Page 83 of Promise Me This

“Blech.”

“On that note,” I say, glaring at Padraig, “I’m leaving. Don’t party too hard, you two.”

“Take celebratory shots, you say?” Padraig grins. “Consider it done!”

I head for the door, tossing a look Dermot’s way that says, Keep an eye on them. To which he tips his cap.

The walk back to Bridge Street Bed-and-Breakfast is a quick one, and thank God for that. The wind bites at my cheeks the entire way. As November settles itself in, the blanket of early evening darkness makes the air seem colder than it is. I shove my hands into the pockets of my coat in an effort to preserve the warmth of Callum’s lips against them.

Stepping into the foyer, warmth kisses my face. I can hear firewood crackling in the living room down the hall, and the smell of the burning fire is so familiar to me at this point, my body registers it as synonymous with home. I don’t know how I got here from where I was when I first arrived, adrift and floundering simultaneously. The gap from there to this felt so impossibly broad at the time.

And yet, piece by piece, they have all helped me bridge it. Callum, Siobhan, Padraig, even Niamh. Without knowing it, they saved me from drowning in the life I’d created for myself. The one that was meant to keep me safe from ever enduring pain like losing Poppy again.

Maybe the best thing I can do with that pain is to feel it as honestly as possible, and to let those who want to shoulder the weight of it do so. Maybe that’s the only way the pain gives way to love. To gratitude, for her life and my role in it, however brief.

“Oh, you’re back!” Siobhan says, startling me from my reverie. She’s got her jacket on and a wool scarf snaked around her neck. “Perfect timing. I thought I’d go pick up takeaway for the three of us. Have ourselves a girls' night.”

“Takeaway sounds great!” I glance over her shoulder. “Where’s Niamh?”

Siobhan follows my gaze. “Oh, she’s playing in the living room. Could you watch her while I get dinner?”

An uneasiness sprouts in my belly and winds its way up my throat, blocking out the brittle euphoria from a moment ago.

“Or I could just go get dinner? Let the two of you hang out here where it’s warm.”

“Nonsense,” she scoffs, patting my shoulder. “You’ve just gotten back, and I’m already bundled up and ready to go.” Her gaze lifts to meet mine, and there’s a flash of recognition in it as she takes in my expression. Head tilted to the side, she clicks her tongue softly. “You’ll be grand, Leona. Niamh loves you. But if you aren’t ready, just say the word and I’ll stay.”

Twenty minutes of babysitting. Insignificant to some, but I can feel the weight of responsibility in the shape of a still infant on my chest.

I look at Siobhan for one brief, stilted heartbeat. In that moment we share a grief that’s so big it could swallow us both. We also share the determination not to let it.

I nod once. “I’ll stay.”

Her mouth stretches into a thin-lipped smile. “Atta girl.”

She pats my shoulder once more and then steps out into the night. When the door closes behind her, the foyer seems suddenly too small, so I make my way down the hall.

I peek into the living room and see Niamh playing on the couch with two plastic horses. She makes them race and leap over the cracks between cushions before they argue over who was faster and have to do it all again. She’s so focused on her game that she doesn’t notice me taking a seat in the chaise across from her.

“What are the horses’ names?” I ask.

She whips her head around, but pride won’t let her admit she’s startled. She simply brushes it off by squaring her shoulders and drawing in a dramatic breath. “This is Belle,” she says, holding up the chestnut-colored horse first before lifting the white one. “And this is Ariel.”

“Are those your favorite princesses?”

Her head bobs up and down in excitement. “Yes, because Belle likes to read like me, and Daddy says I can learn to swim in the summer like Ariel. I’ll be big enough then.”

“That’ll be so fun.” I smile. “I love to read and swim, too.”

Silence falls between us as she puzzles over how to respond. I know I’m being awkward, as if we haven’t been around each other pretty much daily for the past two months, but the pressure of being alone with her, of being alone with any child for the first time in years, is getting to my head.

“Where is Daddy?” she finally asks while turning back to her horses.

“He’s with Podge. You know they always hang out on Friday afternoons.”

“Yeah,” she says thoughtfully. “But I just thought he’d be with you.”

I lean back in the chaise and cross one leg over the other. “Why’s that?”

---