Page 23 of Promise Me This

I don’t know what I expect the answer to be, since I warned her away from my daughter in no uncertain terms.

Niamh’s head tilts to the side. So the braids will be uneven, then.

“Not really. She comes downstairs to clean after breakfast is all finished. Granny says she sleeps real late. Sometimes we all have lunch together, though. She’s nice, Daddy.” She hums softly to herself for a second, considering her words. I’ve never met a more thoughtful almost-five-year-old. “It stinks that you hate her so bad.”

Out of the mouths of babes. Shame colors my cheeks, and it has nothing to do with how catastrophically crooked these plaits are looking. “I don’t hate her,” I murmur softly, more to myself than to Niamh.

“Then how come your voice gets all mean and scary when you talk to her?”

“Because, love—” I pause, unable to form the right words. How do you explain something like this to a child? And even more upsetting, if my grudge can’t be justified to a child, what business do I have holding on to it?

A million tiny pinpricks fill my throat like I’ve swallowed my mam’s sewing kit. Not for the first time, the burden of being alone in figuring out how to explain all the ins and outs of the world to my daughter overwhelms me. I find myself wishing for a mother—not Catherine specifically, but a kind, faceless presence filling the role—to help me explain that life is full of hurts, and sometimes they’re inflicted by other people. On purpose or by accident.

“Leo—Leona—and I knew each other a really long time ago, and there are just some things about that time that make Daddy sad to remember.” I tie off her plaits with two tiny rubber bands and silently thank God that she can’t see and critique my work. I place a kiss on the crown of her head, always the finishing touch. “But you’re right, I shouldn’t be mean. I’ll try to do better.”

She holds up her pinky for me, the way she saw in one of the kid movies she makes me leave on repeat for days, and waits for me to accept it before saying, “You twinkie promise?”

Okay, so she misheard the character in the movie. But this one is too cute to correct. “I twinkie promise.” I give her pinky a little shake to seal the deal. “Now let’s go enjoy some of that sunshine before it’s too late. I heard there might be a storm coming in tonight.”

Chapter Eleven

Leona

My body aches in places I never thought possible, and I’m wondering if this is the beginning of the end for me.

Turning thirty didn’t scare me the way it did for so many of my acquaintances. Like every birthday before it, I ushered in the day with a peace settled around my heart, knowing I was one day closer to seeing my baby again. What I hadn’t been prepared for was the way my body would start taking to hurt like a fish to water. One night spent sleeping in a less-than-ideal position and I’d wake up with a crick in my neck that would hang around for a week.

A few summers back, Nick and I joined some coworkers of his for a tubing trip on the lake one weekend, and I landed on my hip wrong after being thrown into the water. That hip still gets stiff when I sit for too long.

Turns out cleaning rooms day in and day out, bending over to tuck and untuck sheets, scrubbing showers to keep them fresh for guests, and the many other tasks that make up my new job require being a level of in-shape that I apparently am not. I hobble into the kitchen after turning over the last room for today’s arrivals, and I’m met with an amused snort from Siobhan.

“Now you know how I felt all the time before you came along.” She giggles, the youthful sound existing in direct contrast to the lines on her face that are filled with a lifetime of stories.

Occasionally, when she’s not knee-deep in the garden harvesting veggies with Niamh and I’m not elbow-deep in a toilet, she shares some of them with me. My favorites, the ones that involve Callum, she seems to save for especially busy days when I most need the pick-me-up. From the way her eyes light up when she reminisces about his wild teen years or his mischievous toddler phase, I can imagine it boosts her mood just as much.

“Coffee?” She holds out the mug she’s just filled.

I take it with a thankful nod. “Yes, please.”

The sound of my slurp slaps my ears at the same time the bitter liquid graces the back of my throat, warming me from the inside out. I hum my thanks, rest a hip against the counter opposite Siobhan, and join her in staring out the window.

“You’ll let me know if I get to running you too ragged, won’t you, love?” She takes a sip of her coffee while her gaze, green as the grass in the garden, shifts from the window to me. I don’t know how I didn’t notice right away that she was Callum’s mother, with eyes like that. “Though I must admit, it has been nice having the help.”

I smile softly, shaking my head. “I don’t mind. It’s good to be kept busy.”

Something flickers in her expression. “What were you doing before you came here? I thought I remembered Callum saying you wanted to be a travel journalist back then. Is that what brought you back?”

“Sharp memory you’ve got there.” I wince even as I force the words out in a lighthearted tone. “No, I was working as a legal editor. The firm I was working with downsized, making me redundant.”

She grimaces. “Sorry about that.”

I wave a hand dismissively. “It was just a job. There will be others.”

Her head tilts as she studies me, and my skin feels suddenly transparent, letting her see everything I like to keep hidden beneath the surface. I have to fight the urge to squirm under the spotlight of her stare.

“If you’re not passionate about your job, what are you passionate about?”

The question hits me square between the eyes. What am I passionate about? I used to have a laundry list of answers for that question. Travel being at the very top. It’s what brought me here in the first place, way back when. It’s why I wanted to spend my career visiting far-off places and peoples and writing about them so others would be inspired to do the same.

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