Page 6 of Promise Me This

She peers up at me with curious eyes, cocking her head to the side and giving her teddy a squeeze. “We needed more tea.”

Spinning around, I notice the kettle has shut off, meaning the water is done boiling. I shake my head, disappointed in myself for letting a ghost from the past rattle me to the point I’m likely scaring my daughter. I can count on one hand the number of times she’s seen me cry, and none were when she was old enough to remember.

Dads are supposed to be brave for their daughters. Dads are supposed to know what to do. A soft place to land. I have to be strong so she can know she’s safe to be weak with me, not the other way around.

Once the tea sachet has steeped for long enough, I remove it and add some milk before lowering it to Niamh’s outstretched hands. At just shy of five years old, I can finally trust her to carry the full-to-the-brim cup across the room without leaving dribbles of pale brown liquid for me to clean up later.

Watching her return to the table, all I can think about is watching Leo walk away. The nagging feeling at the edge of my brain wants to know why she came. The more mentally stable half says good riddance. Niamh and I don’t need any more disappointment in our lives. Things are stable now, in this plateau of peace we’ve found after so long spent trudging through a valley.

When neither voice wants to surrender in the war over my emotions, I do the only thing I can think to do. What any grown man would surely do. I retrieve my cell phone from my back pocket and swipe a finger across to unlock it before dialing the one person who will know what to say.

My mam.

Chapter Three

Leona

The shock-induced determination that got me here is slowly ebbing, and panic creeps in to take its place. I try to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. On the thud of my footsteps against the damp earth. Walking, navigating, getting soaked to the damn bone—all of it is easier than thinking of what just happened.

I’ve been trudging through the Irish countryside in a haze of forced distraction for a solid thirty minutes when the unrelenting drizzle starts to threaten my sanity. My cotton V-neck clings to my skin in that suffocating way that damp clothing does. The woven texture of my cardigan does nothing to keep the rain out. Just when I’m about to give in to the overwhelming desire to rip all my clothes off and walk the rest of the way in the nude, a silver taxicab pulls up alongside me.

“You need a lift?” the driver says. It’s the same gentleman from earlier, midforties with a web of fine lines fanning out around mischievous hazel eyes. He’s wearing a black adidas tracksuit that’s two sizes too big for his thin frame and has a cowlick that makes a tuft of hair stand at attention on the crown of his head.

I’ve never been more grateful to see anyone in my entire life.

“Yes, please!” I jog around to the passenger door and climb in, deflating into the seat. The car lurches forward as he shifts gears, turning my stomach in a way I forgot manual cars did. Before today I haven’t ridden in one in…well, since Callum dropped me off at the airport twelve years ago.

“Didn’t go so well with Cal, I take it?”

The rolling in my stomach intensifies, and it has nothing to do with his driving.

The driver seems to read my expression, because he answers my unspoken question. “He and I go way back. If he was sharp with you, don’t mind him. He’s always like that.”

All I can think is, He wasn’t when I knew him. Did my leaving hurt him so badly that it honed all his soft edges into razor blades? I can’t bear to think that I damaged Callum in that way. That I stole his kindness with my own cruelty. But I can’t say any of that, so instead I say, “He doesn’t like to be called Cal.”

The driver studies my face for a moment longer before letting out a soft snort of laughter and glancing away. “No, I suppose he doesn’t. But I’ve never let it stop me, and you shouldn’t either.” We roll to a stop in front of a gathering of sheep making their way across the road. Their backs are spray-painted bright blue to identify them as part of the same flock, though I notice one sheep with a neon-pink marker. She’s out of her element, away from her family. “I’m Padraig, but my friends call me Podge.”

He’s holding out a hand for me to shake; I can see it in my peripheral. I tear my eyes away from the misplaced sheep to face him, taking his hand in mine. “Leona. Nice to meet you.”

“And what do your friends call you?”

I consider the question for a moment, taking a sad inventory of the lonely life I’ve created for myself. Melissa was probably the closest I’ve gotten to a person in quite some time, but she hasn’t spoken to me since her brother and I divorced. The few work friends I thought I had didn’t so much as glance my way as I gathered my things and left, for fear that being laid off was catching. A sigh leaks out of my lungs. “I don’t have many friends.”

He presses his lips together and nods his head once. “Right. Well, Cal is a grump, but he’s one of the best friends I have. So maybe give that one another chance on a day when he’s not being a prick.”

The last of the sheep make their way to the other side of the road, bleating loudly at us for rushing their travels. Padraig pulls forward and I’m nauseous again. I’m beginning to think this is how I’ll be spending my entire trip. Though after how today has gone… “I don’t think that’ll be much of an issue. I’m not here for long.”

He casts a sidelong glance my way. “Don’t let him run you off that easily.”

Something about Padraig’s chattiness eases my desire to shut this tender topic down. I extend my arms to let my hands hover in front of the vent, heat filling them once more. “I think I might’ve been the one to run him off.”

“Ah, explains why he made you walk back to town.”

“I actually insisted.”

His eyes go wide as he turns onto the main street running through town, arriving an hour sooner than I would’ve on foot. “Now why’d you do that?”

I shrug. “Five miles is a lot farther than I thought it was.” A blank stare meets my gaze. I’m confused for a moment before I realize my mistake. “Um, I don’t know how far that is in kilometers, sorry.”

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