Page 9 of Promise Me This

Callum

“The one day a week I don’t see you, and you’re calling me.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, reminding myself her effort at a joke should not get such a rise out of me. “Love you, too, Mam.”

“Of course you do. I’m the best!” She chuckles to herself. “So how’s my favorite child?”

Luckily she can’t see my eye roll through the phone, or I’d be smacked upside the head. I let my gaze settle once more on Niamh. “Love, Granny wants to know how you’re getting on.”

“I just saw her yesterday!” she calls over her shoulder, not breaking the role-play she has going with her teddy.

“The two of you are one and the same, aren’t you?” I grumble. My fist finds the center of my chest, rubbing at the knot that is my heart. No luck massaging the pain away. When my hand begins to tremble, I decide it’s best to take this call away from listening ears and amble down the hall toward my room.

“She’s my pride and joy.” I can practically hear Mam beaming on the other end. She’s probably knee-deep in cleaning supplies, trying to keep her little inn afloat. In a town with less than two thousand people, most of them fishermen, it’s hard to find help. And she’s terrible at asking for it. “Now what did you need, son?”

My breath stalls, unwilling to form the words now that the time has come. Part of me still feels like it was all a dream. For as long as I don’t speak the words aloud, it can remain theoretical. Leo showing up on my doorstep will stay a fever dream I’ve since woken up from, rather than a real-life problem I have to find a way to deal with. I’ve had my fair share of nightmares involving her; why should this be any different?

The sound of Mam clearing her throat expectantly drags me back to reality rather abruptly.

In a voice quieter than I thought myself capable of, I finally mumble the truth into the speaker. “She’s here.”

“Who’s here?”

“Leona.” A pause follows my words, opening like a chasm that I desperately wish I could throw myself into. I train my gaze on the gauzy white curtains I haven’t gotten around to swapping out, hoping focusing on something will help the emotions settle. Finally, when I no longer feel as though I’ll burst into an unbecoming fit of tears, I add, “The American girl.”

Another pause, this one so long I’m nearly convinced she’s not even holding the phone up to her ear when she finally says, “Right, yeah, the one you hogged the cottage with over that whole summer. I swear every weekend you were off to Cahersiveen; no clue why you bothered paying rent in the city. And now you live there so none of us get to use it!”

Not the point, Mam. “You have the inn. Why would you need to stay in a holiday home in the same town?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to point out your granda never offered it to me.” The sound of a faucet turning on adds static to the background of her nonhelpful commentary. She’s being especially sharp today, and not nearly as nosy.

A thought occurs to me. “Have you seen her? Is she staying there?” It’s the only inn in town. Unless she was just driving through, she’d have no other choice. But if she were driving, why’d she walk away from my house? A bus, then?

The water shuts off, the following silence quickly filled with the sound of Mam huffing her way to presumably the front entry, where she keeps her guestbook in a makeshift check-in desk. “Erm no, I don’t think so.”

Something in her voice sets the hair on the back of my neck to standing. “Would you tell me if you—”

“What is she here for anyway?” she asks, cutting me off.

Her question completely derails my train of thought, redirecting it back to the sight of Leo on my front porch. Her big blue eyes gazing up at me, more guarded than I’ve ever seen them. There was a time when they were a deep pool that I could dive into, no bottom in sight. Now there are stone walls on the other side of that shimmering blue, keeping everyone out. Or perhaps just me.

I collapse onto my bed with a strangled sigh, letting the phone fall beside me, still close enough that my mother’s voice will carry to my ear. Not that it’s helping much. “I don’t know. She wouldn’t say.”

“Interesting,” she croons. “Don’t you find that interesting, Callum?”

“Not particularly. I find it grating. Annoying. Infuriating.” I practically growl the final word. “But certainly not interesting.”

More huffing as she deserts the desk, satisfied with her fruitless investigation. “Come on, love. You can fool anyone else, but you can’t fool me. I know deep down you’re dying to know what’s brought her here after all this time.” She takes a loud sip of something, lubricating her vocal cords for more lecturing. “Perhaps you’ll finally find some closure. Maybe even rekindle what you once had. You were so happy then.”

It feels like a lifetime ago, that summer. But in some ways it’s like it just happened yesterday. For four months I lived and breathed Leo. Every minute that I wasn’t working as an intern at my uncle’s shipping company was spent with her. I’m convinced I got more sleep in Niamh’s newborn stage than I did back then. When I came home from work, she’d just be getting back from class, ready for another adventure. We drove through the mountains more times than I can count. Ate more sausage rolls from the petrol station for breakfast than my doctor would appreciate before setting off on a weekend trip to the country. I fell asleep beside her each night. Woke up to the scent of her citrus shampoo on my pillows every morning.

That knot has returned to my chest, threatening to take my breath away. “Too much has happened, Mam.” I close my eyes, pretending the first thing I see isn’t Leo straddling my hips, leaning over me with a grin as wide and bright as the moon, hair falling around us in a secret curtain that closes us off from the world. “Niamh deserves better than someone who can leave without so much as a goodbye. We’ve had too much of that in our lives already. Besides, last I heard, she was getting married.”

A low hum sounds in the back of Mam’s throat. “All I’m saying is, people change, and you have to be willing to let them.”

“You don’t unders—”

“I’ve got to be going now. Talk to you soon.” The line goes dead, leaving me to wallow in a bed of my own making.

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