Chapter 2
Brigid
T he last customer shuffles out, the bell above the door tinkling as they leave, and I exhale, my shoulders dropping as I reach for the broom. Before I can start sweeping, the bell chimes again.
"Brigid, my girl! Still working?"
My heart lifts at the familiar voice. Fiona bustles in, her tote bag swinging dangerously from her arm, threatening to spill its contents across the floor.
"Hey Fiona," I say. "Just have to stay a bit later today."
She waves a hand dismissively. "Nonsense. You're coming with me for coffee. Lord knows you need it after dealing with these crusty old tools all day." She winks, and I stifle a laugh.
"I don't know if I can—" I start, but Fiona's already tugging at my sleeve.
"John!" she calls out, her voice carrying through the store. "I'm stealing your niece. Hope you don't mind!"
John emerges from the back room, his face pinched. "Actually, Brigid needs to stay late tonight."
Fiona's eyes narrow behind her glasses. "Oh, I'm sure you don’t plan on keeping the poor girl later than she’s supposed to be here, John?" Her tone is light, but there's steel beneath it.
"It's okay, Fiona," I murmur. "I can stay."
But Fiona's not backing down. She fixes John with a look that could strip paint.
I watch John's face closely, seeing the conflict play out. He doesn’t want to lose face, but a battle of wills with Fiona wasn’t part of his plan for the day.
John's shoulders slump. "Fine," he mutters. "Go on, then. But be here early tomorrow, Brigid."
"Of course," I nod, then grab my bag and cardigan from the back. As Fiona shepherds me towards the door, I can't help but wonder what it would be like to have grown up with someone always in my corner like this.
As we step out onto Main Street, I smile at Fiona's presence beside me. Her purple corduroy jacket and her rainbow colored feathered scarf fluttering in the breeze guarantee she's going to stand out here. We're not known for being especially adventurous when it comes to style in this town. I've always admired how bold she is, like she expects people to stare at her and enjoys it.
"You know, Fiona, you’ve got giant balls being seen in public with me." I say it jokingly, but there’s the sharp sting of truth, and we both know it.
She snorts. "Oh, be quiet. You're the only interesting person in this shitty little town. Besides, who else would appreciate my dirty jokes?"
I laugh, feeling some of the day's stress melt away. As we walk, I see the streetlights flickering to life, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. The sky turns deep pink and orange as the sun dips below the horizon.
The bell above the door rings as we enter the coffee shop, and I'm immediately enveloped by the warmth and aroma of freshly ground beans. The place is buzzing with the after-work crowd, a cacophony of voices and the hiss of espresso machines filling the air.
Fiona saunters up to the counter, her oversized tote bag stuffed with books and papers nearly knocking several people over. “Well, hello there, handsome," she croons at the young barista, who can't be more than nineteen. His cheeks flush as red as the cherries on the cakes in the display case.
"What can I get for you today, ma'am?" He stammers.
Fiona leans in conspiratorially. "How about a little extra cream in my latte, darling? I won't tell if you don't." She winks and slides a five-dollar bill across the counter.
I can't help but smirk as I watch the poor kid's internal struggle play out on his face. "I'll have a black coffee," I interject, saving him from his dilemma.
"Oh, and two slices of Georgie's cherry cake," Fiona adds. "That woman's baking is better than... well, never mind." She cackles at the barista's widening eyes.
As we settle into a table by the window, I cradle my steaming mug, grateful for its warmth against my perpetually cold hands. Fiona's eyes lock onto mine, her expression softening. "How are you doing, girl? Really?"
I shrug, my go-to response. "Surviving."
Fiona's brow furrows, but before she can press further, she grins mischievously. "Well, speaking of doing, did you hear about the nun who went to her gynecologist?"
I groan, knowing what's coming. "Fiona, please—"
But she's already launched into the punchline, her voice carrying across the café. A couple at the next table glances over, shock etched on their faces. Fiona meets their stares head-on, raising an eyebrow as if daring them to comment.
I sink lower in my seat, torn between mortification and grudging admiration for Fiona's complete disregard for social norms.
Fiona and I are an unlikely pair but we’ve been fast friends since the day we met. I’d gone to the library for a quiet place to sit and read, having spent the weekend alone in my cottage. I didn’t have friends, so just being around people, hearing other people have conversations and laughing, was better than one more minute shut away with nothing but my loneliness. Fiona had appeared at my elbow, startling me so badly I'd nearly dropped my e-reader.
"If you're looking for good smut," she'd whispered conspiratorially, "try 'Taken by the Alien Alpha Pack.' It'll curl those toes!"
We’d bonded over our shared love of smutty romance novels.
"Mmm," Fiona moans, pulling me back to the present. "This cake really is better than sex, I swear."
My phone buzzes. Donal's name flashes on the screen, and I feel a familiar twist in my gut. I ignore it, sliding the phone face-down on the table.
