Page 112 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
“Forget about those numbskulls.” Bets waved a hand, her gold bracelets clacking. “We deal with one problem at a time. The first agenda item is putting pressure on the county manager, who appoints the city council—”
“He won’t get involved,” Donal said, appearing in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt. Liam told me you were down here. Hello, Angie. How are you feeling?”
She’d lost a job she loved—again—and the love of her life. “Wretched.”
“That’s about right then.” Donal rubbed his brows. “Davey was our last hope, Bets. I made the rounds with my fellow council members, and they’ve all dug in. Me resigning hasn’t helped, nor have the calls they’ve gotten from people in the village—”
“The Lucky Charms and their husbands as well as some of our students,” Bets said, her mouth tight. “We shared the news with them, of course. They’re all horrified.”
“Well, the council members didn’t take kindly to being called stupid or ridiculous.” Donal lifted a massive shoulder. “Irishmen hate being called that.”
“So they’re being stubborn.” Bets threw up her hands. “How typical. Oh, this is awful.”
Angie’s head pounded with her heart. “I’m sorry, Bets. I know how much this meant to you. People don’t value art anymore. Maybe they never did. I’m tired of trying to fight it, and politics only makes everything worse. I’m just going to head back to the States and paint there. At least I have that to fall back on once my head heals.”
Her heart was another matter. Carrick had visited her yesterday—briefly—bringing wildflowers, not roses for love. She hadn’t expected it after the moment of understanding that had passed between them at the hospital. His gray gaze and coloring had been tough to look at, and she’d almost asked him to say it out loud—that they were done—but it would have been cruel to them both.
Talking about breaking up wasn’t always the best way, especially when it was so clearly over, so she hadn’t broached the subject. What would come of being direct this time? Of having him tell her the accident had traumatized him all over again, and he couldn’t bring himself to love her and go on? Why would she want to hear that or make him utter such terrible words?
“But Ollie is so happy here,” Megan said, her hands fisted in her lap. “And I…”
They waited for her sister to finish her sentence, but she only looked out the window.
“You can stay with Ollie until your visa is up, Megan,” Bets said. “Angie, I understand why you want to leave. Is there no hope with Carrick?”
Her throat closed, and it took her a moment to respond. “No, it doesn’t seem so.”
His visit had proved that. He’d been all but paying his respects, and she couldn’t stay around for that. The village was too small. If he came again, she was going to have Megan tell him she was napping. She wasn’t going through the motions with him.
No breakup she’d ever had before had ever hurt this much. One would have thought a marriage ending would have been worse, but no, it hadn’t been.
“I’m sorry for you both,” Bets said. “Do you want me to try and talk to him?”
Oh, this is why she loved it here. Nicola had been right when she’d said that people heal in community—or at least that was true of the right community. She had. Now she would have to do it again. Somewhere else. Maybe life was a series of hurts and healings. She closed her eyes. God, she was tired of it.
A phoenix rose up in mind, its glorious body covered in naphthol red and cadmium orange flames. She should paint the mythical bird. Did it ever grow weary of dying and being reborn over and over again? Her fingertips burned like the flames, wanting to paint. But she couldn’t do that yet with her injured arm and damn concussion.
“I imagine his friends have probably talked to him.” She would miss them too. “If that didn’t help, nothing will.” And maybe it was better it had happened now. What if they’d gotten married and had a couple of kids and then one day she’d fallen off their kitchen island dancing, and he’d shut down like this?
“I could talk to him,” Donal said, leaning back against the wall. “Man to man. I know what it’s like to lose a wife.”
“But it’s not about that,” Angie said softly. “It’s about fear. Oh, can we cut this talk short? My head is splitting.”
Megan’s chair squeaked as she left it. “We should let her rest. The doctor said stress isn’t good for her.”
If she’d been able to laugh, she might have. Stress? What else was there?
“Angie, I know it seems hopeless,” Bets said. “But if I figure out a way to reopen the arts center, will you stay?”
Pain seared her heart like it was on fire, as if that damn phoenix were inside her chest. Now that would be a great painting. “I don’t know, Bets. Honestly.”
“I’ll teach pottery,” Megan blurted out.
Angie’s brow rose, which immediately shot pain through her temple. “Seriously?”
Her sister gulped and then nodded her head slowly. “Yes. I… It’s peaceful here, and Ollie is happy. He loves Liam and Kade and the animals so much. I would hate to take that away from him. There’s nothing for us in the States. Don’t get me wrong. I love Mom and Dad. But I could never live with them. And I don’t want to see them…for a while.”
“Well,” Bets said, pursing her lips. “I’ll be sharing around the village that we’ll be having ceramics classes once we’re back up and running. Angie, I’ll leave you. Donal, we have some brainstorming to do. I won’t give up.”
