Page 79 of Edge of Unbroken

“He was,” Martin says. “It’s not uncommon to relapse, Saoirse.”

Erin nods. “I heard Miranda has been collecting her dad pretty regularly at Sterling’s and even told Wiley not to sell him any more liquor. Didn’t go over too well, I guess. Wiley said they had a blow-up, drag-out fight right in the store a couple of days ago to the point where Wiley threatened to call Sheriff Graves because Father Jackson was so belligerent to Miranda.”

“Oh, dear, I had no idea,” my grandmother says, mortified at her earlier disdain for Miranda.

“You’ve always been too harsh on Randi,” Erin says, and takes another bite of her green beans.

“Only because she corrupted Ran,” my grandmother says.

I chuckle. “She didn’t corrupt me, Morai. It was all very mutual, trust me.”

“You were fourteen when Sheriff Graves caught you two drinking, remember? And don’t think I didn’t notice you sneaking away after church on Sundays to do god-knows-what with Miranda,” she says with a scandalized look. “I honestly don’t even want to imagine what you two were up to.”

Erin laughs lightly. “Probably just normal teenage stuff, Mom.”

“I didn’t do ‘normal teenage stuff’ when I was fourteen.” My grandmother picks up her utensils to continue eating her dinner.

Erin laughs out loud. “Oh really, Mom? May I remind you that you had me when you werefifteen? At least Ran has made it all this time without knocking anyone up, so you have to give him some credit. Regardless of what he and Randi were up to, they managed not to get themselves killed or her pregnant.”

“That was different,” my grandmother says. “Perry and I were married, and we moved across the globe to start a life together.”

“But darling, that was in response to us doing normal teenage stuff, remember?” my grandfather finally chimes in. “You should ease up on Miranda.”

“I’m trying,” she says. “But I still think she should stay in one of the guest cabins. Gives her more privacy.” She throws me a sidelong glance that clearly conveys that she doesn’t want to move Miranda for privacy reasons only. She’s probably worried Miranda will “corrupt” me some more. “And if she stays here, she has to earn her keep. She can help around here.” My grandmother gets up from the table and marches resolutely into the kitchen.

I follow her a couple of minutes later, placing my plate carefully into the kitchen sink.

“How is Cat?” my grandmother casually asks as I turn to leave the kitchen and go up to my room.

“Fine, I hope,” I say. “I won’t know until Sunday.”That’s if she actually picks up my call.

“I like her a lot. I’ve liked her from the moment I met her,” my grandmother says, smiling while she dries her hands on the dish towel. “You know, she was sitting at your hospital bed, her head resting on your mattress next to your arm and she was holding your hand. And even though I could tell she didn’t want to leave your side, she offered me her seat so I could sit with you for a little while. The way she looked at you…”

I’m not sure why she’s telling me these things.

“She’s such a lovely girl. I can tell she really, really cares about you,” my grandmother says.

“Yes, she is lovely. And beautiful, and smart, and perfect in every way imaginable. I care about her just as much, Morai,” I say, and my heart aches in my chest like it does every time someone brings up Cat or she crosses my mind. “I can’t even put into words how much I miss her.”

My grandmother studies my face a moment longer, then smiles at me. “Get some sleep, baby boy,” she says simply, and turns to the sink to fill it up with warm water.

Upstairs, I take a brief shower before climbing into bed and falling asleep the second my head hits the pillow.

***

“Rony? Ronan!”

I jerk awake to Miranda’s voice pulling me out of yet another one of my nightmares. I sit up, feeling the night air cool my clammy chest while my heart beats furiously against my ribs.

“Are you okay? You were talking in your sleep,” she says, sitting next to me on my bed.

I concentrate on slowing my anguished breathing. “Yeah, I just had a nightmare. I have those a lot,” I say in a monotone voice and look at her. She’s still fully dressed. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, I just barfed into the toilet, so I feel a lot better,” she says, hitches both her legs onto my mattress, and leans back against the headboard before pulling my blanket over herself. “So, when you have these nightmares, do you always beg your mom to stop hurting you or was that just tonight?” She purses her lips while she analyzes my face.

“I have no idea. No one has ever told me what I say or do when I have these dreams. They usually just wake me up.”

“Okay, well, it sounded pretty awful. You were pleading for your life. What do you dream?”

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