Seconds later, it buzzes again. Unable to resist, I glance at the message:
‘Can you send me $50? I'll pay you back next week, promise’
I stare at the words, a hollowness spreading through my chest. Why am I still with him? Loneliness, I realize, is a dangerous thing. It can make you cling to the smallest scrap of nothing, convincing yourself it's something.
But, sometimes not enough is worse than nothing at all. I delete Donal's message without replying.
Fiona catches my eye, her gaze sharp despite the laughter lines crinkling at the corners. "That your man?"
I shake my head. "Not anymore."
My mind drifts to the few times Donal and I had sex—fumbling, awkward encounters that left me feeling more alone than before. I glance at my half-eaten slice of cherry cake and can't help but agree—it is better than sex. At least, better than any sex I've had.
Fiona slaps her hand down on the table. "And get yourself one of those little pink rabbity thingies, girl!" She waves an imaginary vibrator in the air, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Bzzzz!"
I feel my cheeks burn, glancing around to see if anyone's staring. But Fiona's cackling laughter is infectious, and I find myself laughing despite my embarrassment.
"Fiona!" I say, trying to keep my voice down.
She winks at me. "Oh, honey, at my age, you stop caring what people think. You've got to live a little!"
I try to stifle my laughter, but it's a losing battle. Fiona is like a breath of fresh air in this town. As I look around, I see the couple at the next table. The woman's face is pinched with disapproval, while her husband studiously avoids eye contact.
They stand abruptly, chairs scraping against the floor. As they pass our table, the woman mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "figures." I feel a familiar tightness in my chest, the old instinct to shrink away, to become invisible.
But Fiona's still grinning, completely unfazed. "Don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya, dears!" She calls after them cheerfully.
I shake my head, wondering how she hasn’t been fired from the library yet.
Fiona leans in, her eyes serious for a moment. "Life's too short to care what small-minded people think, Brigid. You've got to be who you are.”
I nod, but I'm not sure I can ever be that brave. In a town that's always viewed me as an outsider, as something to be feared, Fiona's attitude seems as unattainable as flight.
"Maybe someday," I murmur, more to myself than to her. Ready to change the subject before Fiona can scandalize the remaining patrons, I ask, "So, any interesting gossip from the library lately?"
Fiona's eyes light up, and she leans in conspiratorially. The scent of her perfume, spicy and sweet, mingles with the coffee aroma as she whispers, "Well, you know old Mrs. Hearn?"
I nod, picturing the prim and proper octogenarian who comes into the store for gardening supplies quite often.
"Turns out she's been sneaking out those dark romances under her coat," Fiona continues, her voice laden with glee. "I caught her trying to make off with one earlier today. Tucked right down the front of her blouse, it was!"
My eyebrows shoot up. "Mrs. Hearn? Really?" I can't quite reconcile the image of the stern-faced woman with the idea of her smuggling books about sexy stalkers.
Fiona nods vigorously, her dangly amethyst earrings jangling. "Oh yes! And not just any romances. We're talking the really good stuff—spanking, breeding kink, the whole shebang!”
"I guess you really can't judge a book by its cover," I muse, taking a sip of my coffee. Mrs. Hearn liking breeding kink was not on my bingo card. Maybe we should form our own book club, the three of us and our questionable taste in literature. “So what did you do?”
"I gave her a stack more of my favorites to take home in a discreet bag, of course!" She cackles.
I picture Mrs. Hearn scurrying home with her illicit literary cargo.
"You're terrible," I say, shaking my head.
"Terribly helpful, you mean," Fiona retorts, taking a bite of her cherry cake.
As we continue chatting, the sky outside darkens, streetlights flickering to life along Main Street.
Fiona glances at her watch, sighing dramatically. "Well, dear, as much as I'd love to stay and talk all night, these old bones need their rest." She reaches across the table, squeezing my hand with surprising strength. "You know where to find me if you need anything."
I nod, feeling a lump in my throat. "Thanks, Fiona. For everything."
We step out into the chilly evening, the warmth of the cafe instantly replaced by a biting wind.
"Be careful walking home, Brigid.”
I nod, my hand instinctively slipping into my pocket to grip my little Swiss Army knife. "I will. Don't worry about me. Sometimes I think it would be easier if I was the thing people needed to be afraid of.”
Fiona raises an eyebrow. "Honey, I hate to break it to you, but people already are afraid of you."
I shrug. This isn’t news. But Fiona has it wrong. They’re afraid of something about me getting near them, of contaminating their perfect little lives.
"It's not a bad thing, necessarily. People fear what they don't understand. And you, my dear, are wonderfully incomprehensible."
We reach the corner where we part ways. Fiona pulls me into a tight hug, the books in her tote bag digging into my ribs.
As we separate, I watch her walk off towards her apartment. I turn towards the road that leads to my own home, the streetlights casting longer shadows.
In the distance, perched on a lamppost, I spot a familiar silhouette. A raven, its beady eyes fixed on me. Always watching.
I grip my knife tighter and start walking.