Chapter Two ~ Nathan
Seamus Murphy is dead.
Father figure. Childhood sweetheart’s dad.
Friend and ally. How is it possible that the man who played so many vital roles throughout my life is just..
.gone? We knew it was coming, but some part of me refused to believe it would actually happen.
If anyone deserved an eleventh-hour save from some higher power, it was Murph.
The man seemed invincible. Larger than life.
Full of life. Now he’s gone, and the world feels like a darker, colder place.
My gaze drifts to the electric kettle on the kitchen counter.
Steam wafts from the top, although I have no recollection of turning it on or of it boiling and shutting itself off.
I barely even remember coming into the kitchen after offering to make Mae Murphy a cup of tea.
With a shake of my head, I wash Murph’s favourite mug—one of those wraparound photo collage ones with a collection of family pictures—and toss a teabag in before adding the water.
Mae has insisted on using this mug since Murph died.
At first, I thought she was a masochist; then I realized she’s surrounded by his possessions, along with four decades of memories.
If using his mug and wearing his clothes and disappearing into his office for long stretches of time brings her even an ounce of comfort, who am I to judge? We all have our coping mechanisms.
Apparently, one of mine is spacing out, because I don’t notice my best friend Liam’s nephew until he’s standing right in front of me.
“Hey, boyo.” I wince the second the word leaves my lips. Murph often called Rex ‘boyo’. He used to call Liam and me that too when we were growing up, and still used it occasionally, despite us being in our late thirties.
A fleeting smile passes over Rex’s face before the sadness creeps back in.
The kid looks exhausted. At eight, this is the first death he’s experienced, and it’s one that’ll leave a lasting impact.
He doesn’t have any living grandparents, his dad has never been in the picture, and his mom has had her struggles over the years, which left him largely in Liam’s care, with help from me and the Murphys.
We’re the only family he knows, and he’s been Murph’s shadow since he learned to crawl.
“Do you need anything?” I ask. I want to pick him up and cuddle him the way I did when he was little, but I somehow doubt he’d take too kindly to that. Or, hell, maybe he would. I’m not ashamed to admit I could use a good cuddle right now.
Rex shakes his head. “Uncle Liam wanted me to tell you that Aunt Mae went to lie down.”
There’s yet another cup of tea that will go cold and be poured down the drain.
This has been a pattern for the last few days: make Mae a cup of tea, fix her a small plate of food from the endless supply of dishes the neighbours have brought, then watch it all go untouched.
There have been moments when I’ve had to plead with her to take a sip of water or tea so she doesn’t get dehydrated, especially since she’s been crying so much.
She can survive for a few days on the occasional bite of food, but dehydration is no joke.
She’s miserable enough without adding that to the mix.
“Thanks, buddy,” I say. He inches forward, so I hold out my arms in invitation. His small shoulders sag as he leans his head against my stomach.
“Do you think Smurph is in heaven, Uncle Nathan?”
While Liam and I referred to Seamus as Murph for most of our lives, he’s been Smurph to Rex ever since it slipped out one day, and Murph cackled and said he loved it. The nickname never fails to make me smile, even now as my throat tightens and my eyes prickle.
I swallow thickly. Rex tilts his head back and looks up at me with a face that’s a tiny carbon copy of my best friend’s.
Rex may be Liam’s biological nephew, but I’ve had the honour of being in his life since the day he was born.
I love the kid as if he were my own, just like Liam does.
So while his question is a seemingly simple one, I feel like there are infinite ways to fuck up the answer.
I clear my throat and squat down so I’m eye to eye with Rex.
How do I answer this question when I don’t even know what I believe in myself?
More importantly, how would Murph want me to answer?
Years ago, he told me what it was like growing up in a devoutly Catholic family, and how he threw off the chains of the more oppressive side of religion when he left Ireland as a teen to see the world.
Religion and spirituality were underlying themes in many of the novels he wrote, and he expressed to me once that it was through his writing that he formed a connection with his own spiritual side.
All I know is that energy can’t be created or destroyed.
If we’re all made of energy, that essence of us has to go somewhere, right?
Whether it lingers or goes elsewhere isn’t something I’ve given much thought before now.
But…if there is a heaven in the way we’re led to imagine it, I have to believe Seamus Murphy is there, likely drinking Guinness and having ‘a bit of craic’ with the angels.
I grip Rex’s shoulders and give him an answer I hope is enough: “I’d like to think so, buddy.”
His earnest nod tells me he’s satisfied with my response. “Me too. I like picturing him up there watching over all of us.”
Tears swim in his eyes. Knowing my own tear ducts are likely to turn sympathetic at the sight, I draw him in for a hug. The sound of his sniffles, paired with the way his chest hitches, makes my already-broken heart feel like it’s shattering into a million more pieces.
Dealing with my own pain is one thing, but seeing the people I love more than anything suffer is so much worse. The next few days and weeks are going to be hell for countless reasons. I’ll have to do my best to lock away my own pain, at least for a while, so I can be strong for my people.
Movement draws my attention toward the hall.
Liam stands in the kitchen doorway, hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans.
His eyebrows lift in silent question. I squeeze Rex before releasing him and straightening to my full height.
