Page 47 of Accidental Irish Daddy

I sniffle, pushing the sudden outburst down again.

“Go ahead and put your bags in your car while I take these flowers in the house. Then we can have some hot chocolate. Would you like that? Hmm? I’m sure Bridget would love some hot chocolate. Right?”

Bridget nods. She’s looking at me with those large, worried eyes again.

“All right,” Martha says. “I’ll be right back.”

She walks off and we watch her go for a second. Just for a fleeting second, I consider getting in the car and driving off, but then I look at Bridget. She’d hate it if we left without the promised hot chocolate.

***

We’re sitting in Martha’s kitchen. It’s small and very homey. The walls and the cabinets are painted a lovely shade of light blue with ivory-colored molding along the ceiling and floors. She’s got several rooster-themed things scattered around. A chicken picture, a butter container shaped like a fat chicken, a glass candy dish with a carving of a crowing rooster in it…

Her kitchen looks like something I would imagine in a gingerbread house. It’s distractingly quaint, though. Sitting, the hot chocolate warming my hands, I feel a little less like weeping.

Bridget finishes her hot chocolate in nearly one gulp, so Martha sends her outside to play, then sits down with me, her own cup of hot chocolate in her hands.

“Start at the beginning, love.”

I think about it, but I’m completely lost. I stammer, “I don’t know where to begin, Martha.”

“All right. Start at the end, then. What makes you think that Grant doesn’t want you there with him?”

“He said so,” I reply. “I went to ask him about my status now, you know, since Mrs. Duncan’s no longer with us. I hadn’t meant any harm. I only wanted to put it in his mind so that when he was ready…” I stop shaking my head. “I shouldn’t have walked in on him. He…he’s been in a bad way, Martha.”

“I know. He and his mother were very close. I know this hurts him more than he would like to admit. It would do him good to have you and Bridget around.”

“Yeah,” I say with a bitter laugh. “He sure doesn’t act like it. He told me that he didn’t have any use for me anymore.” The tears are starting to come again. “It feels like he’s throwing me away.”

I wipe the tears that manage to escape my eyes. Martha tilts her head and asks, “This is about more than your job, isn’t it?”

I sniffle. Here I am, blubbering at her kitchen table over losing a job that I was probably going to lose anyway once the patient died. Could I be more obvious?

“We…we slept together recently,” I confess. “It just happened. We were arguing because he found out about my second job and one thing led to another.”

I go on to tell her about my job at the club and how Bridget needs medication and how I have been trying to save up for aplace of my own, which means I need to make more money and make it quickly.

Martha doesn’t say anything as I speak, nor does she judge. She just sits and listens to me until I stop long enough to wipe my nose with the back of my hand. She gets up and gives me a tissue.

“Thank you,” I say. “I don’t know why I’m crying about him pushing me away. I mean…it’s not like he made me any promises. And he’s right. My job is done now that Mrs. Duncan is gone. But…but I’m so hurt right now, and I don’t understand why.”

“Well,” she says. “That part is easy, I think. You’ve clearly fallen for him. Why else would you shed so many tears over him?”

I sniffle and look at her. “Fallen for him? I mean…I…” I trail off. Could it be that simple?

“He’s complicated,” Martha goes on. “All rough edges when he wants to keep himself apart from everyone else. But when he lets someone in…when he starts to open up…well, let me show you.”

She stands and takes me by the hand, leading me out of the kitchen and out the back door. We stand on the back porch and look out into the garden. On her little plot of land, there is a beautiful garden of flowers of every color. Red and pink roses bushes, blooms of chrysanthemums, and lilies… It is beautiful. It’s probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Bridget runs along the paths between the flowerbeds, her laugh like music as she plays.

“Your garden is gorgeous,” I say in awe and Martha laughs.

“I wish I could take credit for it,” she says. “This is mostly Grant’s doing.”

I blink. Did I hear that right? “Mr. Duncan did all this?’

She nods. “Most of it, yes. It certainly wouldn’t be this gorgeous without his hard work. Coming out here and workingin this garden or building the rose garden in his own yard…that’s what helped him get some peace of mind when he was struggling. He’s not perfect, Aisling. Not by any stretch. But he’s a good person, deep down, and when he sets his mind to it, he has the ability to create so much beauty for those he cares deeply about.”

---