Page 25 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
Her mother had always loved Angie the best, saying she took after her with all the caretaking and art therapy. Had her mother told Ollie to remindherto do anything? Stop being depressed? Her mom had mentioned she and her dad were worried about her depression. Why didn’t they understand? Her husband had died. Of course she was depressed.
“Angie doesn’t need you to be her cheerleader.”
“Grandma thinks she does.” Ollie sniffed. “Why does it smell in here?”
“Cousin Bets and Liam told us it was what the Irish call ‘the damp.’” They’d also said that was why the furniture was about a foot away from the wall. That worried her some, truth be told.
“I still don’t know what that means,” Ollie said, pulling on a pair of jeans.
“Well, it rains so much here that things stay very wet. That’s why the houses are concrete and stone, I think. Now, go and put your pj’s away. Then we’ll find you some breakfast.” Angie wasn’t here, so she was going to have to do it. She wondered if that was why her sister had started painting so early. But Ollie was right. Angiedidneed to paint. Only Megan thought her sister teaching was more certain. Angie was good at that. She would have to try and find a way to do her part, even as her stomach flipped at the thought.
She knew Cousin Bets had only wanted Angie to come, and she didn’t want to get uninvited, because her only other option was to move in with her parents.
She couldn’t bear that—for herself or her son. With her mother still working full-time, they’d be home with her father all the time. Her dad would be hard on Ollie, but he’d be harder on her. He always had been.
You’re scared of your own shadow, girl.
You need to toughen up.
Everyone needs to stop babying you.
Growing up, her mom and Angie had buffered her. When her mom was working, Angie had made her feel special with brownie and cupcake making after school. But those days were long gone. Even though Angie had cooked and made her eat since Tyson had died, it hadn’t been the same.
Duty tasted different.
“You’regoing to make us breakfast?” her son asked, digging his feet into his shoes.
He sounded so surprised, her throat caught. Had she become that bad of a mother?
“I used to make it, remember?”
“Not for a long time.” He ran past her to the kitchen. “I want to go see Aunt Angie.”
Of course he did. She wondered how the painting was going. Her sister’s agreement to do a village gallery show had shocked her out of her glassy complacency. Angie hadn’t finished a single painting she was proud of since the third year of her marriage to Randall. While she admired Angie’s overenthusiasm, she didn’t want to see her sister crash and burn. Two months was a tight timetable.
“Mom! I can see her from the back door. Look! There’s a whole bunch of sheep running like crazy in front of Aunt Angie. I want to go see.”
He grabbed the latch and was out the back door before she could say anything. From the window, she watched him run through the grass. When he reached Angie, she turned and smiled, setting aside her palette to hug him. Angie and Ollie had always been close, but their bond had grown stronger since Tyson died. Probably due to Angie taking care of him when she was lying around.
A loud motor caught her attention, and then it stopped. A knock sounded on the front door a moment later, and Megan crossed to open it. She was surprised to see it was Liam. His matte black motorcycle was parked on the drive, which explained the black boots, faded jeans, and light navy jacket.
“Good morning! I brought the bike for Ollie since I was on my way out. And a helmet. I can bring down some bikes for you and Angie if you want later. Mom was still in bed, but she should be up soon if you want to tour the studio. Did you sleep well?”
“I was out cold,” she said, glad she hadn’t been kept awake by the squeaky springs in the mattress. “No idea about Angie. But she’s been painting, so I expect she was up early.”
“Yes, I saw her set up from the bend in the road at the top of the hill.” He leaned the blue bike against the house and handed her the helmet. “You know, I got to thinking. Kade Donovan, Nicola and Killian’s son, does pony therapy for kids going through rough patches. I thought Ollie might like to go riding. There’s no one kinder than Kade, and it might even be fun. I can talk to him if you’d like. I’m doing some painting over at their farm right now.”
“I… Isn’t that normally for kids with special needs?”
Liam shook his head. “Not to Kade. He works with anyone who needs some healing. Even horses, especially ones that get hurt on the racetrack. He’s a natural. People from all over come to see him.”
“Ollie has never ridden a horse.” Wasn’t it dangerous? He could fall and get hurt, couldn’t he? Die even. She started shaking her head.
“Not a requirement,” Liam said with a careless wave of his hand. “Ollie looks like a smart, curious boy. I bet he’s a fast learner. Besides, Kade has only the gentlest ponies around, and he is always there alongside the children. No one has ever gotten hurt. Trust me, Megan.”
His earnestness touched something in her, his bright green eyes seeming to look into her soul. “Let me think about it.”
“As you like.” He paused, then added, “You know, when my dad died, I found it helped to do things that got me moving. It’s easy to get stuck in grief. It’s like a bog that way. I’ll have to show you a proper Irish bog so you’ll know my meaning. I was twenty when I lost my dad, and it was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through or hope to go through. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be so young. Anyway, you think on it. I’ll be going now.”
