6. Declan
6
DECLAN
“ A nd then we saw a guy playing the violin who had an orange scarf, and we put money in his jar,” Catie said as she shoved gourmet macaroni and cheese into her mouth at dinner. When my chef heard Catie was coming for the summer, she’d enthusiastically embraced the menu challenge.
Olivia smiled at Catie with real affection in her eyes as she ate. It lessened some of the guilt I felt about essentially abandoning Catie with a stranger her first day in Ireland.
Catie was still talking. “And then we went to the bookstore, and we bought a book, and Miss Olivia made a friend, and then I asked if we could go in the toy store, but Miss Olivia said not today.”
Olivia stiffened.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Did she?”
Olivia shoveled macaroni and cheese into her face, her expression overly innocent. Her terrible poker face would have been cute, if I wasn’t annoyed at her for blatantly ignoring my instructions.
“Also, there was a stuffed animal dragon at the bookshop,” Catie continued blithely.
“Maybe they’ll sell it to me,” I deadpanned, mostly to get a rise out of Olivia.
Olivia’s eyes sparked. “Not everything’s for sale.”
“Most things are,” I countered.
“When’s my mom coming?” Catie interrupted. “Is she done at the hospital yet?”
Olivia and I instantly shifted our attention back to Catie.
“What do you mean, honey?” Olivia asked.
“Mom said she had to see a doctor while I visited Uncle Declan and Grandma, and that she would come here to get me when she was done,” Catie explained. “And it only takes a day for a doctor’s visit. Unless you break your leg, then you have to go back and take the cast off.”
My heart ached. That’s why Catie seemed to be handling everything so well. She thought her mum would be here soon. “The kind of visit your mum needs takes a lot longer than one day, love. I’m afraid she won’t be here till August. But I promise, we’ll have so much fun. And you can call her every night. She loves you very much, and I’m sure she misses you, too—but she needs this time to get better.”
Catie looked back and forth between me and Olivia, her voice rising in pitch. “What do you mean? Is she really sick? Is that why she has to stay so long?”
“No, no she’s fine,” I reassured.
“Then why isn’t she here ?”
Olivia’s face gentled. She took a deep breath. “Catie, your uncle’s right. The most important things for you to remember are that your mom loves you and that she is going to be absolutely fine. The truth is?—”
“The truth is, your mum got an important work opportunity,” I cut in. “We’re all very proud of her, but it means she has to stay in the States for the next two months. But she’ll meet you here in August, just like I said.”
Catie thought this over, eyes big and uncertain.
Olivia opened her mouth, and I shot her a Don’t you dare look.
Now, I didn’t mind Olivia—and I liked how much she cared about Catie—but there had to be a line in the sand. And telling my niece about her mother’s alcoholism was right on the other side of that damned line.
Olivia closed her mouth.
Catie nodded decisively. “I want to go home, then. Mom and I can come visit you together once her job is done.”
Shit , I thought. I hadn’t anticipated that. “That’s not realistic, love. Plane flights cost money. And besides, we want to let your mum focus on her important work. I promise we’ll have fun here. We can go to the toy store?—”
“I don’t want to go to the toy store! I want to go home!” Catie’s face was flushed, and she was blinking a lot, like she was trying not to cry. “Mom says you can buy anything you want. So I want you to take me home.”
“Love, that’s not an option,” I said gently.
“You’re not listening to me!” Catie stood up so fast, she knocked her chair down. “I hate you!”
I stood. “Catie, wait?—”
But she was already running upstairs to her room.
I hesitated, listening to her angry little feet storm away from me. Every instinct I had said to go after Catie and comfort her, but I had no bloody clue what I would say. Everything I’d tried had only seemed to make it worse.
“So,” Olivia said, almost to herself, “that went well.”
“Oh, and you would have told her the truth?” I snapped. “‘Catie, your mum’s an alcoholic, and she’ll live with that disease for the rest of her life, even if the treatment she’s on now helps her figure out how to control it. Also, there’s a genetic factor, so you might be at risk too. Isn’t that grand?’”
“Obviously not like that.” Olivia stood and started clearing the table. “But yes, it’s always best to tell kids the truth. An age-appropriate version of the truth, but the truth, all the same.”
I grabbed the salad bowl and followed Olivia into the kitchen. “There is no age-appropriate version of this. Trust me.”
Olivia set the plates down on the counter and turned to face me, hands on her hips. “So it’s better for her to hate you for it?”
“I can be the bad guy, if it means shielding her from something that would crush her,” I said—and I meant it. If letting her get angry with me was the price I had to pay for shielding Catie, I’d gladly pay it twice over. “If rehab works, and Sinead gets sober, Catie never has to know.”
Something like sympathy flickered across Olivia’s face. “Declan. You have to know that’s not realistic.”
Maybe I did. But in my experience, “it’s not realistic” was the thing people said right before they gave up. And I wasn’t ready to give up.
“I’m not telling her the truth about her mum,” I said, deadly serious. “Neither are you. And that’s final.”
“But—”
I locked my eyes on hers, clenched my jaw, and thought of how best to make her understand this wasn’t up for debate.
“Cross me on this and you’re fired, Olivia.” I waited for no more than a heartbeat. “Understand?”
