Chapter Eighteen
Alannah
The lane winds down toward the shore, narrow and uneven, with puddles filling the ruts after last night’s rain.
I step straight into one with a splash, water sloshing around Aunt Maeve’s boots.
They’re a bit big on me. I’ve been here three months now, and I know I’ll have to bite the bullet soon and go into town for a pair of my own.
I watch my feet as I walk, trying to take wider steps to miss the worst of the puddles. I nearly go down on my arse anyway, wobbling like a newborn foal, and give up on the idea of grace altogether. At least the boots keep my feet dry.
The air smells of damp earth, the tang of salt growing stronger the closer I get to the water. Gulls call up ahead, and I can hear the waves now as they break against the shore.
Autumn has settled in. I can feel it in the way the wind finds the gaps at my wrists and sneaks right up my sleeves.
It’s only going to get colder from here.
I’ve made it this far on borrowed things and whatever I packed from Boston, but I can’t pretend my suitcase will keep seeing me through the season.
The weather will turn soon, and I’ll need boots that fit, a coat that’s mine, and jumpers that don’t belong to my cousin Declan or Aunt Maeve or whichever relative has taken pity on me that week.
My grandmam and my aunts have been ready to haul me into town since week one. They keep slipping it into conversation like they’re being subtle, and I keep finding reasons to put it off.
“We’ll go in Thursday and make a day of it,” Aunt Maeve said two days ago, already halfway through planning it. “Pick up what you need, grab lunch, maybe see who else is about.”
“I’ll come with you,” Grandmam chimed in from where she sat at the table, and I knew then I wasn’t wriggling out of it this time.
I don’t like the idea of spending their money. I like it even less because I know I won’t be able to avoid it forever. I have some of my own, yes, but that’s never really been the point here. Here, with my family, things have always belonged to everyone.
We all live on the same stretch of land, a loose circle of houses built to hold us, close enough that no one is ever truly on their own.
Everyone pitches in where they can. That’s just how it’s always been.
I’ve been trying to think of something I could do to help Grandda too, though I haven’t figured out what yet. Grandmam keeps telling me I have time.
I’m so caught up in my thoughts that I don’t hear anyone approaching until a whistle sounds behind me.
I startle hard enough that I nearly step straight into a puddle the size of a small lake, my foot already sliding before I can stop myself.
An arm comes around my waist and holds me there, firm and steady, keeping me upright.
My breath catches as my heart jumps, my body reacting before my brain can catch up. For one awful second, my mouth opens and I’m about to scream.
Then I look up, straight into the face of Finn Walsh.
I stare at him, my mind still a step behind what I’m seeing. Those light blue eyes are the same ones I’ve known since I was small. The rest of his face falls into place, the familiar shape of his mouth, the same blond curls.
Then I really take him in. He’s broader through the shoulders now, taller than I remember. It’s still Finn. There’s just more of him.
“Finn,” I hear myself say, the word coming out in more of a squeak, like I’m eleven again and he’s just caught me climbing the wall by the orchard.
The corner of his mouth ticks up, his familiar dimple showing in his cheek as he teases, “Slow down, Lannie, else you’ll trip on the ruts.”
I blink at him, a spark of indignation flaring. Me? I only nearly went down because of him.
And then it hits me, not just Finn standing in front of me, but Finn here. Finn in my lane, in the middle of my morning, like the last six years haven’t happened at all. I move without thinking, stepping into him and wrapping my arms around him, holding tight. “Finn,” I blurt, too loud. “It’s you.”
He goes still for half a second, like he didn’t expect it. Then his body eases, and his arms come around me in return. I feel his cheek rest against the top of my head. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “It’s me.”
We stand like that for a moment before it occurs to me that I’m still holding him, my cheek pressed to his chest. Jesus. He’s gotten tall.
I let out a small, awkward laugh and step back too quickly, nearly tripping again in the process. Finn’s hands tighten, steadying me, then fall away once he’s sure I won’t go down.
“Sorry I scared the bejaysus out of you,” he says.
“My da’s in a meeting with your grandda.
He mentioned you might be about, so I thought I’d find you here.
It was always your favourite place.” He rubs the back of his neck, like he’s suddenly unsure what to do with his hands.
“I was only trying to get your attention,” he adds.
I just stare at him, everything I want to say tripping over itself. Where have you been? Did you know I was home? Why haven’t I seen you?
I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the Walsh twins since I got back. I kept expecting to. Thought I’d run into them somewhere, or that they’d come by the house. When it didn’t happen, I started to wonder if they just didn’t want to see me.
I asked Róisín about them once. She said they’d both been busy. Finn had been brought further into his da’s work. Catríona had been helping her mam more around the house. I left it at that.
Finn shifts his weight and looks past me, down the lane toward the shore. “Mind if I join you?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say quickly. Too quickly. I clear my throat and answer more slowly this time. “I’d like that. As long as you’re not in a rush.”
He shakes his head. “My da won’t notice I’m gone for a while. He’s with your grandda. They’ll be at it for hours, the pair of them.”
That makes me smile, because it’s true. The men in my family can make a ten-minute conversation last two hours if there’s tea involved and someone willing to argue.
I start to walk on, assuming he’ll fall into step beside me, but Finn reaches out and tugs lightly at the hem of my sweater, stopping me. I turn back to him.
“You look well,” he says.
I blink at him, then glance down at myself.
