Take a Leap

Chapter Twenty-Five ~ Nathan #2

“Exactly,” I murmur. As the time drew nearer for Fiona to leave on that first solo trip, I fought with myself on a daily basis not to drop to my knees and beg her to stay. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of us.

“You didn’t ask her to stay, but did she ever ask you to go with her?” Liam asks.

“She did, but I said no. I had no interest in travelling. That was her thing.”

“What about now?”

“What about now?”

“Travelling is something you’re interested in now, isn’t it?” Liam asks. “You loved Ireland, and you literally own a home there. What if Fiona asked you to go with her now?”

I wince. Liam’s eyes widen as if he knows what I’m going to say before I say it. “She did ask me to go with her,” I mutter, avoiding his gaze.

Liam makes a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. “I love you, man, but sometimes you’re a real dumbass.”

I don’t have a chance to react before movement catches my eye, and I turn to see Mae standing in the kitchen doorway. “I second that. Both the loving you part and the dumbass bit.”

My gaze volleys between the two of them, taking in the knowing nod they give each other. “Is this the real reason you wanted me to come over?” I ask Mae. “Some sort of intervention?”

She strides across the kitchen and plants her hands on my shoulders, kissing the top of my head. “No, that’s just a bonus.”

Liam chuckles, turning his face up to accept a kiss on the cheek from Mae. “Okay, Nathan, back up. Fiona asked you to go with her?”

I wait while Mae gets herself a beer and sits with us. “She said she’d come back to Honeywell and we could figure things out together. Then she sort of threw out the idea of me going with her.”

Liam’s gaze slides to Mae, then back to me. “I’m not going to ask why you said no, because that’s your business—”

“Isn’t all of this my business?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

“We’re family, it doesn’t count,” Liam says, flicking a hand dismissively. Mae snorts into her beer.

“Anyway, it’s not too late,” Liam says. “You could go meet her wherever she is, or—”

“Or…” Mae cuts in, drawing both of our attention. “I have an idea if you’re up for hearing it.” At my nod, she leans on the table, pinning me with her gaze. “You could go to Ireland alone.”

My eyebrows wing up. “Alone?”

“I think it could be really good for you,” she says. “You’re haunted here: by missing Seamus, by ‘what ifs’ in regards to Fiona. You could go to Ireland for a few weeks, or hell, even a few months. Decompress, see more of the country, maybe even travel further afield.”

“I can’t just leave,” I say with a disbelieving laugh. “Especially for a few weeks, let alone a few months.” I shoot a glance at Liam, expecting him to back me up. Instead, he holds up both hands before crossing his arms over his chest.

When I look back at Mae, she has a gleam in her eyes. “Why not?”

“I can’t…what about…there’s…” I groan and snap my mouth shut, trying to gather my thoughts. There are a thousand reasons I can’t leave, and the reason at the top of the list is still looking at me with that glimmer of challenge in her eyes. “I can’t leave you, Mae.”

Her entire expression softens, turning affectionate with a hint of sadness. “But honey, you can. I’ll tell you what I told Fiona: I have Liam, Joss, Thea, Rex, Aneesha, and the whole town looking out for me.”

“So what you’re saying is you don’t need me.” I meant for it to be a joke, but it sounds so pathetic, I want to smack myself.

Mae makes a sound of dismay in the back of her throat.

“I’ll always need you—both of you—but I don’t need you.

I want each of you to have your own lives, the same way I want Fiona to have her own life.

” She slides her beer bottle aside and reaches out for our hands.

Liam and I each take one without hesitation.

“You boys are the sons I never had. You probably don’t know this, but Seamus and I tried for more children after Fiona.

After a few years, we accepted that it wasn’t meant to be, but I had the two of you.

As much as I wish things had been different and that you’d had easier childhoods, it felt like the universe had gifted me with two extra children to love and care for.

“Seamus felt the same way. Here were these two beautiful, smart, loving boys, neither of whom had a father present in their lives, and Seamus was able to fill that void. He always said that family is about so much more than blood, and he proved it over and over again, and continued to prove it when Rex came along.”

She sniffles and releases our hands to swipe at her face.

Liam hops up to grab a box of tissues, and Mae smiles gratefully at him as she takes one and wipes her eyes.

