Page 18 of Lover
“When I thought she was gone, I was no better than a corpse walking these halls!”
The truth of it spilled out, worked loose by the battle the doctor and I had chosen to wage with each other, two men equally afraid for the well-being of a beloved woman. The man grew silent, his snowy brows unfurrowing.
“Now,” I continued, heart raw as a fresh burn, “here she is like a miracle, and I’m not allowed to touch her, to ease her suffering or offer her comfort. Instead, I’m forced to pretend we’re strangers, keep secrets from her,lieto her, as though I don’t know how she’s struggled or what she’s endured. Right now she is utterly alone in this world, not one goddamn friend to her name, and you ask me to let her continue to live that pain because perhaps if she discovered she was loved and cherished it wouldharmher? Do you not hear how truly ludicrous it sounds?”
“I do, in truth,” Hannigan responded, lowering his defenses, admitting his own misgivings. “If you don’t think I’ve askedmy fair share of questions, checked and checked again with the minds of modern medicine, or that you would think I have anything in my heart but the best intentions for that lovely girl, then you wound me, Callum.”
Again I felt a brute, bungling the entire thing. I’d often prided myself on being stalwart, the sort people turned to for guidance, engaging my students with empathy and conviction and running my company with a secure, comfortable confidence. I had an answer at hand for nearly every problem I’d ever faced and I’d never felt so unbalanced, so lost.
“This is hell, Hannigan,” I said, weary.
The doctor approached me, previous furor diminished. He clapped my shoulder with the understanding of a man who had seen heartache of all kinds.
“Steady on, Callum,” he advised with renewed warmth. “I’ll speak with my colleagues again. In the meantime, do an old man the favor of trusting the opinion of his practice. Promise you’ll not tell her anything, and if the dinner with her old friends doesn’t work, we’ll discuss an alternative course.”
There was nothing to do but agree.
“Until then,” the doctor continued, “monitor her wandering. Make sure she’s getting the tea. I’ll leave more with Ms. Dillard. I brought some along just in case.”
He motioned to his medical bag, which he’d deposited in a nearby chair.
“Why did you bring that along to a casual breakfast?” I asked, arching a brow.
Hannigan tapped his temple with two fingers, some mischief in his eyes. “I had a feeling.”
“Of course you did.” He likely had a patient to see in the afternoon.
“And I have a patient to see this afternoon.”
“Just when I was starting to think you were a mystic.”
“Never me,” he replied as he took his bag up and headed toward the hall. “Remember your promise, Callum. Not a word until after the party.”
“Not a word,” I muttered, still uneasy.
CHAPTER 11
I NEEDED FRESH air. Anything to help drive away this new claustrophobia the house inspired in me. The weather this time of year was fickle, but the morning had chosen to be kind and I rejected my coat, embracing the chill of the wind as I walked through the dormant apple orchards, left to wild. My feet fell lightly upon the thick carpet of moldering leaves and the soft black remains of apples.
The orchards had been my domain as a boy, and they still held for me a sense of magic somehow remaining despite the years of being grown, of being hurt, and seeing the world through the lenses of grief. I breathed in the familiar scent and some of the melancholy left me. When I reached the pinnacle of the highest hill, I turned and took in the vista before me. Willowfield’s expanse was vast, but no match for the natural world around it, the gardens stretching to forests, which would tumble into oceans. The view from here reminded me of the beauty I’d found in my life despite the trials, and the importance of the second chance I’d been given with Millie, though it wasn’t on terms I might have asked for.
Her well-being was of utmost importance, and my thoughtless behavior had wounded her. When she’d first fallen ill, I’d done everything in my power to distract her from her darkest thoughts, her most outrageous beliefs, trying to keep the monsters at bay with passionate love and aggressive assurances. And my gentleness had faded, becoming a savage desperation that had driven her further from me.
I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
On my walk back to the house, I made my way to the front to admire Clíodhna and make a mental note to have the fountain cleaned out and maintenanced before the warm weather returned and made a nesting ground for pests. I uttered an apology to the formidable goddess for the state of her pedestal. As I gazed into her stone eyes, distant and sad, the breeze delivered the sound of a woman’s laughter. Ms. Dillard despised the gardens until they greened and stayed indoors unless otherwise necessary, and Felicity laughed so rarely I didn’t even consider her.
I made my way soft-footed through the maze of the gardens, following the rise and fall of conversation until, in the near distance, I spotted the figures of Millie and Rodney standing together beneath the bare branches of the cherry blossoms. I paused, watching.
Rodney and I had never been friends, nor were we active enemies. We shared in common a love for Willowfield, our childhood home, which bound us in a mutual understanding—we didn’t involve ourselves in each other’s lives. Furthering my willingness to turn a blind eye to some of the man’s distasteful proclivities was his sister, who I suspected would walk into hell if her brother told her to do it and would inevitably depart the house as well if Rodney was dismissed.
Up to now, I’d never glimpsed Rodney speak more than a “good morning” to my wife, too busy with his work and managing the men on the grounds to flirt with the mistress of the house. He’d found some time now.
I continued my walk toward them, keeping my gaze leveled on the groundskeeper as he murmured something to Millie with the cheeky grin that enraged me. I was familiar with the look. One of a man who’d tested the boundaries of a woman’s affection and found them give.
Rodney looked up, catching my eye, and the smile faded. I suspected it was because I looked like I might murder him. I schooled my voice into the cool, disapproving tone I often used with misbehaving students.
“Rodney, a surprise to see you. I thought you were on a town run today.”
