Chapter Thirty-Six
Alannah
Everything has only gotten worse since that day outside the church. I thought maybe, with enough time, things would go back to how they were. But it feels as if my one act of rebellion, or ungratefulness, as I heard Grandda call it a few days ago, has ruined everything. And maybe it has.
It isn’t only him and Grandmam anymore.
I barely see my aunts or uncles now outside of Sunday Mass, which is also the only time I see Catríona and Róisín.
I’m no longer invited to Finn’s house for meals, but that hardly matters when he seems to eat most of them here.
Those are the only meals where my grandparents can bring themselves to sit with me and talk as though nothing is wrong.
This morning was no different. I came downstairs to work on some of Grandda’s ledgers while Grandmam was clearing up after making tarts, but almost as soon as I sat down at the table, she said she had a headache and went upstairs to rest.
Now I’m sitting at the table with the ledger open in front of me, listening for the postman, who should be here any minute. I keep hoping my parents will write again, and after everything that happened with their letters, I don’t trust anyone in this house to get to the post before I do.
When the gate clicks outside, I’m on my feet and opening the door before Mr. McCarthy has the chance to put the post in the box. “Good morning, Mr. McCarthy,” I call.
He turns to me with a smile. “Morning, Alannah.” He holds the stack of letters out to me. “I thought I saw one here for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Have a good day now.”
I’m back inside before he’s fully through the gate, shutting the door behind me and sorting through the post until I find the envelope with my name on it.
It’s from Ronin, and my mouth curves at the sight of his name.
I set the rest of the letters on the table, put Grandda’s ledgers away, and hurry up to my room.
I close the door behind me and sink to the floor beside the dresser, my back against the bed.
The letter rests in my lap as I run my finger over my name in Ronin’s messy scrawl.
He hasn’t written in weeks, and I’d started to think he might finally be done with me.
But now that he has, I’m almost afraid to open it.
Finally, I slip my finger under the flap.
Alannah,
I wanted you to hear this from me. I’m selling the house.
I tried to stay in it. I wanted to. I kept telling myself that if I unpacked your things and put them where you would have wanted them, it might start to feel right.
I sat in the front room looking out at the water and tried to picture you there with me.
I tried to make it into the home we chose together.
But it isn’t that. It can’t be now, not after what I did. I think I’ve known that for a while, and I kept fighting it anyway, kept hanging onto it like I could still make something out of what I’d already broken. I can’t.
I needed to tell you myself because I know how much you loved it when we picked it out. I know what it was meant to be. For months I tried to live there like I hadn’t already ruined that. I can’t do it anymore. That house belongs to the life we meant to have, and it isn’t that now. That’s on me.
I’ll have your things sent wherever you want them, if you want them. If not, I’ll see they’re boxed up and kept safe until you decide.
I hope you’re well. I hope you’re happy.
I love you.
Ronin
By the time I reach the end, tears are trailing down my cheeks. I quickly wipe them away with my sleeve, then read Ronin’s words again, more slowly this time. When I finish, I start over.
He’s selling the house. Our house.
And he wanted me to hear it from him.
I let the letter fall into my lap and rest my head back against the bed, rubbing my hands over my face. He’s selling our house. The one we picked out together. The one where I’d thought we’d raise a family. A few more tears escape, and I wipe at them, only for more to follow.
“Alannah?” I jump at the sound of Grandmam’s voice from downstairs, my hands dropping from my face.
“Coming,” I call back, my voice rough. I wipe at my cheeks, then hurriedly open the bottom drawer beside me and set Ronin’s letter on top of the others.
“Don’t take too long,” Grandmam says. “Finn’s here.”
“Of course Finn’s here,” I mutter, wiping once more beneath my eyes before getting to my feet and making my way to the kitchen.
When I step inside, everyone is already seated and helping themselves, so I take the only chair left beside Finn.
I look over the dishes spread across the table, and I know I shouldn’t be surprised, not after the way things have been lately.
But Grandmam didn’t call me down to help again, and it still hurts.
I pick at the food on my plate, listening as everyone talks around me. Finn is the only one really trying to include me. Then Grandda looks at me, but speaks to Finn. “I spoke to your da this morning,” he says. “He mentioned Conall stopped by yesterday with Mary.”