“Anyway…all of this is my long-winded way of saying I’ll always need you, I’ll always love you, and I’ll always consider you mine.

Fiona is no less my daughter just because she’s been away for so many years, and you’d be no less mine if you decided to leave too. I know you’ll always come back.”

After a moment of silence, Liam clears his throat, drawing my attention. His eyes are red-rimmed but dry. “Maybe it’s time you consider doing something just for yourself, Nathan. You always do everything for everyone.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Mae murmurs, shooting Liam a pointed look.

He chuckles. “Okay, yes, somehow we both ended up like that. In the therapy sessions I’ve attended with Joss, Dr. Gupta has told me all about how my need to take care of others stems from a desire to earn love and acceptance, and being afraid of abandonment, among other things.”

I mull that over. It makes sense. As much as I loved my own mother, she didn’t have the warm, maternal energy Mae does, and she wasn’t always the easiest person in the world to live with.

She never said it outright, but I’m not sure she particularly wanted to be a mother.

She and my dad had an on-again, off-again relationship, and when he left for good, she struggled with single parenthood.

We grew closer when she was sick, and she apologized more than once for not being the attentive, loving mother I deserved.

I told her it was okay—even though it wasn’t—and I silently wished we’d always been as close as we were in those months before she died.

More than that, I wished we had more time together.

“You’ve been going non-stop for years, outrunning your demons,” Mae says quietly.

“Your childhood, Fiona leaving, your mother’s death, now Seamus’s death.

Building the business, taking care of Rex, taking care of all of us.

If you went to Ireland, maybe the stillness and silence would help you find some peace. And maybe you’d find some answers too.”

Something in me wants to immediately say that they’re both right, and I’ll go. Another part of me wants to keep fighting it, and that’s the part that wins. “What would I even do there? Putter around the cottage? Spend my days in the pub? Wander the moors? Are there moors in Ireland?”

Mae laughs, shaking her head at my obvious deflection. “There are, yes, but Ireland is known more for its bogs. Far less romantic imagery, though.”

“I get it, you’re used to being on the go non-stop, and you’re worried you’d lose your mind from boredom,” Liam says. “But I guarantee you’d find plenty to do. Murph was always saying he wanted to update the kitchen in the cottage.”

“And add a half-bath downstairs,” Mae adds. “He even toyed with the idea of adding an extension to the cottage so there’d be more bedrooms.”

“Right,” Liam says, latching onto the topic in a way that reminds me of Rex’s earlier enthusiasm.

“You could do a lot of that work yourself, and hire locals if needed. It’d be a good way to get to know people.

You could also plant the vegetable garden Murph always wanted. Maybe even build a greenhouse.”

“There’s also room out back for you to build a workshop so you could continue your woodworking,” Mae says. “And you could travel. Join a few guided tours or take Seamus’s old car and see as much of the country as you can.”

My head is spinning. As if I didn’t already have enough on my mind, now these two, as well-meaning as they are, have given me so much more to think about. “That all sounds great, but…going to Ireland isn’t practical.”

My statement is met with twin scoffs. They both look primed to argue, but it’s Liam who speaks first. “You’ve been practical your whole damn life, man. Sometimes practical is overrated.”

Mae nods. “We all know what that practical head of yours is telling you, but what’s your heart telling you?”

What is my heart telling me? My thoughts are too loud to latch onto any one, let alone tune in to what my heart is saying.

Mae must sense that, because she reaches for my hand once more. “Take your time. You don’t need to figure it all out right this minute. You know we’ll support whatever you decide.”

* * *

When I return home later that night, with my belly as full of delicious food as my mind is full of thoughts, there’s a large envelope in my mailbox from Murph’s lawyer.

I assume it’s more paperwork regarding the cottage, so I toss it on the kitchen table, resolving to open it later. Like tomorrow. Or maybe next week.

Something about that envelope niggles at me, though, so after I shower and change into sleep clothes, I grab it from the table, and get comfortable in the living room.

Inside, there’s a notecard with the lawyer’s letterhead, along with two smaller envelopes labelled #1 and #2. The note from the lawyer is brief, explaining that Seamus arranged for the contents of the packet to be sent one month after the reading of his will.