Rex dashes toward Liam when he spots him, and Liam picks him up and holds him close the way I wanted to a few minutes ago.
I slump into a chair at the kitchen table and take a sip of my now-cold coffee. Liam sits across from me with Rex curled up against his chest, his eyelids heavy. None of us has gotten much sleep these last few days.
“What are you working on?” Liam asks, inclining his chin toward the notepad in front of me.
“A list of things that need to be done at some point.” I scrub a hand over my face, surprised to find more scruff than usual.
When was the last time I shaved? Or showered?
“Mae said Murph had…everything planned.” My gaze darts to Rex and back to Liam, who nods in understanding.
“But there’s stuff we can do. Or I can do. ”
“We,” Liam says automatically. As a natural caretaker, I’m sure he wants to feel useful, just like I do. “What have you got so far?”
“Remove the ramp from the front of the house.” Liam and I built the ramp in January when it became harder for Murph to navigate the stairs. He went from occasionally using a walking stick—he insisted we call it that and not a cane—to needing a walker and sometimes even a wheelchair.
“Let’s wait until after the wake,” Liam suggests. “Most of Honeywell will likely come out for it, and there are people who’d appreciate the ramp.”
“True.” I pick up my pen and tap it against the paper. “The only other thing I’ve come up with so far is to remove the chairlift in the stairwell. My mind went blank after that. Once the fog has lifted for Mae, we can ask her what we can do to help.”
“And in the meantime, we’ll keep doing what we’ve been doing the last few months,” Liam says. “All the behind-the-scenes stuff so Mae doesn’t have to think about any of it.”
Liam and I are co-owners of Honeywell Handymen, which does construction work, maintenance, and odd jobs around town.
When we started picking up some of the slack around here last summer—cutting the grass, tending the garden, stuff like that—Murph hired us on a contract basis.
Liam and I attempted to put him off, reminding him that he and Mae were family and we were happy to help, but he insisted we be paid for our time and labour.
Anyone who knew Seamus Murphy well knew there was no arguing with him.
“How can I help?” Rex asks in a small voice. He’s been so still the last few minutes, I assumed he’d fallen asleep.
Liam and I exchange a look. We’ve already promised Rex that simply having him here is all any of us needs right now.
Mae asked if Liam and Rex would stay with her for a few days so she’s not alone in the house, and they were happy to oblige.
I live down the street, so it’s easy for me to come and go, although I’ve ended up crashing on the couch every night anyway.
“Do you want to help me take inventory of all the food people keep bringing?” I ask. “That way nothing will go to waste.” It’s a crappy task, but I understand his desire to do something, and it’s all I can think of at the moment.
Surprisingly, he perks up at my suggestion. Liam shrugs at me as Rex hops off his lap and heads for the fridge. I follow, notebook and pen in hand.
We’ve only been at it for a few minutes when Mae appears in the doorway. The pillow creases on her right cheek tell me she did actually lie down, but if her bloodshot eyes and pale skin are any indication, I’m guessing she didn’t sleep.
“I forgot to tell you boys that Fiona’s flight gets in today around two,” Mae says in a hollow, rusty voice, her gaze trained out the kitchen window instead of on any of us.
I turn away under the pretense of writing something down.
Whatever Rex just told me was lost to the buzzing that started in my ears at the mention of the Murphys’ daughter.
Thankfully, Liam acknowledges what Mae said.
When she doesn’t respond, I glance in her direction to find her watching me with an expectant expression.
I stare back, frozen in place, my mouth clamped shut. I’m an asshole. An absolute asshole. I can’t do it, though. I can’t be alone in my truck for hours with the woman I once loved more than anything, especially after what happened last Christmas when I picked her up from the airport…
One of those snowstorms they refer to as ‘snowmageddon’. Road closures. A cheap motel with only one vacancy: a room with a queen-sized bed. A lot of cheap alcohol, some unexpected reminiscing that led to even more unexpected kissing, and then—
“I’ll go get her,” Liam says.
His words break the staring contest between Mae and me. As she looks away, I notice her eyes are glazed over. I think she was looking through me rather than at me, which tells me the so-called staring contest was more a product of my guilty conscience than anything.
“Can I go with you?” Rex asks.
“Of course,” Liam says. He stands and guides Mae into the seat he just vacated. She clings to his hand as she lowers herself into the chair.
“Thank you, honey. Fiona will be so glad to see two familiar faces when she lands.” She presses Liam’s hand to her cheek and then kisses his knuckles.
Guilt swells inside me. Murph and I had countless discussions about my feelings toward Fiona, and the hurt I could never seem to shake after things ended between us.
I’d managed to move past it for the most part until Murph was diagnosed with cancer last year.
I’m aware he essentially ordered Fiona to keep working and travelling, and assured her he was being well looked after, but still.
I can’t help the resentment that gnaws at my gut when I think of how she wasn’t here for Mae, Murph, Liam, and Rex.
I staunchly ignore the voice that whispers ‘and me’.
I meet Liam’s eyes, and he nods in understanding. He and I have been here through everything, and we’ll continue to be here long after Fiona is on a plane back to London, flying out of my life once more.