Chapter Twenty-Two
Alannah, Age Nineteen
I wake to the sound of the front door slamming. I lie there staring up at the ceiling until I remember what day it is. Oh no. Right on cue, a racket breaks out downstairs. You’d swear a team of horses had been turned loose in the house.
“Lannnnnieeeee!” Catríona stretches the last syllable of my nickname as her heavy footsteps start thudding up the stairs.
“Catríona, will you slow down!” Róisín calls after her.
Another set of footsteps follows, lighter and quicker.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I’d hoped they might forget.
I roll over and drag the quilt up over my head, covering myself from head to toe and holding perfectly still, as though if I don’t move she might believe I’m still asleep and leave me in peace.
My bedroom door flies open without so much as a knock, and the blanket is ripped away. Cold air rushes in around me. “There she is,” Catríona announces brightly, as though she’s genuinely surprised to find me there. “The birthday girl.”
I grab blindly for the blanket and come up with nothing. Catríona already has it in both hands, holding it just out of reach like a prize she has no intention of giving back. I shove my face under my pillow instead. “Noooo,” I mumble. “Not today. Go away.”
“Absolutely not.” The mattress dips as she throws herself down beside me.
A moment later I feel sharp fingers digging into my ribs.
Catríona has the boniest fingers of anyone I know, and she uses them like weapons.
“Up,” she says, tugging the pillow off my head.
“You only turn nineteen once, Lannie. Time to get up.”
I crack one eye open. Róisín leans against the doorframe, arms folded, watching the whole thing with open amusement. “You’d swear she wanted us to forget.”
I squint up at them both. Catríona stares down at me.
Then at Róisín. Then back at me. “Did you honestly think we’d let it pass?
” I open my mouth. Close it again. Because the truth is, yes.
Eighteen sat heavy enough that I wasn’t sure I wanted to stand at the edge of it and look back.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to mark the year at all.
Better to let it pass quietly, like any other Friday.
Work on the ledgers. Help Grandmam in the kitchen.
Just an ordinary day. “I’d hoped,” I admit.
“Too bad,” Catríona says, and when I show no signs of moving, she pokes me sharply in the ribs again. “Get up, Lannie. We’re going into town.”
Róisín has already crossed the room to the wardrobe and pulled it open. She rummages through my clothes before tossing a jumper and skirt onto the bed, one brow raised. “Here.”
I look between the two of them, and it’s clear I’m not winning this fight. I grab the clothes. “Fine,” I say. “Give me ten minutes.”
The two of them are already heading for the door. “Five,” Catríona calls over her shoulder. “I’m starving.”
Sure enough, five minutes later, I’m dressed and in the back seat of Róisín’s mam’s car on the way into town.
Róisín parks in front of the café, and the three of us head inside.
We take our usual booth by the window, Catríona sliding in beside me while Róisín takes the seat across from us.
Before we’ve even got our coats off, Catríona waves the waitress over and orders for all three of us.
Róisín looks at me and rolls her eyes. I grin and shrug. She wouldn’t be Catríona otherwise.
Our tea arrives first. I wrap my hands around my cup, letting the warmth seep into my fingers. Catríona bumps her shoulder against mine. “So, nineteen. Feel any different?”
“I don’t feel any different.”
“You’ve only been nineteen a few hours,” Catríona says. “Give it time.”
I look down at my tea, turning her words over. Maybe she’s right.
I’d spent years waiting to turn eighteen.
It was supposed to be the age when everything I’d been looking forward to finally began—marrying Ronin, making a home with him, building the life we’d planned together.
Instead, it became the year I walked down the aisle toward a man I trusted completely and found out before the night was over that he’d been lying to me.
The year he broke my heart and the people who were supposed to care about me showed me that their reputations mattered more to them than I did. The year I ran.
Eighteen was never mine. But maybe... nineteen could be.
The waitress brings our food, and we keep talking as we eat. Catríona complains about the exams she has coming up at the training college, then asks how Róisín and I are getting on with the Lent preparations at the church.