I pry open the seal on envelope #1 and pull out a letter that’s several pages long. I scan the first page, my hands shaking as I recognize Seamus’s handwriting.

“What in the P.S. I Love You did you do now, Seamus Murphy?” I murmur, running my fingers over the paper. That now-familiar torrent of emotion swells inside me, and I’m tempted to set the letter aside until I’m feeling less raw. My curiosity is too strong, though, and so I begin to read.

Well, boyo, here I am again. Do you feel as if I’m keeping tabs on you from beyond the grave?

I’m not entirely certain of my thoughts on the afterlife, but as my time draws closer, I’d like to think there’s something more for me beyond this earthly plane. And if there is, you can be sure I’m watching over all of you.

To the outside world, it would seem that my novels are my legacy. While that’s at least partly the case, the truth is that my family is my legacy. Wherever I am when you’re reading this, I take comfort in knowing I will live on through all of you.

Now, on to the reason for this letter. If I know anything, it’s that in the weeks since my death, you’ve been taking good care of our family. But are you taking care of yourself too?

I pause, letting out a shaky laugh. After my conversation with Liam and Mae earlier, I feel as if I’m being Punk’d by a dead man.

I’d be willing to bet good money that Fiona has been and gone by now. I imagine it wasn’t easy for you having her home, but I’d like to think my death has put things into perspective, and that the two of you were able to move on from the past.

I’m sure she was none too pleased with me when she learned I’d left the cottage to you, but she must know the last thing I’d ever want is to hurt her.

Leaving you the house was my not-so-gentle way of shaking things up and opening your field of possibilities.

Fiona always knew there was a life for her outside of Honeywell Hollow, but I doubt the thought has ever occurred to you.

Have you made plans to visit Ireland yet? Looked at flights? Booked time off work? I can practically hear every last one of your arguments as to why you can’t do any of those things. Or perhaps I’m wrong. You know how much I hate being wrong, but there’s nothing I’d welcome more in this instance.

It would comfort me beyond measure to think my death has been the catalyst for change in your life.

Don’t misunderstand me; there’s nothing wrong with your life, but you’ve spent countless years playing it safe and keeping yourself small.

I can picture your stormy, broody expression as you read that, but if you really think about it, you’ll see I’m right.

I stop reading again, bringing my awareness to my face. “Damn it, Murph.” I make a point of relaxing my facial muscles from a scowl to a more neutral expression. “Your preternatural senses always were creepy as fuck.”

I take a deep breath and continue reading.

Did you know you can stay in Ireland without a visa for up to 90 days?

As I write that, I can hear you saying ‘I can’t be away for that long, Murph!

’ To that, I ask this: why the hell not?

Give me all your best arguments, and I guarantee I can anticipate every last one.

And you know what I hear? Not arguments, but excuses.

If you really don’t want to go, don’t go.

But I think if you sit with it a while, the idea will appeal to you more and more.

Do you know how many people would give their eye teeth for an opportunity like this?

A chance at a fresh start, or at the very least some time and space to jar you out of your comfort zone and help you put your life into perspective?

If you’re cross with me because you were expecting a letter of fatherly love, I assure you that’s what this is.

Tough love is still love. When I moved to Honeywell, I realized it was possible to have both roots and wings.

It’s possible for you too, my boy. You’ve grown your roots deep here, but now I think it’s time for you to take a leap and fly, don’t you?

And if you’re not certain that your wings can hold you…ask Fiona for help. She knows the way.

Give Mae a kiss for me.

Slán abhaile.

Love,

Murph

PS: Those arguments/excuses I predicted? Envelope #2 is meant to eradicate at least one of those. Now get planning.

When I finish reading, my eyes are burning with tears. I take out my phone and look up ‘slán abhaile’. It’s an Irish phrase meaning ‘safe home’ and is used to wish travellers a safe journey home. Chuckling to myself, I pick the letter back up and reread several parts.

Finally, I set the letter aside and open the second envelope. I pull out the creamy strip of paper inside and stare at it. It takes my brain much longer than it should to process what I’m seeing: a cheque with a hell of a lot of zeroes.

Pressure builds in my chest and rises to tickle my throat. I expect it to come out as a sob, but it spills out as uncontrollable laughter instead.

Slán abhaile indeed. It’s official: all signs point to Ireland.