Page 11 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
I escape out the back door unspotted.
Immediately feel guilty.
Padraig’s stuck there and I’m unable to help the person I love most in the world.
three
Padraig
Graduation Day
Liam’salreadyinthepassenger seat of the truck when I climb in.
His hair’s wet from the shower, an ever-present pout decorates his face. My twin doesn’t give a shit about graduation. Case in point: his gown’s balled up in the back seat like he ironed it with a punch.
He’s doing this for me. And Stevie. Well, and for our mother, who didn’t get to see her oldest son graduate last year because of the accident. When I get settled, he lifts his chin in my direction and cranks down the window, letting the morning air cut through the truck’s familiar smell—gas, rust, and old fast food.
I start the engine. The truck gives its usual shudder like it might die today, or maybe tomorrow, or maybe never. Our house behind us is motionless. So is Stevie’s, she left with her parents over an hour ago to have breakfast with extended family prior to the ceremony.
Ma’s wearing a blue wrap dress she saves for weddings and fancy dinners. She’ll follow us with the wee lads later. When I left, she was pinning Seamus’s tie and refereeing some argument between Cillian and Brennan. Waiting on Connor who had to swing by a job site before the ceremony.
No one mentioned Da. Or if he’s coming.
Spoiler: he won’t.
Fifteen minutes later, I park in the student lot and we head for the gym.
“Still time to make a run for it,” Liam grouses as we pass through the double doors.
I elbow him in the ribs. “Shut up.”
“Could be halfway to Portland by now.” He shoves me in the other direction.
I throw my arm around his shoulder. “We did it. Ma is so proud of us.”
He shrugs. Smiles for real for half a second. Then it’s gone. Replaced by the ever-present glower.
Our classmates mill around the gymnasium entrance. When we check in, the freshman volunteer barely glances at us. “McGloughlin, Lime and McGloughlin, Pad-rag? You’re in Row M, left side, second group to be called.”
Rolling our eyes at the blatant mispronunciations, we follow the crowd into the gym to take our places. Three hundred seniors fidget with caps and cords, hug each other too tight and pretend this doesn’t all feel fake.
My attention, of course, is elsewhere. I spot her instantly.
Stevie’s across the aisle in the “H” rows, chewing gum and chattering to everyone around her. She has such a quiet confidence. One of the many things I love about her is, unlike me, she knows exactly who she is and makes no apologies.
Like a moth drawn to a flame, she catches me staring and grins. She mouths, “I love you” and blows me a kiss.
My whole body responds. Like it always does.
Stevie may be a wildfire in spirit and harbor a lot of ambition. Underneath it, she’s all heart and home. Her dream is to have a noisy kitchen and ten kids underfoot. A big, loud, messy family. Full of love.
It used to be my dream too, to have the kind of life we used to have in my family. Before the accident, our house felt whole. Sunday dinners. Music from every room. Ma humming while she cooked. Da teaching us boys how to wrestle.
The McGloughlin’s were unbreakable.
A year and a half ago, it all went to shit when Da got in a terrible car accident. It shattered our foundation and it’s hard not to be bitter.
I guess my glasses aren’t as rose-colored as Stevie’s are.
