by Jamie Knight
I put the last of her clothes in the suitcase and then turned to smile at her.
“Congratulations again. I really am happy for you. I’m not just saying that because it’s the thing to say.”
Afraid I would reveal more secrets of my soul, I turned to leave, but before I could get to the door, there came a flurry of light knocks.
“Come in, babe,” Maggie called. “We’re decent.”
“Never doubted it for a second,” Gavin said and winked, closing the door behind him.
“How did you know it was him?” I asked, glancing back to Maggie.
“That’s his special knock.”
It was interesting what love could do to the senses. I wasn’t at all sure I could be able to tell one knock from another just by hearing it.
“Congratulations on lucking out, Gavin,” I said.
It was an attempt to pick up on the theme Sean had laid out in his speech, though I didn’t do it quite as well.
“I really am too good for you,” Maggie added on, trying to back me up.
“I know it,” he said with a smile, “and I thank my lucky stars every day.”
“As you should.”
He took her in his arms. They kissed, and I saw my chance to escape, leaving them to the sexcapades that were almost sure to follow.
“Hold up, Darcy. I have something for you,” Gavin called, before I had the chance to leave.
I was so surprised I stopped cold and turned around.
From his back pocket, he took out one of the green envelopes the wedding invitations had arrived in.
“Sean gave this to me at the airport,” Gavin explained.
“Oh. Thanks,” I said, as I took it and shoved it into my pocket before continuing to head out.
My heart ached with hope, and it was all I could do not to rip open the envelope right then and there. I decided I would open it when I was by myself, just in case I cried.
I had a weird thing about people not seeing me cry, even people I loved. My sense of independence was so fierce, even while still under my father’s financial thrall, that I thought I could handle everything myself, even when I obviously couldn’t.
It went right back to when I tried to teach myself to ride a bike, which went about as well as one would expect. Even then, it wasn’t until my mom found me in the bathroom surrounded by blood and failed attempts at bandaging my wounds, that I admitted defeat.
Still, I didn’t cry. Not even when the nurse injected freezing meds before trying to get the pebbles out.
I still had small white scars that made me reluctant to show my legs. Even at work, where skirts were standard, I often insisted on wearing pants. Maggie assured me you could barely see the war wounds of my childhood, but I wasn’t convinced.
It went to show how devoted to Sean I had become so quickly. The concerns about him seeing my scars never entering my mind. No hang-ups, no regrets, just lots of fun.
It really was a shame it couldn’t happen anymore. I felt quite a bit like I’d won the lottery but then lost the ticket on the bus. All the wonderful potential collapsing into nothing. Almost as though it had never existed at all.
I drove home as fast as I could without getting pulled over. I didn’t want to know what was in the envelope but, at the same time, I needed to know. If I didn’t find out, it would drive me insane.
Some small part of me hoped the envelope contained a plane ticket. Gavin had said Sean had given the envelope to him at the airport.
Maybe he’d managed to work some magic to get me to him, even if he couldn’t stay where I was. I’d have to take some time off work, but the notion of flying out there sounded amazing.
The door to my apartment had barely closed before I tore into the envelope, careful not to damage whatever might be inside.
A letter. On the letterhead for Sean’s butcher shop company. The handwriting was beautiful and swirly, almost medieval. My heart was pounding and my palms were sweating as I started reading the words Sean had written me.
Dear Darcy,
I want you. That still feels odd to write, let alone think, but I’ve never been one to deny simple, obvious facts.
I didn’t get a chance to tell you in person, at least not in so many words, but that kiss we shared at the reception spoke volumes. I already miss you so much it hurts. It might be hard to accept, as I know it is for me, but I really did have to go and wouldn’t have if it wasn’t urgent.
I tried to get you a ticket to come here with me, but it didn’t work out. It was too busy of a traveling time for there to be any last-minute flight options.
I meant what I said, though. Both now and when we kissed. I want you and will be back to see you as soon as I can. I plan to make you mine.
Sean
I sank ever lower as I read, each word sending me further along the way until I was on the floor, my back up against the door.
I plan to make you mine.
That one sentence reverberated in my mind, although I appreciated all of them.
It was weird with handwritten letters. They just consisted of words, symbols on a page, really no different from an email or text, yet they made it much easier to feel connected to the writer.
The fact that the author made the shapes in that order with you in mind, manifesting thoughts into physical existence, and then took the time to cast them into the physical world, made it feel more special. It was almost like casting a spell. Sending hope to the universe.
I didn’t know if I would ever see him again, but his stated certainty, combined with his chosen medium, made me wonder if I just might. I wasn’t really the type to keep the faith.
Usually, my philosophy was that things just happened, or they didn’t, and I did my best to handle life, whichever way it went. But this time felt different. Because for some reason, no matter how crazy it might be, I had faith in Sean MacBride.
Chapter Five - Sean
I was never a morning person, at least not by God-given nature. I had to be up early most days to open the shop, though. I could have asked one of my employees, but I liked to do it myself. To take responsibility of propriety and all that.
