: Rhetorical again, right?
Q: Do you seriously expect me to buy the next Wilder Irish book after this?
A: I sincerely hope you will. Does it help if I say the next one is a full-fledged romantic comedy (think Saturday Night Special)?
Q: That depends…whose story is next?
A: Fiona, Teagan and Sky’s youngest daughter.
Q: Is it a ménage? Because that might be the only way I forgive you.
A: No, but there will be a couple of ménage stories in the Wilder Irish series. So see? You should totally stick around!
Q: Are you planning to kill anyone else?
A: Not right away. LOL—just kidding! Sort of.
Enjoy March Wind?
Please consider leaving a review.
Other books in the Wild Irish series
Other books in the Wild Irish series
Come Monday
Wild Irish, Book One
Monday’s child is fair of face…
After the death of her mother yea
rs prior, Keira Collins willingly put aside her dreams to become a surrogate parent to her six younger brothers and sisters. At twenty-seven, she’s finally pursuing a college degree. Between classes, working at the family pub and still tending to siblings, she’s no time for romance. So why is she spending all her rare free time fantasizing about hot Professor Wallace bending her over his desk?
Will Wallace recognizes Keira’s unfulfilled desires, her habit of hiding her beauty, her obsessive need for control in every aspect of her life. But Will has needs of his own—and they run far darker than Keira’s. As he initiates her into his lifestyle, offering sweet punishments and sweeter rewards, Will’s sexual authority slowly strips away some of her precious control. The one thing Keira’s not ready to relinquish…
Ruby Tuesday
Wild Irish, Book Two
Tuesday’s child is full of grace…
Sky Mitchell is hiding out in Baltimore, seeking peace and solitude while he struggles with a career decision. Lead singer of popular rock group The Universe, he’s thinking of going it alone. Wandering into an Irish pub, he’s ecstatic to discover the breakout single for his solo album—but the songwriter doesn’t want to sell. He challenges the woman to a contest. Not only does he win the song, but also a songwriting partner to complete the rest of the album.
Teagan Collins is sure of her talent but she’s never aspired to fame and fortune. She’s content singing folk tunes in her family’s pub. Working on an album with Sky tests her patience…and her libido. The hot rocker plays her body like a fine instrument, their desire deepening with each song they write. But someone doesn’t want Sky to go solo, and will stop at nothing to sabotage the couple’s efforts. Undaunted, Sky wants Teagan to join him onstage at his farewell concert to sing her original, “Maybe Tomorrow”…
