Fiona was instantly thrust back into the cab with John, her arms wrapped around his chest, as his blood flowed over her face. Tilting her head up to look at his face, she wailed in anguish as she felt him slip from her, his soul shimmering above his body for but an instant, seeming almost to caress her with love, before it snapped out of sight.
She knew instantly when he was gone, his once bigger than life presence now but a stillness. Fiona closed her eyes as sobs racked her body. She pulled one hand out to reach across to feel for Cian’s body. As soon as her hand connected with his warmth, she performed a mental scan to find him already gone.
Fiona was powerful, but even she couldn’t bring back the dead.
“Momma?”
She pressed her face into John’s chest for one more moment, breathing his scent in, his body still warm with life, before she pulled herself from the cab. Fiona brought her shirt up to wipe the blood from her face, before she turned to Margaret.
Her daughter stood, her thumb in her mouth, looking up at Fiona with eyes that were wide and scared. As an empath, Fiona could only imagine what small Margaret was feeling. Her chin began to wobble, and big fat tears coursed down her small face, trailing clean lines through the blood found there. Instantly, Fiona dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around Margaret.
“I’m here, love. I’ll always protect you. I’m here, baby,” Fiona crooned into Margaret’s neck, rocking her back and forth as she picked her daughter up and walked away from the truck towards the cottage.
And tried to stem the flow of grief that would forever haunt her life.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“They say it was the brake line. That it had corroded from the sea salt,” Fiona said carefully, smoothing her trembling hands over the blanket her mother had woven years before.
Both Keelin and Margaret looked like they’d been hit in the face with a frying pan, almost bowled over with what they had heard. Margaret’s hands shook as she placed the cup of whiskey that she was holding onto the table next to the couch and stood, rushing across the room to drop onto her knees and bury her face in her mother’s lap.
The sound of her sobs filled the room.
“Shh, now, Margaret, it’s years past now,” Fiona said, blinking back her own tears.
“You saved me, though. And I’ve been such an awful twit to you all these years. But you saved me, when you could’ve saved the man you loved. You could’ve had more babies and lived a happy life,” Margaret said. “And here I turned my back on you and this world for so long.”
“I think that, even though you remember parts of my grief during that time, you largely blocked it out. But the accident that day is what fueled you to resist your gift and to leave Grace’s Cove. You had an aversion to living here since the day you lost your father and your grandfather. It wasn’t just you being a snotty stubborn teenager; there was more behind it,” Fiona said, smoothing her daughter’s hair.
“But I was so awful to you. And you could’ve let me die,” Margaret’s voice cracked.
“I think every daughter is awful to her mother at some point, my love. I would make the same decision all over again,” Fiona said softly.
“You would?” Margaret looked up at Fiona, her heart shining in her eyes.
“Of course I would, it’s what a mother does. You could say the choice was made for me the moment the car hit the stone wall. Or perhaps it was made for me when I became a mother.” Fiona shrugged. “It just is.”
Margaret sat back on her heels, turning to stare at the fire, her head resting against her mother’s thigh.
“I remember that time. I was so young, but I remember your grief almost dragging me under. It was like a sopping wet blanket of emotions smothering me and I could barely breathe.”
Fiona felt shame slip through her.
“I should have protected you from that. I’m sorry. I was so caught up in my grief, I had a hard time remembering just how much my empath of a daughter would absorb.”
“What happened to Bridget?” Keelin asked.
“We lost her ten years later. In her sleep. I suppose after what I had seen of death, it was a kind one,” Fiona said softly.
“So what happened after that? How did they figure out it was the brake line?”
“Things changed after John died. The O’Briens were furious at me for at least a year after his death― blaming me for not using my ‘witchy powers’ to save him. Every time they crossed the street and refused to speak to me, it was like I was back in that truck staring at John’s soul slipping from his body. The guilt was incredible,” Fiona admitted, taking a sip of her whiskey and letting the burn of it on her tongue warm her.
