One
1
Salem
Present Day
The black wool coat that I had tightly wrapped around my chest was more for comfort than warmth. The late January arctic breeze in Massachusetts could normally slice through my Southern-born bones. I had been told numerous times that I would acclimate to the weather up here. That had been eighteen years ago, and I had not, in fact, acclimated. But it wasn’t the promise of snow in the air that had me gripping on to the coat that was an expensive gift my mother-in-law had given me for Christmas two years ago.
If only it were.
I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs that he hadn’t wanted this. He had wanted to be cremated. He’d said being buried in the ground was a waste of good soil. If I didn’t feel so lost, I’d smile at the memory.
“Take me to a pub, Salem. Get a pint of the black stuff and sláinte to my memory.”
The corner of my mouth tugged as his words replayed so clearly in my head. His husky Irish accent, thick blond hair, the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, and his smile were things I would only have in my memory now. The ache went deep gripping tightly at my throat as the priest spoke. I couldn’t focus on anything he was saying.
As the casket was lowered to the ground, all I could do was watch it with a mix of horror and loss.
It seemed like only yesterday when I’d bumped into Eamon while walking to a coffee shop just off campus between classes, yet it was also as if we’d lived a lifetime since then as well. He was beautiful. A talented artist. Someone I could relate to. We enjoyed the same things. He made me laugh. He’d always said that he had loved me at first sight.
Standing here as the finality of all we had been through sank in, I ached to do so many things differently. Be the woman he had deserved right from the start. He had put up with so much from me.
Years later, when I had told him how much I regretted our earlier years, he had held me and whispered against my temple, “You were always my one, stór .”
Eamon had been so charming, and I’d been so broken. All my trust and faith in men had been destroyed. First by my father and his abuse, then by the boy I’d thought I’d love forever. The one who…the one who had consumed my thoughts as I lay in bed many sleepless nights, feeling guilty because he still owned a piece of my soul.
I’d give anything to get that piece back.
A lone tear rolled down my face as the casket disappeared from my view. I’d have taken his ashes to every pub in Boston and drunk the awful beer he’d loved, like he’d wanted. However, Keira Murphy wasn’t one to be argued with. What she said was law, and I’d learned years ago that when she spoke, both her husband and son listened. Eamon would have understood that. Although I had been his wife for fourteen years, I had no control over the woman standing beside me.
For as much as Eamon had loved me…his mother did not. To begin with, I wasn’t Irish or Catholic. Then, to make matters worse, in her eyes, I was Southern. Keira had believed that Eamon would marry a Boston socialite. Not some orphan girl who was at Rhode Island School of Design on a full scholarship and had come from the small town of McIntosh, Florida. I wasn’t truly an orphan, but they didn’t know that. Not even Eamon had known the truth.
I’d held many secrets from him. But he’d always known that there was someone else. That I’d been broken when he found me.
A whimper came from my left, and I glanced over to see Keira clinging to Eamon’s father, Cormac. My chest ached every time I looked at the man. All I could think was that if Eamon had been given the chance to reach his sixties, he’d have been a replica of his father…but he’d never see past thirty-nine. The sorrow was a part of me, I’d decided.
My life wasn’t meant to be a fairy tale. There was no happy ending. I’d been dealt one bad hand after another.
People began to slowly leave as others came to speak to the Murphys and me to share their condolences. Every second that ticked by, I played a part. Being the perfect daughter-in-law and responding the way that Keira would want me to. When, in reality, I wanted to tell them all to meet me at the nearest pub. Just like in life, I’d let Eamon down. By not loving him as much as he loved me. And now, by allowing his mother to give him the funeral she wanted. Not the one he had asked for.
I’m sorry I failed you. I did love you, and I will forever mourn that we didn’t grow old together, holding hands on the front porch swing, like you imagined. You’d found me when my heart was just a pile of fragmented pieces and picked up what was left, one by one. It wasn’t your fault that I was damaged, and you loved me anyway.
You were my best friend, Eamon Murphy. You loved me when I felt unlovable. How am I supposed to navigate this life without you?