Chapter Three ~ Fiona #2
I glance in the direction Rex disappeared. He’s likely climbing into the treehouse out back. I’m tempted to join him. “The distraction was actually a huge relief,” I say. “Listening to Rex’s stream of consciousness kept me from getting lost in my own head.”
Liam’s lips twitch as he nods. “That’s what I was hoping for when I brought him along. It’s hard to get too caught up in your thoughts with him around.”
“I can’t thank you enough for coming to get me,” I tell him. “I was dreading the last leg of the journey back here.”
“Of course. You know I’d do anything for you, Fi.
” He grips my shoulder and squeezes. “Remember that when things get tough in the coming days.” He pauses, and the words he doesn’t say hang in the air between us: Things will get tough.
The next few days and weeks are going to be hell for so many reasons. “I’m only ever a call or text away.”
I lay my hand over his where it rests on my shoulder.
Not for the first time, I wonder how I got so lucky to have a friend like Liam Doherty.
Even luckier, considering I broke his best friend’s heart.
Liam never chose sides, though, and I’ve never felt anything but unconditional, brotherly love from him.
Unable to meet his eyes now, I murmur a quick thank-you as I surge forward to kiss his cheek. I want to dive into his arms and have him hold me, but I’m afraid I’d fall apart like I did in the airport.
For the first time, I notice the other cars in the driveway.
A glance behind us shows more cars lining the street in front of the house.
I expected this, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
I’m grateful Mum has so many friends, but considering most of the people in this town couldn’t care less about me, I’m not exactly looking forward to facing them.
I watch as the front door opens and Mrs. Teage, a neighbour from down the street, steps onto the porch.
Mum appears behind her, and Mrs. Teage turns back to wrap her arms around her.
Mum’s arms are limp at her sides, and her eyes are closed.
Her normally immaculately-styled auburn hair droops around her shoulders.
I expected her to be in one of her good dresses, but she’s wearing one of my dad’s old Leary’s Pub sweatshirts, paired with black leggings, something I didn’t even know she owned.
This is bad.
Mum’s eyes fly open and focus directly on me, as if she senses me watching.
She frees herself from Mrs. Teage’s embrace and moves past her onto the porch, stopping at the top of the stairs.
The movement brings my attention to her bare feet.
I don’t ever remember seeing my mum go around barefoot.
She always wears socks, stockings, slippers, or shoes.
Growing up, she lovingly referred to Dad and me as hippies because we preferred to go barefoot whenever possible.
Lifting my carry-on from where I dropped it on the ground, I finally force my feet to move.
I’m vaguely aware of passing Mrs. Teage and muttering some sort of pleasantry, but my focus is on Mum.
I haven’t looked in a mirror since I left the house in London, but I’m sure her puffy, bloodshot eyes and pale skin are a mirror of my own.
I drop my carry-on the second I reach the top of the stairs, and all but collapse into Mum’s arms. She clings to me as if she’s a drowning woman and I’m a life preserver. Her tears soak the shoulder of my shirt within seconds. The lump that forms in my throat nearly chokes me.
I murmur meaningless words into her hair, smoothing my hand over her back the way she used to do to me when I was little and I was upset or scared. It always soothed me, but I think Mum is beyond soothing now. Her heart is shattered, and all the hugs and soft words in the world won’t change that.
“I’m so glad you’re home.” Her words are a ragged whisper as she tightens her hold on me.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when he died. I should have come home sooner, I should have—”
Mum releases me so suddenly I struggle to maintain my balance.
“Stop, Fiona. I can tell you that’s a dangerous game to play, the what ifs and should haves.
” She grips my shoulders, her gaze roaming over my face.
“He would have hated for you to be here feeling helpless when you could be out there doing what you love. Th-that made him happy.” Her eyes fill with tears again, and I draw her back into my arms, holding on like my life depends on it.
I close my burning eyes and wait for the tears, but they don’t come.
I wish I could say it’s because I’m trying to be strong for Mum, trying to hold it together so she can draw strength from me, but they just don’t come.
I tuck my face into her shoulder and breathe deeply.
The lump in my throat grows when I catch a whiff of Irish Spring from Dad’s sweatshirt.
He used to joke he was a walking cliché for using the soap, but something about it reminded him of home.
I always keep a mini bar of it with me in my toiletry bag.
The sound of footsteps approaching from inside the house draws my head up from Mum’s shoulder.
My heart lodges in my throat when my gaze locks on a pair of familiar blue-grey eyes.
Eyes I’ve looked into my entire life. Eyes I’ve seen express every emotion imaginable.
The surprise in them now morphs to sadness, then anger, and then. ..nothing. No emotion at all.
That blank look gives nothing away. Not the fact we share a literal lifetime of history.
Not the fact we were once the best of friends and then each other’s first loves.
I’m not surprised at the way he schools his face, and yet I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t hurt, even after all this time.
Despite it being a well-known fact I intended to leave Honeywell to travel the world, I broke Nathan Holbrook’s heart when I left.
And even after all these years, he’s never forgiven me.
