Chapter Seven ~ Fiona
Mum receives a hero’s welcome at Sweet Escapes. Every single staff member, plus at least half the customers, converge to embrace her and fuss over her.
A few people glare over her shoulder at me as if to say ‘How could you let her come to work so soon?’ There’s no point in explaining, so I repeatedly resist the urge to roll my eyes while keeping a forced smile plastered to my face.
I’m sure even that’s wrong, because shouldn’t I be solemn and visibly distraught so soon after my dad died?
If nosy Mrs. Allan thought I was heartless for ‘not shedding a tear’, I’m sure smiling makes me equivalent to Satan’s bride.
“I’m just here for a little bit,” Mum says for the umpteenth time. “I figured it would be good to get out of the house. Sweet Escapes is my home away from home, so it seemed like the natural choice.”
She heads toward the back where her office is, and I follow.
I pause in the kitchen when the back door opens, and a woman with pink-tipped box braids, several glittering facial piercings, and arms covered in tattoos steps inside and plucks an apron from a hook.
My brain is slow to process that it’s Aneesha Jackson.
We’ve known each other since we were kids; she was a couple of grades ahead of me, and was kind of a loner through elementary school, then became part of the artsy crowd in high school—or ‘those freaks’ as most people called them, since nearly everyone in the group had wildly coloured hair, piercings, and/or tattoos.
Despite not knowing her well, I always felt a sort of kinship with her because she is, or at least was, a fellow town pariah. Not only did she hang out with the ‘different’ kids at school, but she also dropped out, left town, and returned a few years later with a baby.
I wasn’t aware I was staring until Aneesha waves a hand near my face. I jolt, and let out an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry. I seem to be zoning out a lot lately.”
“Understandable.” Her dark brown eyes study me as she ties an apron around her waist. “I’m sorry about your dad.
He was an incredible man. I know a lot of people say that when someone dies, even if it’s complete bullshit, but it’s true in his case.
He treated everyone like a friend, and to someone like me.
..well...” She clears her throat and turns to grab a hairnet from a plastic bin on the wall.
“Thanks. I really appreciate that.”
She smiles over her shoulder as she strides to the sink to scrub her hands. “Anyway, it’s good to see you, despite the circumstances.”
“I think you’re the first person outside my family who’s said that and actually seems to mean it.”
She chuckles. “I do mean it. I get it, though. There aren’t many people I’d believe if they said that to me.”
“Well, I’m glad to see you. I didn’t realize you were working here.”
After drying her hands, she goes to the large island in the centre of the kitchen and starts pulling out various mixing bowls and utensils. “I’ve been here for about a year now.”
A year? How did I not know that? I thought I knew everyone who worked for Mum.
“You seem shocked,” she says. “You didn’t picture me working in a place like this?”
“It’s not that,” I say quickly. “Sometimes it just hits me how much I miss when I’m away. How did you end up working here?”
“Well, I worked odd jobs off and on for years, since I couldn’t find much without a high school diploma, you know?
Plus, I wanted to be home as much as possible with Aaliyah so she wouldn’t have a repeat of my shitty childhood with absent parents.
A few years ago, my elderly neighbour hired me to be his caretaker.
When he died last year, he left everything to me, which was a massive surprise. ”
She works as she speaks, collecting an array of ingredients and lining them up neatly.
“While I was working for him, I learned to bake, and realized I had a knack for it,” she continues, pausing only long enough to meet my eyes before returning to her task.
“Your mom tried my baking at some town event, and the next week, she sought me out and asked if I’d like to work here.
I started out behind the counter, then eventually helped out back here when it was needed.
Mae slowly doled out more and more responsibility, and now I help run the kitchen. ”
I can’t keep my eyes off her as she moves around the island with confidence, her hands steady and sure as she measures and pours. In many ways, she’s still the girl I remember from high school, but she’s different too. More self-assured. “That’s really impressive,” I say.
One side of her mouth quirks up. “I owe it all to your mom. I felt so lost after Mr. Hernandez died. I had more than enough money to live on thanks to him, but I needed a purpose, and Mae gave it to me.”
I shift so I can see down the short hall and into Mum’s office.
She’s sitting at her desk, glasses perched on her nose, staring blankly at a notebook in front of her.