There were those business owners who hired staff, so they didn’t have to do anything. I preferred to be right here on the ground, doing as much of the work as I could myself.
It was at least partly the semi-communist attitude that came almost naturally from a blue-collar area. Some people resorted to less than honest means but were generally looked down on as ‘chiselers’ and ‘skivers’ by the rest of the community, which was nearly as bad as being a snitch.
I had no great love for meat. In fact, it took some getting used to, but I did love working with my hands, and the butcher shop was for sale at a price I could afford when teamed with my mate Duncan, who was even more into the idea than I was.
To call Duncan an exclusive carnivore would be an exaggeration, though only slightly. He did eat fruits and vegetables, but mostly as an afterthought.
He’d gotten a nasty case of salmonella poisoning while I was at the wedding and ended up in the hospital. Unbeknownst to Duncan, a new employee had set raw chicken on top of steak filets before putting them out on display. Since Duncan eats steak rare, the cooking process didn’t kill any of the bacteria associated with the raw chicken.
When I got back to Ireland from the States, I’d closed the shop for a few days, thrown out all of our stock, and then had the entire shop scrubbed down. Those measures weren’t necessary, but better safe than sorry.
The last thing we needed was a reputation for bad hygiene. Duncan was fine now, and his bout in the hospital hadn’t ended his love affair with steak.
Now, the coffee maker did its little gurgle dance on the counter, and the microwave flashed an obscenely early time. One I didn’t even know existed until I was about ten.
Still, I tried to put myself in a positive mood. It was a happy day, after all.
Filled with food and fueled with caffeine, I drove to the airpo
rt. There was barely another car on the road, which gave the whole town a slightly creepy feeling of a zombie apocalypse film.
Gavin and Maggie would be exhausted when they landed, and I wanted to be there when they arrived. Of course, I was looking forward to seeing them, but more than that, I wanted to ask about Darcy. I wanted to know if she’d talked about me, or maybe she’d sent a letter over.
With a bit of blessed luck, I found parking with no great trouble.
The international arrivals terminal had a particular smell. One not found anywhere else in the world. It was a heady mix of industrial-grade cleaning products, anticipation, and hope.
I paced like a tiger in a cage, not quite sure what to do with myself as I waited. I imagined Darcy walking off the plane and running into my arms and saying she couldn’t spend another second without me.
That was wishful thinking, and I knew it. Yet I couldn’t stop it and didn’t even want to. Darcy had completely taken over my headspace ever since I had met her.
I could see the plane through the window. The pilot seemed to be taking his sweet time taxiing to the gate.
The torture continued as the passengers piled into the arrival’s hall, my gaze scanning each of their faces like The Terminator, disappointed when none of them turned out to be who I was looking for.
“Hey, little bro,” a voice I knew nearly as well as my own said from behind me.
Wide-eyed, I spun around.
“How did, where—”
Gavin dragged me into a hug.
“Our flight got bumped. We’ve been here about an hour or so. Nice to see you’re on time.”
“Where is your beautiful wife?” I asked, stepping away from him.
“In the lounge, last I checked. She said she wanted to get a view of the city.”
“In the distance, maybe,” I conceded. “But you can’t see it very well from here.”
“That’s what I told her, but she insisted.”
“There’s something to be said for enthusiasm,” I offered.
“Certainly, not all of it good, but that is definitely true.”
I laughed.
“Regretting it already?”
“Oh, hell no. We’re well aware of each other’s foibles. Honestly, I find her enthusiasm almost endearing.”
“Shall we go find her?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Probably a good idea. Don’t want her getting lost in the gift shop and buying all sorts of Irish tourist shite.”
We found Maggie in the lounge, stuck to the window like one of those accessories with suction cups people put in car windows— Garfields and Mogwais grinning out at passing motorists.
“Maggie, good to see you,” I called out.
“Hey!”
She leapt up from the chair she had been kneeling on and hugged me most enthusiastically. I was glad we got along so well already. In-laws always seemed like such a crapshoot and I had lucked out.
“I love everything,” she gushed.
“The airport?” I asked.
“The view when we descended took my breath away. The air somehow feels fresher. The people sweeter.”
I half expected her to begin spinning in circles and singing ‘The Hills Are Alive.’
“You’ve been here before,” I reminded her. “What has you so excited this time?”
“I’m here on my honeymoon. It makes everything so much more romantic. Besides, the last time we were here, it was for a quick four-day stay. Not enough time to see the true beauty.” She clasped her hands to her chest. “Ireland is the home of my heart.”
People started to look our way. Some were clearly beginning to recognize Gavin from his TV show, so we got out of there as fast as possible. Not least to keep her enthusiasm within my car.
Tourism was a major part of the Irish economy, particularly in Belfast, thanks to numerous TV shows being filmed there, Game of Thrones being one of them. But it was possible to overdo it. Had some of the locals caught on to her keenness, it would only be a matter of time before the accents went on really thick, and she would be being sold all sorts of tours.
