Chapter Ten
Deirdre
He dropped his head in his hands, and his shoulders heaved. When his eyes met hers, Deirdre saw the sheen of tears. His throat bobbed, and he clenched his jaw.
“All this time. And you said nothing. Let another man raise my son.”
“You left me no choice.”
“All you had to do was ask my brother or sister where to send your letter. I know we were young, but I wouldn’t have left. We could have figured it out together.”
“I figured things out on my own because I didn’t have time to go looking for you. Our son was going to be very visible soon. And Patrick was there and a good man.”
“You have Mary Kate now too. So you weren’t pining for me as I was for you.”
The flat of her palm landed on his cheek. “How dare you, Cassius. You have no right.”
“I have every right,” he growled as he caught her hand and held it to his face.
“How many times must I say it? You abandoned me with no word of goodbye. I couldn’t very well confront your parents with my condition.”
“Perry and Archie would have helped you find me. My mother as well once she knew you were carrying her grandchild. You could have found me if you’d wanted to. But you didn’t.”
“Cass, we never belonged together. I was born in another country, the daughter of a man killed rioting for what he believed in. You’re the son of a man who owns the only bank in town. We have nothing in common. When you left without a word I was hurt, but I wasn’t surprised.”
Cass stood, his eyes blazing as he pulled her toward him. “My father said he'd send your mother packing if I insisted on marrying you.”
“And it didn’t even cross your mind to fight for us!” she spat as she stepped away.
“I couldn’t leave you and your Mam to shoulder that burden. and I couldn’t stay here and have my heart break every day seeing you,” he said as his grip on her upper arm tightened. “Deirde, I forgive you.”
She whirled around. “I don’t need or want your forgiveness, Cass. I did what I had to do because you left me with no choices.”
“Well, from where I’m standing it looks like you had someone waitin’ for you the whole time we were together.”
“That’s another thing you’re not allowed to do. Get jealous. We’re done here.”
Deirdre fought back the tears as she ran to her room.
She didn’t care if her flight was undignified, or if there were other things she needed to do before she found her rest. All she cared about was getting away from him.
So she could no longer see the way his features were twisted with pain and disbelief.
So she could forget about the fissure of longing that had nearly carved her in two when he’d finally told her the reason he’d left.
So she wouldn’t let the temptation and promise of everything they’d once shared give her false hope that they could ever have built anything but unfulfilled dreams between them.
***
It was just past dawn when she woke. The house was quiet. And cold. She braced herself for the icy floorboards and swept from the bed. She grabbed the top quilt and wrapped it around her body as she crept toward the window.
When she pulled aside the heavy drapes, all she saw was white. Everywhere. And the snow was still falling. There was a knot of dread in her stomach, and her throat was dry and swollen from all the tears she’d shed the night before.
She hadn’t lied to Cass. Patrick O’Shaughnessy had been Jamie’s father in all the ways that mattered. The only father he’d ever known. He’d loved her son as his own - had always been patient and kind. Cass left - and he’d had no right to know what he’d left behind.
She wondered if he’d left. Or if he’d be sitting at the table waiting for his breakfast when she made her way downstairs.
She wondered if he’d cried himself to sleep like her. If he’d taken it upon himself to tell Jamie the truth.
It would do her no good to dwell on it. It was best to face him. But she would be dressed when she did it.
Her dark blue blouse and gray skirt were somber enough to fit her mood.
***
He wasn’t in the kitchen. He was in the parlor. He’d stoked the hearth and he held a bottle in his hand that was three quarters empty. From her vantage point in the doorway she could make out the stamp of one of the local distilleries.
“You’re not allowed to drown whatever you’re feeling in a bottle of whiskey. You can eat breakfast, but after that, you can pack your bags. I don’t want you anywhere near my son.”
He turned bloodshot eyes in her direction. “He’s my son too.”
She glared over at him. “No he’s not. Patrick O’Shaugnessy was the only father he’s ever known, and he was there for everything.
From the time he was born until the day he learned to fish.
Patrick’s the one who taught him to stand in the middle of the stream and cast his line and be patient.
Patrick was the one who taught him to tie his shoes - with the same patience.
He would have been the one to teach him to shave, and how to properly court the girl he loved.
If he hadn’t died, you never would have known Jamie carried your blood.
You have no right to tarnish any of those memories. ”
He faced the fire again and tipped the bottle up to drain it.
“After breakfast, I’ll be gone for good.
There’s nothing for me in Willow Creek and I never should have returned.
I have one final meeting to attend in my father’s stead and then I’m leaving this town and all its broken promises in the dust.”
“Yes. Do what you do best. Run away from everything and pretend like all the hard parts of your life don’t exist. You haven’t grown up at all.”
She turned on her heel and furiously brushed away the tears.