Page 75 of Promise Me This

“I’ve certainly had better days.”

She nods like this is the answer she was expecting. She, too, is studying the tree house. “Darren called.”

“Did he now,” I say, not asking really. The only shocking thing about it is that it took him this long to resort to phoning his sister.

“Oh yeah,” she says, releasing me to fold her arms over her chest in an attempt to ward off the cold. “Says you were a useless sap last week and then you’re after calling out today.”

A heavy sigh passes over my lips as I rake my hand through my hair. “Sorry, mam, I’ll give him a call tomorrow. I just—”

“No need, Callum. My brother may be a workaholic but he’s not heartless. He was concerned about you, that’s all. I told him you had some things come up that needed your attention and you’d be back to it when you could be. He understood.”

For some reason, that weight being lifted off my shoulders is my undoing. I stagger backward, suddenly lightheaded, and drop into the uncomfortable iron bistro chair left behind by my long dead gran.

“You all right?” Mam asks, kneeling in front of me with concern darkening her eyes. She quickly scans my body, looking for anything amiss.

“I’m fine,” I groan. A deep inhale calms the spinning in my head, but the air burns on its way down my throat. Or perhaps it’s my tears, lodged there and waiting for an excuse to fall. “I’m grand.” I stare past my mam, past the garden where my daughter is playing, and onward to the mountains in the distance. I will the lie to become the truth.

She clicks her tongue in disapproval. “You don’t have to be fine, Callum.”

I shake my head, because how do I explain to her the way it feels to be me right now? To be barely above water, treading in the sadness and grief and anger all at once, and still trying to do right by the little girl a few meters away in a tree house. To still work and put a roof over her head and cook her warm meals when all I want is to curl up in a ball and let the universe sort itself out, because clearly things have gotten tangled up.

She frowns as she takes me in, reading me in the way only our parents can. She braces a hand on each of my biceps and squeezes, then shakes me slightly, zeroing my focus in on her.

“Talk to me, son.” Another little shake, a bit more desperate this time. “Let me be there for you.”

Granda always talked about the importance of being Niamh’s safe place to land. Suddenly I’m filled with regret that in all the time I spent learning to be that for her, I never thanked him for being mine. I never asked him who would take over when he was no longer here.

Mam is gazing at me earnestly, offering a life rope. If Granda were here, he’d tell me a real man knows when to accept help. I decide it’s time to grab on with all I’ve got.

“Did you know?” My voice warbles, but it’s clear enough. “About Leo? And the baby?”

She nods almost imperceptibly and then takes the other seat and drags it over to sit right in front of me. “I had my suspicions, but they were confirmed after the fight you two had.”

My hands are trembling where they rest on my knees. “How could she have kept my daughter from me?”

“I don’t think that was her intention, Callum. Even if that’s what ended up happening.” She frowns and the light fades from green eyes that are a mirror image of mine. It’s the last thing I see before her gaze drops to her lap. “I never told you this, but your father and I had another baby before you. A little girl. I miscarried her halfway through the pregnancy, and it was a long time before I could look at myself in the mirror. An even longer time before I could forgive myself. I felt like I had failed her. Like it was my fault she died.”

Shock reverberates through my system. “I never knew you went through all that.”

“It’s so difficult to talk about. Society doesn’t want to hear it. Or if they do, there’s a shelf life for how long they’ll let you grieve before they think you should’ve moved on. But you don’t move on. That’s your child, for Christ’s sake.” She fiddles with a claddagh ring on her finger. A teardrop falls onto the back of her hand that she makes no move to wipe away. “Your granda gave me this ring when he found out I was pregnant with her. For a long time it sat in my jewelry box gathering dust. I’d pull it out late at night when I missed her more than I could bear. I’ve grieved her my entire life. I’ll keep grieving her until I’m dead and gone and can be with her again.”

I place my hand over hers and squeeze, settling her fidgeting and wiping off her tear in the same motion. “I’m so sorry, Mam.”

She finally glances up at me, and it’s the first time in my life I’ve sensed her seeing me as her equal. Not as her child but as her peer. A feeling of camaraderie passes between us, like we are soldiers in the same trenches, fighting shoulder to shoulder. Like she knows what my enemy looks like because she’s been facing it since before I was born.

“All I wanted to say is, I know you are hurting. I know that what Leo did hurt you.” She squeezes my hand. “I will leave it to her to tell you her story, but I’ll say this: that girl has spent the last decade punishing herself. She doesn’t need your help to do it. It is entirely up to you if you want to be a part of each other’s lives, and I will support you no matter what, but just know that if your father had loved you as much as she loved that little girl of yours, I never would’ve let him go. I’d have followed him to the ends of the Earth.”

She doesn’t say it to wound me. My father’s lack of interest in my life is not news. But it still stings nonetheless.

“I don’t know where to go from here,” I say weakly.

She shrugs. “Neither did she. Why do you think it took her so long?”

A tear spills out of the corner of my eye, and she swipes it away with her thumb, pinching my cheek on the retreat.

“Granny!” Niamh shrieks, leaping down from the ladder and landing with a firm thud. She runs across the garden, rosy-cheeked beneath layers of wool, with her teddy bear swinging from her grasp. Mam scoops her into a hug, grunting softly at the impact, and smiles the world’s saddest smile over Niamh’s shoulder at me.

Looking at my curly-haired, bright-eyed daughter, I force myself to imagine what I’d do if I lost her. From the moment Catherine got the positive test, I was Niamh’s father. I felt it in my bones. The universe shifted into place, and I was where I was always meant to end up. If she’d been sick, I would’ve been devastated. If she’d died, my whole reason for living would’ve gone with her.

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