“It wasn’t your fault. You would have died if you had healed John. And who’s to say if he would have even made it? You could’ve died halfway through healing him and then Margaret would have had no parents. I think Grace was right to stop you,” Keelin said, rocking her baby in her arms. Baby Grace turned and leveled a look at her.
“I know Grace was right,” Fiona murmured and Baby Grace smiled at her.
Christ, were Keelin and Flynn going to have their hands full, Fiona thought with a smile.
“But that doesn’t make it any easier when you are grieving,” Margaret pointed out.
“True, ’tis true. Grief is a tricky bastard at that. Just when you think you’ve conquered it or you’re finally healing, the strangest things will happen to throw you right back to where you were. You’ll smell a scent that reminds you of him, or think you catch a glimpse of him in the market or walking down by the bay. It took years for me to get over the shock of seeing a tall dark-haired man of similar build walking around and not immediately dissolve into tears at the thought it could be John. Even to this day, I still think of him.”
“Does he visit you? In your dreams like Grace said he would?”
Baby Grace tilted her head at Fiona.
“Yes, he does at that. John dreamwalks with me. I tell him all about my day and my life. He knows about all of you and what’s going on. It’s a small comfort to have that― but it’s a comfort nonetheless.”
“Do you think it’s really him?” Margaret asked, turning from her spot on the floor to look up at her mother.
“Aye. I do. I think if he was reborn, I would feel that loss in me. I don’t really know how to explain. You know how I said that it was almost like our DNA knitted magickally together? Well, I could feel that. Deep inside of me. And even when he slipped to the other side, I never felt like that part of me became unraveled. There is something there that still tethers his soul to mine. So, he waits for me. And visits me in my dreams,” Fiona shrugged.
“You don’t think you are going to leave us, do you?” Keelin asked softly, cradling Baby Grace so that her cheek pressed to her daughter’s.
“I’m fit as a fiddle, Keelin. The day I can’t hike through my hills is the day you can expect me to leave this earth,” Fiona laughed at her.
“Mother… I have to ask… did you, was it… did you think your father had been drinking?” Margaret asked, stumbling over the tough question.
Fiona sighed and took another sip of her whiskey, her eyes returning to the fireplace, winds raging outside.
“Aye, I did. I was so angry. Almost inconsolably angry. I couldn’t fathom why John had let him drive― knowing Cian’s love of the drink. It was only after my mother told me he hadn’t yet been to the pub that day, after I found out it was the brake line, that I finally forgave my father. And then ended up feeling incredibly guilty for being so angry and accusing him of driving my husband and child into a wall. I can only hope he heard my apology from the other side.” Fiona shrugged.
“It’s not like it was so far-out of a conclusion to reach,” Margaret said, stretching her legs out so that her feet were closer to the fire. Keelin put Baby Grace down on the carpet and the infant began to squirm her way across the rug to Margaret.
“No, it wasn’t. And I had anger at him for other reasons
― like not being a good husband to my mother or a present father to me. But eventually, I came to understand that he had a disease and, much as I wouldn’t get angry at someone for having cancer, I couldn’t be angry with him for his addiction. At some point, you can’t live your life being angry with people. Forgiveness is a much better path. We’re all just here doing our best to learn and grow, you know,” Fiona said, fluttering her fingers down at Baby Grace as she wiggled her way to Margaret. Margaret reached out and hefted the baby into the air, making her squeal in delight, and held Grace over her head to coo up at the baby.
“I’m sorry. Seriously, Fiona,” Keelin said, biting her lip as she looked over at Margaret hoisting Baby Grace in the air. “It’s one of my greatest fears― losing Flynn or having something happen to Gracie. I think I might just die if that ever happened.”
“You wouldn’t die. You can’t. But you have to learn how to put one foot in front of the other again,” Fiona said softly.
“What happened afterwards? Were you able to heal again right away or did it take a long time?” Margaret asked, smooching the baby’s cheek.