On the way to the Europa Hotel, I played the role of tour guide. I’d spent my entire life in Belfast and knew it pretty damn well, despite the imposing size.
I was fairly sure Gavin would have driven her around himself, except his rental car wasn’t being dropped at the hotel until tomorrow. I was fairly particular about being the only one to drive mine.
So, he sat in the back seat, a little black storm cloud almost visible over his head as I drove them around the town, Maggie trying to take in as much as she could.
“Wow!” Maggie exclaimed as I rolled past the National Football Stadium at Windsor Park. “I would love to go to a real-life soccer game.”
“You mean football,” I corrected her. “You don’t want to be caught calling it soccer around here.”
She rolled her eyes at herself.
“That’s right, football. What team do you support?”
“Oh, that’s a dangerous question to ask around here, love.”
Gavin groaned.
“Sean, come on—”
“No, it’s important, Gav. Something she needs to know.”
“You’re going to scare her.”
“Scare her with what?” I asked.
Ignoring my brother, I continued.
“People around here, they take their football very seriously,” I explained. “It’s not as bad as it used to be, but there is still a loud contingent of yahoos who get really passionate about their team. As well as others, who aren’t quite so passionate, but who still take it really personally, so ‘what team do you support’ is a loaded question that is usually only asked by a certain sort of person.”
“Hooligans, you mean?”
I laughed hard, almost having to wipe tears from my eyes.
“Who told you about hooligans?”
“I did, of course,” Gavin piped up from the back, “I’m not completely irresponsible, you know.”
“Aye, fair enough. Since you’re clearly a yank, you’re likely to get more leeway, but it’s something to be aware of. If you wear the wrong sports jersey on the wrong street, you could get into a bit of trouble.”
“You guys sure take your soc— um, I mean— football very seriously.”
“Some do. I’m a rugby man myself.”
Gavin groaned again.
“If we hadn’t grown up together, I’d swear he was adopted.”
“If you do get asked,” I said, ignoring my brother, “the safest answer is Manchester United. That’ll throw them for a loop.”
“That’s mean, bro,” Gavin said.
I looked at him through the rearview mirror. He was shaking his head but smiling.
“Why?” Maggie asked, sounding perplexed.
“It’s an odd but true fact that some of the most popular football teams in Ireland are English. It’s just one of those weird things, like how Americans are nuts for golf, despite it being Scottish.”
“Golf is Scottish?” Maggie asked, aghast.
“And basketball is Canadian,” I told her. “Well, the inventor was working in Canada at the time, at least.”
“No kidding,” Maggie said. “There’s so much I don’t know.”
“Cross my heart and—”
“I wouldn’t finish that saying if I were you,” Gavin warned.
I couldn’t really blame him. He was a suspicious sort, but who wouldn’t be, after luck had brought him the wife of his dreams? I could only hope the same thing happened with me and was more determined than ever to make Darcy mine.
After we’d dropped off their luggage and they’d checked in, I decided we should drive to Dunluce Castle, a Medieval castle on the coastal cliffs of the Antrim Coast. I figured we might as well since, for once, it wasn’t raining. And a day off doing touristy stuff sounded like something I needed.
Duncan and Jim could handle things at the shop. It wouldn’t be the worst thing
in the world to take a break and get to know my new sister-in-law. Plus, I could casually ask questions about Darcy.
Chapter Six - Sean
The light was fading to blue when we pulled up in front of the house that we’d grown up in. Maggie and Gavin were cuddling like lovebirds as we went to the door.
I took the lead, so that everyone would have some warning as to our arrival. The smell hit me like a brick, and my stomach rumbled. Aunt Tricia’s cooking was some of the best in the county.
“What smells so good?” Maggie asked.
“Stew and roast, I’d wager,” Gavin said.
As we passed the living room on the way to the kitchen, I saw our youngest brother Eoin on the couch. It wasn’t obvious, not to most, but I knew him too well. I knew that he had been crying.
“You two go on in. I’ll be there in a second,” I said.
Leaving Maggie and Gavin to go into the kitchen, I went to the couch.
“What’s up with you, sad sack?”
“Nothing,” Eoin lied, wiping his eyes.
“Denial is a river in Egypt. Spill.”
He stared up at the ceiling.
“Da fell off the wagon again. It’s not like before— or at least not yet, anyway, but I know it will be. It’s less obvious so far.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face and sank onto the sofa.
“Shit. Have you seen him do it or how did you find out?”
“No, I don’t have to. I can tell by the way he’s been acting. I stopped by the sober living place to see him. His eyes were rolling, and he smelled like whiskey. He must have a stash somewhere. I think he might be back on junk, too.”
I blew out a breath and clasped my hands.
“No, I don’t think so. Not after last time, when he nearly died. I could see him drinking again, but there’s no way he would start shooting up again. He has too strong a sense of self-preservation.” I sighed. “We’ll let the director of the facility know your suspicions. There is nothing you can do about it in any case. He has to want to change for it to work, and there is really only one way that’s going to happen.”
