Page 159 of Releasing 10
Today is a good day.
And I’m not bad.
Because my dad loves me.
I can be lovable.
Finally managing to close my suitcase, I heaved it off the bed, slid my shoulders through the straps of my duffel bag, and then hurried out of my room. When I passed Caoimhe’s bedroom door on the landing, I froze. Setting my suitcase down, I listened to the low, keening sobs coming from the other side of the door.
It had been weeks, and she wasstillcrying.
Deciding to check on her before I left for the camping trip, I slipped inside her room and padded over to where she was curled up in a ball on her bed.
“Caoimhe?”
“Wh-what?” she choked out through racking sobs. The only part of her I could see was her blond hair splayed over her pillow. The rest of her was hidden under her purple duvet.
“Are you okay?”
“Wh-what the f-fuck do you th-think?” she strangled out, crying harder now.
“No,” I muttered, forcing down the sharp retort on the tip on my tongue because I hated it when she talked to me like that. “I just wanted to say bye,” I added. “Before I leave for the trip.”
“Bye,” she snapped. “You c-can go n-now.”
I sighed heavily. “Do you want to talk about it—”
“If I did, you’d be the l-last person on earth I’d w-want to t-talk to!” she screamed, sitting up and shoving the covers off her body. “So just g-get the fuck out of my r-room, Lizzie!” When I didn’t leave immediately, she lunged forward and pushed me hard enough to knock me backwards. “I said g-get the f-fuck out, you f-fucking l-lunatic!”
“Fine!” I snapped, climbing to my feet. “Enjoy wallowing in bed.” Balling my hands into fists at my sides, I backed away from her bed before I lost my cool and ruined my chance at going camping. “I’m going camping with my friends.”
“Go!” Caoimhe screamed, throwing her pillow at me as I went. “And do us all a f-favor and d-don’t come back!”
DEEP, DEEPER, DEEPEST
Lizzie
JUNE 27, 1999
“HUGHANDREWBIGGS, CLIMB DOWN OFF THOSE ROCKS RIGHT THIS INSTANT!” SINEADscreamed, but it was too late for warnings. Especially when her firstborn was in the process of attempting an impressive backwards flip from a terrifying height. “Oh my Jesus, Lizzie, he’s doing it, isn’t he?”
“Yep,” I laughed, clapping and cheering from the beach when Hugh executed the most perfectly timed backflip off the cliff’s edge. “He sure is!”
“Is he okay?” Clamping her hands over her eyes, his mother let out a pained groan. “Please tell me he made it.”
“He made it,” I assured, patting her shoulder, while my eyes tracked the boy swimming back toward the boat.
“Calm down, woman,” her father, a.k.a. Grandad Healy, admonished, while cheering on his grandson. “Good man, Hughie!” he called out, beaming with pride. “That’s the job, boyo!”
Grandad Healy was a tall man with snow-white hair and a thick, matching white beard. He sort of reminded me of Captain Smith from the movieTitanic, and I liked him a lot. He was a jolly-looking man, with a cracking sense of humor. He also appeared to heavily favor his eldest grandson, who had been named after him—something we both had in common.
“He doesn’t even have a life jacket on,” she continued to wail. “Sweet Jesus, I told that boy to keep it on.”
“He’s grand, Sinead,” Grandad Healy laughed, not sounding one bit concerned. “The boy wins gold in the county meets three times on the trot, and you’re worrying about a bloody jacket.”
“I don’t care.” Sinead released a ragged breath and pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Don’t be getting on the young fella’s back, Sinead,” Grandad Healy warned, while snapping pictures of his grandson with an ancient-looking camera. “If a bit of cliff diving is the worst he does, you’ll be doing grand.” He turned, giving her a knowing look, before adding, “Yourself and Pete certainly did worse when ye were the boy’s age.”