“I made it back to the cottage― literally dropping from exhaustion― and called Bridget. Then I called the O’Briens. And Dr. Collins. And the Brogans. By the time I had called everyone I could think of, I picked up Margaret, toddled to the bedroom and fell face first onto the bed. They found us there, both sleeping, but I hear tell they thought we had died as well because there was so much blood on us.” Fiona looked out at the dark window. “I never did get those blood stains off of that pretty white coverlet.”
Silence fell as the women thought about that. Fiona shook herself out of her sadness.
“And I slept, for almost a week after that. I woke in time for the funerals. For months after, I was almost terrified to heal anyone as I was afraid to leave Margaret alone for too long. It took me a while to trust being away from her― and to trust my own healing powers again. As for the loneliness, well, that’s just part of the fabric of my life,” Fiona shrugged.
“Are you still lonely? I thought things were better now,” Keelin said, her face registering sadness in the firelight.
“No, not since you’ve been here and Margaret is home. Plus, I’m still quite busy with the villagers. I’ve led a nice life― a full one even, at that. I remind myself that I am quite blessed. More so than many in this world,” Fiona said with a soft smile as she looked around the room with love in her gaze.
“Thank you for sharing the story with us. It’s nice to have a piece of my father back,” Margaret said, pressing her head to Fiona’s leg. Fiona reached out and smoothed her hand over her hair, the gesture all the women in her family used for soothing.
“I’m glad I could share him with you. It’s nice to talk about him again.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
She dreamt of him again that night.
“Pretty Fiona with the dancing eyes and healing hands― how I wish to be by your side again,” John said, laughing at her. Tonight they were back at the restaurant where they had enjoyed their first meal together. Fiona could all but smell the brown bread baking.
“Handsome John with the booming laugh,” Fiona laughed back at him, refusing to allow sadness to seep into her dream.
That was one of her rules. If she was to be given the gift of dreaming of her love, she refused to allow sadness, grief, or anger into her dreams. She willed it, even. Because of that, she had these snapshots of happiness with John, and her nights with him were enough to fuel her days.
“Baby Grace has gotten bigger,” Fiona told him, much as she would have told him over dinner had he been alive.
“I’m sure of it. She’s going to be a corker,” John laughed, and Fiona laughed back. In her dreams they were always young, so it didn’t make sense to be talking of a granddaughter. But what was the point of dreams if you couldn’t shave a few years off? Fiona trying to imagine John as an old man just didn’t jibe with her memory of him.
“I wish I could bring you back. I’ve searched, you know, for years now. I haven’t quite found a spell to do it,” Fiona sighed.
John reached out and clasped her hand in his.
“Make a wish, Fiona. One of these nights, when the moon is low and the stars are bright. Wish harder than you’ve ever wished.”
Fiona woke up after that. It was a weird request and an unusual turn from the dreams she usually had about John. Wondering if there was any merit to his request, she got up to start her day.
Keelin had cooked enough food to feed a family of twenty, Fiona thought as she examined the contents of her fridge that morning. To-go containers packed the shelves and there was no way she could begin to eat her way through it.
Fiona started her morning tea and got a dancing Ronan his breakfast.
“Maybe I’ll even throw some turkey in there for you, love,” Fiona said down to Ronan, and he barked once at her, seeming to understand what she said. Smiling, Fiona took out the turkey container and cut up a few small pieces to add to his bowl of kibble. Ronan bounced around his bowl in delight, causing Fiona to chuckle.
“Ah, I sure do love having you here,” Fiona said to the dog.
Turning, she considered the contents of her fridge again. Maybe she would take them over to Aiden Doyle. She knew he’d been feeling under the weather as of late. As a widower, he lived a similar lifestyle to hers in that he had a little cottage that overlooked the water a ways out from the village.
“That’s just what I’ll do, then,” Fiona decided, picking up the phone to give him a ring. Staring out at the moody grey sky from the windows above her sink, Fiona listened as it rang for a quite a while before finally being answered.
