Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
T he next two days flew by in a whirlwind of dust, budgets, and decisions that felt far too adult for someone whose primary responsibility three weeks ago was not strangling her ex with a USB cord.
By the time she signed the final contract with Fergal Kenny, she was ninety percent sure she’d just committed to financial ruin with a charming accent. But at least she’d chosen the right man for the job. Darren McCarthey’s idea of “restoration” involved beige drywall and laminate countertops that screamed “sad Airbnb.” Fergal, on the other hand, respected the bones of the old place. He talked about “breathing life back into her” like the house was a sleeping giant and not a decrepit wreck held together with prayer and duct tape.
Still, seeing the final bid made her wince.
She’d officially crossed the line from “temporary guest” to “what the hell am I doing with my life?”
If she stayed, she’d need a job. If she left, she’d still be broke—but with a beautifully renovated ancestral mansion and a passive-aggressive goat who liked to eat roses and disrupt the peace.
And every time she tried to convince herself this was just temporary, something inside her whispered: But what if it’s not?
That’s when the knock came.
She groaned and headed for the door, muttering, “If this is Ronan complaining about Céilí chewing on his hydrangeas again, I swear I’m going to put a leash on that goat and walk her directly into his living room.”
But it wasn’t Ronan.
It was Bríd—Mountshannon’s guardian angel of scones and secrets. The one woman determined to make certain she was eating.
“I brought breakfast,” Bríd said with a grin, lifting a cloth-covered plate like it held the Ark of the Covenant.
“Come in before someone mistakes you for a saint,” Aisling said, stepping aside. “Tea?”
“Always.”
While the kettle boiled, Aisling set the scones on the table and pulled out two mismatched teacups. The kitchen, though shabby, was warm with sunlight and smelled faintly of hope and dust.
“Remodeling starts tomorrow,” Aisling said as they settled in. “This may be the last time this kitchen sees daylight before it’s buried in tile samples and contractor boots.”
Bríd smiled. “Who’d you pick?”
“Fergal,” Aisling said. “I liked his vision. Ronan recommended him, but I’m not sure if that makes me trust him more or less.”
Bríd let out a throaty chuckle. “Well, he wasn’t wrong. Fergal’s a good man. Darren once built an entire sunroom that collapsed in a breeze. Fergal will take care of you.”
As the tea steeped, Aisling leaned back in her chair and sighed. “I’ve been going through a trunk I found in the master bedroom. It’s like opening a time capsule. My grandmother’s journals, old photos, little mementos from a life I never knew existed.”
“And?”
“It stops when my mother leaves for college. Like the moment she walked out that door, the storytelling stopped. Nothing after that. No explanation. Just… silence.”
Bríd nodded slowly. “Your grandmother was never the same after Maeve left. She lost more than a daughter. She lost hope.”
“I read about my grandmother’s miscarriages,” Aisling said, softer now. “It broke my heart. All that loss. And then my mother… gone too.”
For a moment, they both sat quiet, steam curling between them.
“You and my mother were friends. Tell me about her from your perspective.”
Bríd’s eyes softened. “We grew up together. School, church, barefoot summers in the fields. I never thought she’d leave me. I miss your mother.”
Aisling hesitated, thinking how much she missed her as well. “Do you know who my father is?”
The question hung in the air like a dropped dish.
Bríd’s gaze flicked away. “I made your mother a promise. She never told me his name, and I never asked.”
“Nothing?”
“She only said that he was a visiting professor from America. Older than her. She fell for him fast. Hard. It was… quiet. Secretive. She said he made her feel seen.”
Was that why she went to New York? Had she gone there in pursuit of him?
“Did she love him?”
Her mother had told her she loved him, but they couldn’t be together. Why?
“Your mother was very much in love with your father. She had never shown much interest in boys before she went away to University. And even then, she studied hard and was working toward finishing, when she met your father. She would call me and tell me that he was the most interesting man she’d ever met. But because he was one of her professors, they were keeping their relationship quiet. No one could know.”