We’re nearly finished eating when Róisín starts telling us about the time Declan borrowed Grandda’s car and put it through a hedge after a wasp flew in through the open window.
I hadn’t heard that one. By the time she gets to Grandda asking Declan if the wasp had been driving, Catríona is laughing so hard there are tears in her eyes.
Then she snorts, setting Róisín and me off too.
Catríona is still wiping at her eyes when she glances toward the door and lifts a hand. I follow her gaze and find Finn standing near the entrance, scanning the tables. When he spots us, he smiles and starts across the café.
“Afternoon, ladies.” Finn takes off his coat and slides into the booth beside Róisín, then leans across the table and squeezes my hand. “Happy birthday, Lannie,” he says.
My cheeks warm and I can’t help smiling. “Thank you,” I say.
Finn orders a coffee, and the four of us stay for another hour, talking long after our plates are cleared. I think of the day I’d expected to have—sitting over Grandda’s ledgers and letting my birthday pass like any other Friday. This is better. So much better.
Róisín parks outside my grandparents’ house, and we start up the path. Before we reach the door, I hear a houseful of voices inside. I slow and look from Róisín to Catríona. “Is that why you were so determined to get me out of the house?”
Catríona just grins. “Maybe.”
I shake my head and push the door open. The house is warm and loud, and it smells like chocolate. Declan spots me first. “Alannah girl!” He crosses the room with a grin and pulls me into a hug.
More voices call out as everyone realizes I’m there. “Happy birthday!” “Many happy returns!” “Alannah girl!” Chairs scrape and laughter follows as people turn to greet me.
Then my grandmam appears in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on her apron.
The moment she sees me, her whole face softens.
“Ah, there she is—my birthday girl.” She comes straight to me, cupping my cheeks in both hands before pulling me into a tight hug.
“God bless you, Alannah girl,” she murmurs into my hair.
“Nineteen already. Where did the years go?” My throat tightens.
I close my eyes and hold her a little tighter.
When I step back from Grandmam, I turn to Grandda.
He’s already watching me, beckoning me over with one hand.
“Come here, Alannah girl,” he calls. “Don’t make an old man wait all day.
” A few people laugh. Grandda has never acted like an old man a day in his life.
I make my way across the room, and he gets to his feet when I reach him.
“Happy birthday, Alannah girl,” he says, pressing a kiss to my cheek.
Beside him, Eamon Walsh gives my shoulder a warm squeeze. “Many happy returns, Alannah.”
The next few minutes pass in a blur of hugs and birthday wishes as everyone takes their turn. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Grandmam goes back to the kitchen and returns carrying a tray of chocolate cake, already cut into slices.
“Well now,” Grandda says, glass in hand. “Before this crowd eats the lot.” Laughter moves through the room as he raises it toward me. “Sláinte, Alannah girl. Long life and good health to you.”
A chorus of “Sláinte!” answers him.
“Thank you,” I say, clearing my throat so my voice carries.
Grandmam hands me a slice of cake. I spot Catríona and Róisín on the sofa and head toward them, stopping along the way for more hugs and birthday wishes from my aunts and uncles. When I reach them, Catríona moves over, and I sit between her and Róisín.
I take a bite of cake and look around. Across the room, Finn is now sitting with Grandda and Eamon.
Everyone’s talking and laughing, plates balanced on their laps and drinks in their hands.
Every person here has been there for me since I came home, even when I wasn’t ready to let them.
Now they’ve all come to celebrate my birthday.
I don’t know what I would have done without them.
The thought sends a chill through me when I realize how close I came to having to find out.
Because what if Grandda hadn’t managed to bring me home?
What if I’d had no way out of Boston? Would my parents have made me sit through the rest of the reception, then sent me upstairs to wait in that honeymoon suite for Ronin to come back?
Would they have expected me to leave with him on the trip he’d planned?
Would they have told me to be grateful he’d married me and ignore the fact that he was sleeping with other women?
The questions crowd in faster than I can push them away. The room suddenly feels too warm, the voices around me too close. I set my plate on the table. My hands are shaking.