“Fiona,” he says, his voice as flat as his expression.
Mum startles, releasing me and turning to face the door. “Oh, Nathan. I’m such a bad hostess.”
Nathan may have been able to shut down his emotions upon seeing me, but they switch back on as he takes one of Mum’s hands.
“No one expects you to be any type of hostess right now, Mae. We’re here for you, for whatever you need.
” His gaze slides past her to settle momentarily on me before returning to her.
When he speaks again, his voice is lower, and his eyes are full of so much love and compassion it makes my stomach clench.
“I wouldn’t have interrupted your reunion, but the funeral home is on the phone for you. ”
“Oh.” Mum looks perplexed, like she can’t imagine why the funeral home would be calling her.
I can see the second it hits her—that moment when she remembers Dad is gone.
Her shoulders slump, and her head sags as if holding it up takes too much effort.
“Thank you, honey. I’ll just...” She waves toward the door and moves past him into the house.
I reach behind me for my suitcase before remembering Liam has it.
I spin around to apologize to him, but he’s gone, and my suitcase sits on the bottom step.
Forgetting about my abandoned carry-on at my feet, I trip on it and pitch forward, letting out a squeak of fear as I imagine tumbling down the stairs head first. Strong hands lock around my upper arms, stopping my forward momentum, and pulling me back until I’m steady on my feet once more.
I don’t even have a chance to thank Nathan before he releases me and descends the stairs to get my suitcase.
Just like my parents’ house, Nathan hasn’t changed much over the years: same thick, wavy hair the colour of my dad’s prized oak desk.
Same tall, broad frame and tanned skin. Same ability to send my stomach into turmoil and make my knees weak whenever he’s near, even though I’ve sworn to myself a million times that I locked away my feelings for him when I left Honeywell.
“I’ll take your bags upstairs and leave them outside your room,” he says gruffly. “You go be with your mom.” He keeps his back to me as he speaks. Considering it should only take a second to pick up my suitcase, I get the impression he’s hoping I’ll leave so he doesn’t have to look at me again.
I barely register that I’ve said his name until he glances over his shoulder.
Every time I see Nathan, it stirs up a tornado of emotions inside my heart and mind.
Right now, countless memories are getting swept up in the storm: random, seemingly meaningless moments from childhood, like the time he dressed up as Chewbacca and spent Halloween night camped out on the couch with me because I was too sick to go trick-or-treating in the Princess Leia costume Mum made.
Our first kiss. The first time he told me he loved me.
The first fake smile he ever gave me—the one that didn’t quite mask his pain the day I left on my solo trip across Canada.
The self-loathing and regret on his face when we woke up naked and hungover last December after we were snowed in together at a hotel in Toronto.
The obvious adoration and respect painted across his handsome face every time he looked at my dad.
The quiet way he spoke to Mum just a few moments ago.
It takes everything in me not to throw myself at him.
I’d give anything to step into the warm circle of his arms and inhale his familiar cedarwood scent with an underlying hint of peppermint.
When my dad quit smoking in the late ’90s, he constantly sucked on mints or chewed gum.
He was always happy to share with Nathan, Liam, and me, but while Liam and I got tired of the taste of mint after a few months, Nathan never did.
“What is it, Fiona?” The words aren’t unkind, just weary. For the first time, I notice the new lines around Nathan’s eyes, and the faint dark circles under them.
“Thank you for being here,” I say. “For them,” I add quickly, lest he think I would ever believe it was me he was here for.
Nathan’s gaze drops to the ground. My eyes follow, and I see he’s not wearing shoes. First Mum with her bare feet and now Nathan in only black socks. How is it possible for these small things to make the world feel even more topsy-turvy?
“It’s not a problem,” he says. “I love your parents, you know that. I’ve done what I could to make things easier. Tried to be here as much as possible.” He raises his head again, and the naked accusation in his eyes almost makes me stagger back.
“My dad told me to stay in Europe. You know that. You heard him say it on multiple occasions.” My tone is as defensive as his gaze is accusatory.
“My parents promised they’d tell me when it was time to come home.
Dad said there was nothing I could do for him, and he didn’t want me to…
he didn’t want…” My voice wavers, so I snap my mouth shut.
A flicker of remorse passes over his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it came.
“Mm. Still.” He shrugs one shoulder. The flippant gesture makes my blood pressure spike.
Nathan never understood my desire to travel.
Never got over the fact I left Honeywell—and him—behind to pursue my dreams. The dreams my dad encouraged from the time I was a little girl.
I gear up to defend myself or tell him off, but the words die on my lips. There’s no use. Nathan made up his mind about me a long time ago. Anything I say now will be considered excuses to him, so there’s no point wasting my breath. “You know what? Forget it. I don’t owe you any explanations.”
Nathan lets out a humourless laugh. He climbs the porch steps two at a time and comes to an abrupt halt in front of me. He’s so close, I can smell his cedarwood and peppermint scent, and I curse my traitorous body for its reaction: pure longing.
“You’re right, Fiona. You don’t owe me a damn thing.”
I stand there, speechless, as he disappears inside.