She pressed her lips together and took the glass salad bowl from me, setting it down on the marble counters with enough force that it cracked. Clearly, she wasn’t too happy about my ultimatum. Then again, what did she expect? At the end of the day, I was her employer. I was the one making the rules.
It took her a moment to realize what she’d done. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that…”
“It’s fine,” I said, feeling worn by the turn the night had taken. “I’ll toss it in the bin.”
But Olivia beat me to it. When she was done, she said, “Maybe you should call Sinead? It might calm Catie down to hear her mom’s voice.”
“I will,” I agreed. Then I noticed. “You’re bleeding.”
“What? Oh.” She blinked down at her left hand, surprised.
“I’ll get you a plaster,” I said. I was pretty sure there was a first-aid kit in the pantry, next to the bottled water and emergency torches.
“A what?” Olivia asked, confused.
I found the first-aid kit and squirted some antibacterial stuff on a bandage. “Give me your hand.”
“I can do it myself,” she protested.
“Sure, like you could get your suitcase into the overhead,” I said.
Olivia gave an exasperated sigh, but surrendered her hand. I carefully covered up the small spot of blood, trying not to notice how soft her skin was.
Olivia pulled her hand away from mine as soon as possible and ran her fingertips around the edge of the plaster, as if to double-check my work.
“You should go call Sinead,” Olivia said. “I’ll clean up dinner.”
I took her at her word and went to go sort out the women in my life.
“ I don’t like lying to her,” Sinead said, about a half hour later. She’d claimed that rehab was going well, and I’d decided to believe her. One of the reasons I’d picked this treatment center was because they customized their program based on the needs of the patients. In Sinead’s case, that meant letting her have daily calls with her daughter, even though their standard program didn’t allow phone calls during the first few weeks.
“Nor do I,” I said. “But I think it’s better to shield her for a bit. When something bad happens to your parent…” I didn’t have to finish that sentence. Sinead knew how rough it had been the summer our da died. I didn’t want Catie to feel even a fraction of that. I knew Sinead didn’t either.
“Fine,” Sinead agreed. “For now.”
“For now,” I agreed.
“Can I talk to my kid?”
“Sure,” I said.
I went and knocked on Catie’s bedroom door. “Catie, love? I’ve got your mum on the phone for you.”
Catie opened the door. Her eyes were red-rimmed. “She’s my mom . Not my mum .” But she took my phone and held it to her small face. She went and sat on the pink beanbag chair with her back to me.
I wanted to respect her privacy, but I also wanted to be there if she needed me, so I retreated to my office, leaving the door open. I messed about with some work stuff, but mostly I was focused on the little voice in my guestroom. I couldn’t quite make out her words from here, but I relaxed when Catie’s initial monosyllabic answers gave way to longer monologues.
A notification from Snug popped up onscreen, saying I had a message from @1000words.
I immediately clicked, grateful for the distraction.
Can I ask you a work thing? What do you do when a boss wants you to do something dumb?
Get a new job , I responded, and she sent back a laughing emoji.
I smiled, liking that I’d made her smile. Seriously though, I continued, it depends on the type of the boss. Are they the ok sort, who can listen when you explain why they’re wrong? Or are they an arrogant arse who thinks their word is gospel?
I got the symbol that meant she was typing. Then deleting. Then typing.
Finally she sent, I think maybe both? There are moments when I think he’s ok, but then he just… ARGH.
I snorted a laugh at her frustration. I’d had bosses like that.
You’re not going to like it , I wrote , but at the end of the day, your job is to protect yourself. Not him or his business interests. So if he’s telling you to do something dumb, just do it so you don’t get fired. If it blows up in his face, that’s his problem, not yours. And maybe start looking for jobs. Maybe another one in Ireland so you can stay in the area. ;)
She didn’t respond for so long, I double-checked to see if she’d logged off.
But she was still there. Maybe the winky face had been too much. There were moments where we approached flirting—there was a memorable conversation on her birthday, when she’d had too much wine, and complained about being single and asked what I’d do if I was there with her. Despite that tantalizing prompt, I’d remained a gentleman.
Mostly.
But we usually didn’t go there, so maybe she wasn’t in the mood now.
My computer pinged, and I straightened.
I know that’s good advice. But the thing is, there’s a kid’s well-being at stake.
My fingers flew. Screw the fucker. If there’s a kid at stake, follow your gut. I hesitated. Let me know if you need help.
You already have, she responded.
“Uncle Declan?” Catie called. “I’m done.”
I sent a quick goodbye to @1000words and logged off. Then I approached Catie’s room. She didn’t look as upset as she had before, so I risked sitting down on the carpet next to her.
She handed my phone back without saying anything. But she didn’t say she hated me, which I considered progress.
“Did you get enough to eat?” I asked.
She nodded.
I cast about for something else to say. My eyes fell on the bookshelves. I remembered what Olivia had said about kids needing structure and routine.
I was used to structure and routine feeling stifling. But you could have good routines too.
“Do you want me to read you a book?” I asked. “Like I do over the phone, when your mom has to work late?”
Catie nodded, tentative.
“Maybe we could do that every night,” I say. “After you finish your talk with your mum. I mean mom,” I corrected myself.
This time Catie’s nod was firmer. She picked a book about purple elephants and snuggled up against me.
For the first time all night, I relaxed.