Page 92 of Promise Me This

“I’ll wear it down.”

“Will you now?”

She gives a curt nod.

Surprised sadness ripples through me when I realize how quickly she’s grown up before my very eyes. Not just because of her choice to go without the plait, but because she’s somehow old enough to go off to school without me. After a lifetime spent with myself or my mam, it feels impossible that she could be so independent. Yet here she is, without a shred of fear on her face.

She didn’t get that from her dad.

“Right then, are you ready?”

She giggles. We’ve been practicing this.

“I was born ready.”

“That’s my girl.” I grab her backpack from the kitchen counter and follow her lead to the door. A quick glance at my phone tells me Leo will have made her way to customs by now. The last stop before she’s clear to enter the country, and Padraig can bring her home at last.

The drive to Niamh’s primary school takes no time at all, and then she’s eagerly jumping from the car to race to the door. She’s bolder than I’ve ever been, and twice as smart. She’ll have no trouble today, while I’ll be an emotional mess.

“Are you not going to say goodbye to your dad?” I call to her, and she whips around with a broad smile on her face.

“Sorry, I forgot!” She runs into my waiting arms.

“Forgot me already. I’m wounded!” I place a kiss on the crown of her head and then step back to take her in. My whole heart outside my body. I’ll never get used to it.

“I could never forget you,” she says sweetly. She glances over her shoulder, eager to be off, and I decide to stop making this about me. If she’s fine, I should be, too.

“Okay, love”—I crouch so we’re face level—“you have the best day ever, and there will be a surprise waiting for you when you get home. Sound good?”

She nods eagerly, the gap in her two front teeth showing in her cheeky grin.

“All right. I love you,” I say, but she’s already turned and I’m speaking to the back of her head.

“Love you, too, Daddy,” she calls over her shoulder, and then she disappears into her classroom. Just like that, everything changes in an instant. For the first time in a while, though, I know it’s only getting better.

Leona

I thought the moment I made it through customs, with my hard-won paperwork approved, that I’d feel settled. After all, that would be the moment everything was official. Every email, online application, and detailed letter trying to prove my eligibility would finally be worth it. All the long hours working as a housekeeping manager at a local hotel these last eight months would pay off. Something I’d done so I had job experience to show the Irish government that I really was capable of taking the role Siobhan was offering me, therefore earning my more permanent work visa. Turns out I couldn’t quote my time at the Bridge Street Bed-and-Breakfast for qualification purposes since I did it under the table.

But even after my luggage was loaded into Padraig’s taxi and we’d hit the road toward Cahersiveen, anxiety still rippled through my muscles, making me jumpy. Now, as we round the last bend in the road that leads to the main street through town, it ramps up higher. I’m nearly tempted to throw open the door and run all the way past downtown, through the fields of sheep, to that cottage where Callum is waiting for me.

“If you don’t stop shaking your leg, I’m going to have an anxiety attack,” Padraig warns.

I glare in his direction, but do my best to tamp down the jitters to a minimum.

“Thank you.” He eyes Bridge Street as it comes into view, hovering his hand over the turn signal. “Want to drop off your suitcases first?”

I can’t be held responsible for how loudly I yell, “No!”

He smirks but removes his hand. “Straight to Cal’s then. Noted.” His gaze flickers over the dashboard. “Though I might need to stop for petrol…”

“Podge, if you so much as stop for one of Eoin’s sheep, I might have to murder you.”

He snickers. “You know I’m only teasing.”

Relaxing back into my seat as best I can, I force myself to gaze out the window. The town is alive in the late summer heat. Fishermen have come in from their morning trips, stopping in at the chipper on the corner. We pass Dermot’s pub, and if I squint I can see his silhouette through the window. The large cathedral at the edge of town is surrounded by blooming flowers, and mourners fill the cemetery to tend the gardens for their loved ones.

When we turn onto the road where Padraig picked me up in the rain nearly a year ago, my heart leaps right into my throat. Bright purple foxgloves sway in the breeze, framing our path. I roll down the window and let the scent of fresh rain and blooming flowers and the hint of brine from the nearby sea flow in on the breeze.

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