“Excuse me,” I say, though I’m not sure anyone hears.
I make for the door, pulling on my coat and shoving my feet into my boots.
By the time I step outside, my chest is tight.
The last of the weak winter light is fading.
I draw in a breath of cold air and start down the lane without deciding where I’m going, walking until the voices and laughter from the house fade behind me.
The lane opens toward the water, and the low stone wall comes into view.
I climb onto it, draw my knees up, and look out at the sea.
The water moves in long, dark swells, catching what little light is left.
I sit there, breathing in the cold air and listening to the waves until I can take a full breath and the questions stop coming so fast.
Finn doesn’t announce himself. He climbs onto the wall beside me, close enough that our arms brush, and looks out at the water. “I thought I’d find you here.”
“Am I that predictable?” I glance at him.
“A little.” He turns toward me. “You all right? You left in a hurry.”
“It all got a bit much. I just needed a minute.” I turn back to the sea. Now that I’m calmer, I don’t want to start thinking about the what-ifs again. Thankfully, he doesn’t press. We sit quietly for a while, watching the water.
Finn shifts beside me. “I nearly forgot. I have something for you.” He reaches into his coat pocket, pulls out a small box, and holds it out to me.
“Thank you,” I murmur as I accept the gift. Inside, nestled against a fold of dark velvet, is a fine silver bracelet. I lift it from the box and turn it in my fingers, finding words engraved in delicate cursive along the inside of the band.
Mo Shaileach. My willow.
It’s beautiful. I run my thumb lightly over the words, then look at him, unsure what to say. Finn takes the bracelet from me. I hold out my wrist without being asked, and he carefully fastens the clasp, his fingers warm against my skin in the cold. When he lets go, I look down at it.
“I know everyone’s always saying you look like one of the fae,” he says quietly. “But a fae might fly away. A willow stays.” He pauses. “I bought the silver to keep you rooted, Alannah. To keep you here. With me.”
I lift my eyes to his. He isn’t teasing. He means every word. My eyes fill. My willow. His words settle somewhere deep in my chest.
I’ve been called many things in my life.
Doll—something pretty to be dressed up and placed wherever someone else wanted it.
Ronin made the name sound tender, and I once believed it was meant only for me.
Now I wonder how many other girls heard him say it the same way and believed it was meant only for them.
The wee fae. The sidhe. One of the fairy folk.
Always said with wonder, but always as though I stood a little apart from everyone else.
Like I was something too delicate for the ordinary world.
Something that might slip away between one moment and the next.
Something carried from place to place by other people’s decisions.
My father’s choices. My husband’s pride.
Arrangements made around me that were never once made for me.
Something that didn’t quite belong anywhere for long.
For a long time, I believed it. Nobody had ever given me a name that meant stay.
Until now.
And I want to be that. I want to be worthy of the name he just pressed into silver and put on my wrist. I want to be the willow he sees when he looks at me—something that bends without breaking, something with roots deep enough to hold. Something strong.
But I don’t feel strong. I feel like a girl who didn’t hold the line—who ran when a good wife would have stayed and endured. Sometimes I wonder if people look at me and see that, if they think less of me for leaving.
A good wife stays. I know that. I was raised to know it.
But I want to stay here. That much I know. I want to be on this wall, on this land, close to the water and the hills and the people who know my name without needing anything from it. Hearing Finn call me his willow makes staying feel like something I’m allowed to choose.
I don’t know what I am right now. Not free—not the way people mean when they say it. I was married before God, and I left my husband. I carry that with me every day. I don’t know what that makes me. I only know that I am not who I was in Boston, and I am not yet who I will be.
But I am here.
I look down at the bracelet again. Mo Shaileach. A willow stays. It puts down roots. I bump my shoulder gently against his and feel him exhale beside me. “Thank you, Finn,” I say softly. “For all of it.”
He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to. We sit there together on the wall, the dark water moving below us and the stars wide overhead, until the cold finally drives us back up the lane to the warm house.
This morning, I wanted everyone to forget. Now I don’t want the day to end.
Nineteen.
Mine.