“And then?” Aisling’s voice dropped.
“Then, one day, she came home from University. Said she was moving to New York. That she was pregnant. That she just knew he would leave his wife, and they would marry. She didn’t say his name. Nothing. Noreen—well. She didn’t take it well. Especially when she learned he was already committed to someone else.”
Aisling blinked, her mind racing. “He was married.”
Bríd nodded slowly. “Your grandmother called it a sin. They fought like I’ve never seen two people fight. And then Maeve was gone.”
A sharp ache bloomed in Aisling’s chest. Her father had an affair with her mother while he was married to another woman. “She never came back.”
“No,” Bríd said. “And your grandmother… she was never the same. She lit a candle every year on your birthday. But she never forgave herself. Or your mother. Your grandmother was very religious. Very Catholic, and your mother had committed a grave sin.”
“What a waste,” Aisling said. “My grandmother and mother obviously loved each other. And yet, pride kept them apart.”
Sitting there with Bríd, Aisling suddenly understood why the two women had never spoken again. But what a shame. They loved one another, and yet their damn Irish stubborn pride had kept them from forgiving and making up.
And because of their headstrong willfulness, Aisling had never met her grandmother.
“I tried to call Maeve. To write. But I never had an address. And Noreen wouldn’t speak of her. It was like she disappeared. Oh, how I missed my friend. Still do.”
Aisling reached across the table and squeezed Bríd’s hand. “She was lucky to have you.”
Bríd’s eyes shimmered, but she smiled. “And now I have you. Full circle, eh?”
Aisling sat back, heart full and heavy. “I want to find him. My father.”
“You never saw your father?” Bríd asked, her voice filled with shock.
“No, he was never in our lives.”
Bríd’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t know what I’ll do if I find him. But I need to know. I need to see his face. Ask why. Ask… everything. Did he know he destroyed my mother’s relationship with her mother?”
“Your mother followed him to New York against Noreen’s wishes. He was an American. Do you think he stayed here or did they break up?”
Why had her mother been so secretive about all of this? Why had she never told her the truth?
“If I can find out from the University which visiting professors they had that summer…” Her voice trailed off.
“You’ll have a name,” Bríd finished.
Aisling nodded. “It’s a start.”
Bríd looked at her for a long moment. “Your grandmother wanted to meet you. She said so. Near the end, she talked about flying to New York. If her health had held out, I think she would have.”
Aisling blinked against the sting in her eyes. “She should’ve called. Written.”
“She was afraid you’d hate her. She feared that your mother made you detest her.”
“Mother never even mentioned her.”
Bríd shook her head. “The women in your family are so stubborn.”
“Well,” Aisling said with a wry smile, “I would have loved to have met her. Spend time talking to her. Learn about our family. Instead, I’m getting to know her through her journals. Though I do know I, too, am very stubborn.”
“Like your mother. Like your grandmother.”
“Must be genetic.”
Bríd laughed, a full, rich sound that filled the old kitchen like music.
“And don’t you worry about this town,” she added. “We may be Catholic and nosy, but you’re an O’Byrne. That name still carries weight. Anyone who gives you grief answers to me.”
Aisling grinned. “My mother used to call me her little love child.”
“And you were. She loved you as soon as she knew about you. I always believed that she left Ireland to be with your father, but also so that you would not be marked as an illegitimate child.”
And yet she had been her entire life.
“What if they threaten me with rosary beads and judgment?”
Bríd raised an eyebrow. “I’ll threaten them back with scones and confession.”
They both burst into laughter.
Aisling glanced toward the window. The house was quiet again, but it didn’t feel empty.
“I think,” she said softly, “I’m starting to feel like this place wants to be home.”
Bríd smiled. “It’s been waiting for you. You’re the next generation. The one I hope will make things right. You’re the bright shining beacon on the hill, who brings peace back into this home.”