“Hallo?” The voice on the other end was Aiden’s, but it sounded less robust and healthy than it usually did.
“Aiden? It’s Fiona. Are you all right then? Did I wake you?”
“Just a touch under the weather, Fiona. Nothing to bother yourself about.”
Fiona rolled her eyes. Typical Irish man― stubborn as all get out and refusing to admit when he is ill.
“I’m ringing you up because I had a huge Thanksgiving feast with Keelin last night. I’ve more food than I’ll be able to eat over here. I was thinking I’d drop by and bring you some of the leftovers,” Fiona said, her eyes on the sky where the clouds had unleashed a sheet of rain.
There was a pause and Fiona could just hear a bit of wheeze through the phone before Aiden finally answered.
“Sure and I can’t say no to a nice meal from a pretty woman, now can I?”
The usual charm that radiated through his teasing flirting seemed to be missing and Fiona began to wonder if something was seriously wrong.
“I’ll just pack things up and be over around lunch then,” Fiona said.
“Sure and I’ll be looking forward to it,” Aiden said, saying his goodbyes quickly.
Fiona stood for a moment, staring out at the rain, before she turned and bypassed her fridge, going instead to the long wall of shelves that housed many of her remedies. Tapping her finger against her mouth, she considered her options. Based on the energy she had read from Aiden through the phone, she was suspecting he had a bad cold or even pneumonia. She doubted it was the flu as he wouldn’t have allowed her to come over if it was.
Later that morning, Fiona finished packing food and some of her tonics into a small basket. She and Ronan had taken a walk after her phone call with Aiden, which had resulted in a bath for the both of them. The weather conditions were beyond nasty, and even Ronan had seemed relieved to return to the cottage after just a short stint out in the rain. Now, he lay curled on his blanket, cheerfully working on the stubborn edge of a bone.
“I’ll be home later this afternoon, lovie,” Fiona called to him as she pulled the hood of her raincoat on and bustled from the cottage, latching the door behind her and racing to her car.
“Nasty day,” Fiona breathed as she bumped the heat up and turned her lights on to pierce the dim
ness of the rainy day.
Aiden lived halfway between her cottage and Grace’s Cove. He’d purchased a part of the O’Brien land and had built a small cottage there when his wife had died― easily fifteen years or so ago now, Fiona reminisced. He’d been a great booming happy man― the life of any party he went to. Once he’d lost his wife though, it was like the light had gone off and he'd begun to fade to grey.
Fiona couldn’t blame him. Serena had been a quiet and gentle sort― comfortable with letting Aiden take the attention― and always his port in the storm. He talked of her quite often, and Fiona didn’t mind. He was one of the few people she could talk openly about John with. Between their conversations, it was like these two people who had stepped into the otherworld still lived and breathed with them.
Maybe it was a bit selfish of her, talking about John with another man, but since Aiden seemed to anxious to talk about Serena, both of them allowed the other to wind long tales of days past.
It was a blessing, really, for the both of them, Fiona thought as she slowly drove along the cliff path, taking caution on the high turns. Until Keelin and Margaret had asked her about John, she’d rarely had a chance to talk about him. People always get awkward when someone has passed on. They never knew what to say, so oftentimes they just didn’t say anything at all. If she brought up his name, the room would fall silent before people would awkwardly move onto the next subject. Sometimes Fiona wanted to scream at people that she wanted to talk about John. He had lived― he still mattered! But she would just keep her mouth shut and move onto the next topic of conversation.
Taking a sharp left on a small gravel road that wound up a hill, Fiona pushed thoughts of John from her mind to focus on what she suspected was wrong with Aiden. If this damp weather was any indication, he’s most likely picked up a bit of a cold. Fiona honked the horn to warn Aiden that she had arrived before hurrying from the car with the basket tucked under her arm.
Wild Irish Witch Page 17