Borrowed boots, one toe scuffed. Declan’s sweater—thick wool, brown, and cut for shoulders broader than mine.
My braid hangs over my shoulder, the end fraying slightly where it’s come loose.
I might have taken the don’t dress to impress part of being home a bit too seriously, apparently.
I make a soft, embarrassed sound and drop my gaze, nudging a small stone with the toe of my boot. “Erm… you too.”
A low, rough sound leaves him, like he’s holding back a laugh. “I missed you, Lannie.”
My gaze stays on the ground for a moment longer before I lift it again. “I missed you too,” I say, and it comes out softer than I expect.
We walk on together without rushing. The puddles get worse the closer we get to the shore, where the ground dips lower, but I give up trying to avoid them.
It’s probably safer just to walk through.
The low stone wall comes into view, running along the edge of the lane the way it always has.
I climb up onto it like I’ve done a thousand times before, and Finn settles beside me, close enough that our arms brush.
The sea is rough today. Waves crash against the rocks farther down the shore and creep higher up the sand before pulling back again. The wind tugs at my hair, loosening a few strands from my braid, and I tuck them behind my ear. Finn clears his throat. “I’m sorry,” he says.
I tilt my head toward him. “What for?”
He exhales, shaking his head. “That came out wrong.” He looks back out at the water, his brow pulling together as he searches for the words. Then he meets my eyes. “I’m not sorry you’re here. I just… wish it hadn’t been under circumstances like that.”
My throat tightens. “Thank you,” I say. “I’m just glad to be home.”
We sit in silence for a moment, watching the water. It’s comfortable, sitting here beside him. “I missed this,” I say, and I don’t mean only the sea.
Finn keeps his eyes on the water. “It was always your favourite place.”
I lean my head against his shoulder without thinking, and his arm comes around my shoulders, settling there. My eyes burn, and I swallow hard, refusing to cry on a stone wall like I’ve wandered into the sad verse of an old song. “How’s Catríona?” I ask, shifting the conversation to safer ground.
Finn’s mouth curves. “She’s grand. And she’s been dying to see you.”
My heart lifts. “She has?”
“Oh yeah,” he says. “She was raging she didn’t spot you sooner. Keeps asking anyone from your place what you look like now, like you might’ve come back with a different head.”
That pulls a short, genuine laugh out of me. “And neither of you came up before now,” I say, before I can stop myself.
He glances at me, then back at the water, his arm easing away from my shoulders as he scratches at the seam of his jeans with his thumb. “My da said to give you time to get your feet under you. Figured you’d have enough people in your face.”
That makes sense. And it loosens something in my chest. I’d been so sure, after not seeing them since I arrived, that they didn’t want to see me. Knowing it hadn’t been that at all leaves me lighter. “I guess it worked out,” I say. “You’re here now.”
He hums. “We’re coming for dinner tomorrow. Your grandmam invited us when she saw me at the house.” He bumps his shoulder lightly against mine. “You’ll see Catríona then, Mam too.”
“That sounds really good,” I say, smiling.
He grins. “Good. Because Catríona’s already impatient.”
We stand and start back up the lane together. This time, when I slip, Finn just catches my elbow and steadies me without comment.
Halfway back, he nods at my boots. “Those Maeve’s?”
“Yes,” I say, instantly defensive. “Don’t start.”
He doesn’t tease me. He just says, matter-of-fact, “You should get your own, though.”
I sigh. “I know.”
“Catríona’s been wanting to go into town,” he says. “She needs a new coat.”
I glance at him. “You think she’d want to go with me?”
Finn gives me a look. “Lannie. I think if you asked her, she’d have you out the door before you knew what hit you.”
That makes me grin. “And if I don’t ask?”
Finn shrugs. “Then I’ll tell her you’re still borrowing Maeve’s boots, and she’ll show up at your door out of spite.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Fine,” I say. “Tell her to call for me. Or we can talk tomorrow at dinner.”
“I’ll tell her,” he says. “She’ll be pleased.”
We reach the house, my grandmam’s humming drifting out through the open kitchen window. Finn pauses at the step, his hand resting on the latch. He looks back at me. “I’m really glad you’re home, Lannie,” he says.
I meet his gaze, warmth blooming in my chest, and give a small smile. “I am too.” Then he opens the door, and we go inside.
The house is warm and busy, voices overlapping from the next room.
My grandmam sits at the table with a bowl of potatoes in her lap, knife flashing as she works.
“Sorry I took longer than I meant to,” I say, already moving toward her.
She smiles and rises, setting the bowl of potatoes and her knife on the table.
I step in and kiss her cheek before she turns back to the stove.
I take her seat and set the bowl of potatoes on my lap, then pick up the knife, still warm from her hand. Peel. Turn. Peel again. The motion settles into my hands the way it always has.
My thoughts drift back to the stone wall by the shore.
Finn’s voice. His laugh. The easy quiet between us.
My family has been good to me since I came home.
They’ve been loving but also careful, like they’re afraid of saying the wrong thing.
With Finn, nothing needed minding. The time I spent with him had felt normal.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed that until now.
My grandmam hums softly as she shaves cabbage at the counter, then glances over her shoulder at me. “That smile suits you, Alannah girl,” she says, and turns back to her work.
I duck my head, but the smile only grows. “It feels right,” I murmur, more to myself than anyone else. My knife keeps moving. Peel. Turn. Peel again. Yeah… I think once more. It does.