She shouldn’t be here. She’s not ready. But is it any better for her to sit at home, wearing Dad’s pajamas, and sniffing the bar of Irish Spring she’s taken to keeping by her bedside?
Is it better to find her standing in front of Dad’s closet, her face buried in his shirts, or holding a framed picture of him and tracing his face as tears stream down her cheeks?
She’s done so much for so many people. She’s been the best mother anyone could ask for, an incredible wife, and a pillar in this town.
She always knows the right thing to say, the right thing to do.
I’m proof of that, and so is Aneesha. But I have no idea what to say or do for Mum now.
How to ease the ache in her heart. I doubt anything would work anyway.
Aneesha taps my shoulder, and I nearly jump out of my skin. She gives me a look that’s part rueful, part sympathetic as she holds out a tray with two cups of coffee and two slices of cake.
“Chocolate caramel,” she says when she sees me eyeing the cake.
“Mae’s current favourite. Apparently, it was a recipe your dad sweet-talked out of a chef in France.
It was taken off the menu years ago, but I found it recently and gave it a try.
Why don’t you take this in and sit with her for a bit? ”
My throat tightens in a way that’s become familiar in the last couple of weeks.
I take the tray, nodding a wordless thanks to Aneesha, who gives me a sweet smile.
At the door to Mum’s office, I clear my throat since I can’t knock.
It takes another try before she finally looks up, her eyes blank for a moment before they clear.
“Oh, Fiona.” She takes off her glasses and rubs her eyes. “How nice. Have a seat.”
I try for a light tone as I say, “Aneesha sent me in with this. She must be a mind reader; I needed a caffeine fix after our coffee mishap this morning.”
A smile ghosts over Mum’s face, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it. “Maybe it’ll help me concentrate. This is all just—” She waves a hand at the notebook she’s abandoned, and I glance at it to see a list of supplies that need to be ordered. “It might as well be in Greek.”
“Well, lucky for you, I happen to read Greek,” I say. This time, the hint of a smile on Mum’s face lasts a second longer. “When I’m not leading tours, I work in the On the Go office, and one of my jobs is ordering supplies. Why don’t you let me handle that?”
“Oh, well...” Mum picks up her coffee and sniffs it as if she’s worried all coffee will betray her from now on. “I don’t know, Fi.”
“Mum. Come on. Even if I didn’t have several years of experience doing it in London, I used to do it when I worked here, remember?
” Since I always planned to travel and didn’t expect my parents to foot the bill, they let me work here on weekends and evenings as soon as I was old enough.
I also worked here during the summers, with a short break for my yearly trip to Ireland with Dad, as well as the entire year after I graduated from high school.
“Sweet Escapes has always been the epitome of a family-run business. Between the three of us—”
She flinches, and my mouth snaps shut. The three of us.
Mum and I have both made that slip countless times over the last few days, mentioning Dad as if he’s still here.
As if he’s about to walk in and crack a joke, or ask for help with something, or read us a line from his newest manuscript.
Each time, it’s like a simultaneous slap to the face and punch to the heart. Almost like losing him all over again.
Mum slides one of the plates toward herself and surprises me by digging in.
“Good cake,” she murmurs around a mouthful.
I watch her, aware that she’s purposely avoiding my eyes.
After another bite, she pushes the notebook across the desk, her gaze flicking to mine before returning to her plate.
“I’d be grateful for the help. I’ll try to find something else to do that won’t be so disastrous if my muddled brain screws it up. ”
A small laugh escapes me. The tight band around my heart and lungs eases a fraction every time I see these glimmers of the woman I know.
I’m aware the healing process takes time, just like I’m prepared for the fact nothing will ever be the same again.
Mum’s heart will never fully mend. Mine won’t either.
You can’t love someone like Seamus Murphy—someone who was larger than life and touched so many lives so deeply—and then lose him and expect to ever be the same again. It’s just not possible.
But Mum and I have each other. We can lean on and draw strength from one another until we’re strong enough to stand on our own.
I lay my hand briefly on hers before picking up the notebook and perusing it. We eat our cake and finish our coffee in silence, and then I take our dishes to the kitchen, where I thank Aneesha and tell her it was exactly what we needed.