Finn stiffens beside me, and I turn toward him, not sure why he’s reacting like that. Then he looks at me with a small, almost apologetic smile. “You might remember her from school,” he says. “Mary McCabe.”
I try to place the name, but it’s been years since I went to school here, and it’s not ringing any bells. “I don’t think I do.”
Finn gives a small shrug. “Her da works for mine. He was calling by to speak to Da, and she came along. It was nothing.”
“Right,” I say, lowering my eyes to my plate again, thinking that was the end of it.
“Mary’s a fine girl,” Grandda says to Finn. “Conall’s raised her well. Did the two of you get on?”
I look between them, certain now that I’m missing something.
Then Catríona’s complaints come back to me—all the times she talked about her father’s men bringing their daughters round the house in hopes of making a match with Finn.
This isn’t the first time one of my grandparents has mentioned something like this to him over supper.
One of Eamon’s men stopping by. A daughter coming along.
A different girl’s name each time, brought up while I’m sitting right beside him, with Finn explaining it away.
My fork slips from my fingers and clatters against my plate as it all comes together.
They’re trying to make sure I know Finn has other options.
I look at him, and his face has gone pale.
His mouth opens, but before he can tell me it was nothing again, I pick up my fork and go back to pushing food around my plate.
“That’s nice,” I murmur to no one in particular.
When supper is over, Finn excuses himself, saying he needs to pick up a few things from the shops for his mam before heading home.
He kisses my cheek before he leaves, and I force myself to smile as though what I’ve just realized doesn’t make me feel sick.
Once the door closes behind him, I follow Grandmam and Grandda into the sitting room instead of slipping upstairs the way I want to.
They sit in their usual places, Grandda in his chair and Grandmam on the settee, and for a moment I only stand there looking at them.
These are the two people I came to when I had nowhere else to go.
The two people I trusted when I didn’t know how to trust anyone.
And now I can’t look at them without wondering what else they’ve done because they believed they knew better than I did.
“Are you ever going to act like I’m your granddaughter again?” I blurt out.
Grandda’s head lifts. “Pardon me?”
“I don’t think I’ve done anything so awful that it warrants my own grandparents treating me the way you two have for the past month,” I say. My voice shakes, but I don’t stop. “What do you want from me? What do I need to do before you’ll start talking to me again?”
Grandmam picks up her knitting needles and starts clicking away at the blanket she’s been working on.
Grandda turns his head to look out the window.
Neither of them says anything, and something inside me snaps.
My voice rises, and I hear it. I hate that I hear it.
This isn’t me. I don’t do this. But I can’t seem to stop now.
“And then tonight, at the table, I realized what you were doing.” I look from Grandda to Grandmam.
“Mentioning that girl’s name to Finn. Mary.
It wasn’t the first time, was it? One of Eamon’s men.
One of their daughters. Another girl coming by the house.
And Catríona told me herself that Mr. Walsh’s men bring their daughters around hoping to make a match with Finn.
And the only conclusion I’m left with is that you meant to hurt me.
You wanted me to hear those names. You wanted me to know Finn had other options, so what?
I’d get jealous? I’d panic? I’d stop asking for time and give you the answer you wanted? ”
When I finally run out of words, I stand there panting like I’ve run for miles, waiting for one of them to say something. But Grandmam only turns to Grandda, and the look that passes between them makes my heart sink.
Grandda lets out a sigh. “Alannah—”
“That’s another thing,” I say, quieter now. “When you do speak to me, I’m Alannah. Not pet. Not Alannah girl. Just Alannah.”
“Enough.” Grandda’s voice booms through the room, and I press my lips together before anything else can come out.
He shifts in his chair and looks at me straight on. “I don’t know what you want us to say. Things are done a certain way here. You know that. This was true before you ever came home, and it’ll be true long after the rest of us are gone.”
He goes on. “When you came back to us, we were glad to have you. We took you in. We stood by you. We tried to help you find your feet again after everything that happened.” His jaw tightens. “And now it seems every choice we make is taken as proof that we’ve turned against you.”
I start to speak, but he lifts a hand, and the words die on my tongue.