Chapter 34 Maggie
MAGGIE
The shower runs upstairs. Declan is probably getting ready for the funeral service. I change and pack my things to stay at a hotel tonight. While waiting for him, I book a flight back to Florida.
When I hear Declan’s dress shoes tapping along the hardwood floor, I meet him by the door. Outside, it’s not raining, but the air fills with fine mist. We’re both quiet on the ride to the funeral. The turnout is relatively small as everyone pays their respects.
Afterward, rain patters down. Declan remains by the coffin, motionless and with his head bowed. I thread my fingers in his and say a final prayer before gently moving him toward the street and awaiting car.
A woman stands on the sidewalk, partially concealed by an umbrella.
She swipes at Declan and hisses, “Mr. Famous Football Player, you think that you’re too good to return my calls?
To pay your respects to my family? You take a lift up in the world and then forget about the little people down below? Well, I didn’t forget about you.”
Declan goes still and the blood empties from his face.
“Too busy with your fame and line of women clamoring for you to remember my Siobhan and my son? Your girlfriend and best friend? Remember them, Declan?”
“Mrs. O’Mealley?” he sputters.
She shakes her head while glaring at me.
“He’ll never love you the way he loved her.
” Then she bears down on him. “Or did you? What is it, Declan? Honor the past or drown your sorrows with this nobody?” She laughs.
“Oh, wait. Deep down, you’re a nobody too.
Don’t forget where you came from, lad.” She glowers as the rain pours down.
Declan doesn’t move.
“Nothing to say?” Mrs. O’Mealley wears a thin smile.
“Well, I sure did. Big media came sniffing around and paid me a handsome sum to tell my story. Your story. Strange it hadn’t come out before now.
Well, the world will know who you really are.
A murderer. I’ll never forget, Declan. Now, you won’t either. ” She storms away.
Feeling like I had whiplash, questions race toward me. What did the woman mean about Declan being a murderer? I knew he had a rough past on the streets of the city, but I can’t imagine him doing something so despicable.
Declan hangs his head and wordlessly gets in the car. He rests his elbows on his knees and holds his forehead in his hands the entire way. When we pull up in front of the townhome on the harbor, he passes me my phone. “We accidentally switched again.”
Before I can correct him and explain, I took his phone and why, or ask him what just happened, he gets out of the car and then like a gentleman, he holds open my door.
I step into the rain. I have to know whether I fell in love with the man I think he is or someone else.
A foghorn blows mournfully in the distance.
“What happened?” I ask. “What was that woman talking about?”
“That was Keefe’s mother.”
“Mrs. O’Mealley? I thought you’d already seen her.”
“I was going to, but I couldn’t do it. Chickened out. I’m sorry I let you think otherwise, but visiting her and being back here was what I meant about stepping back into the past when I’d originally tried to convince you not to come.”
Teeth chattering, I say, “She said you were a murderer.”
Declan nods as the rain catches in his hair and turns his black suit darker.
I gasp and take a step back.
“That was why I couldn’t bear to listen to her message.”
“You owe me an explanation. Please give me an explanation.” I tremble as my voice turns pleading.
Declan’s eyes lift to meet mine. His are dim.
“When I was fifteen, I fell in love with Keefe’s twin sister, Siobhan.
We were mad for each other. Keefe had already turned to drugs by then.
Looking back, I think we were there to support each other.
We both knew him when he was still relatively normal. ”
I quietly listen as a friend because that’s what we are. That’s what he needs right now. And I need the truth, one I hope I can handle.
He shifts his gaze toward the harbor. “Have you ever heard the quote, ‘A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for?’ I understand that I can’t rightfully keep the truth from you.
If what Mrs. O’Mealley said is true, you’ll find out anyway.
If I was a boat, I’d have to go bravely into choppy and uncharted waters.
” He watches the rain pouring down. “I’ve only ever told Aunt Maureen this story.
It broke me. It pains me still, but I know I have to take the risk and tell you what happened all those years ago, even if that means you’ll sail out of my life. ”
Bracing myself, my mind empties and I just listen.
Declan draws a deep breath. “One day, Keefe was bad. As high as a kite. He was out of his mind, acting belligerent, dangerous. Siobhan was making lunch and he kept messing with her. She called me to help calm him down. Their mother was at work. Siobhan snuck me into the house. First, I found his drugs and disposed of them. But Keefe caught me and lunged at me with a kitchen knife. Siobhan must’ve been watching from the hall because before I could stop her, she launched herself between us.
It happened so fast. The knife flew out of Keefe’s hand.
Trying to block it, I shoved Siobhan out of the way.
She fell against the hot stove and was burned badly.
It was all my fault.” Rain or tears track down Declan’s face.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
“I called the Garda, an ambulance came. She had severe burns, particularly on her hands and face. She was a fiddle player. Couldn’t play anymore.
I was distraught. Keefe was crazed. She was wounded.
I figured she’d tell the police what happened, but she covered for her brother because I later learned she’d started using drugs too.
Turns out Keefe was involved with some shady people and had been a bad influence on his sister.
Ended up going to jail. He blamed me—had I not thrown out the drugs and had I not been there, it wouldn’t have happened.
He soured his mother on me, too. Once, she’d been like a mother to me.
The worst of it, though, Siobhan left town and we never heard from her again. ”
I gasp. “I’m so sorry.” I cannot imagine the agony and burden he’s endured.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s just—I was burned by love. I couldn’t go to the funeral.”
“Declan, that’s awful. Painful. But it’s in the past. You were young. Keefe had problems and—”
He shakes his head. “I can’t—this, us. I can’t risk it.” He turns down the path toward the townhome.
I can hardly process what Declan told me, but can see the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders as he disappears into the house, letting the wind slam the door behind him.
I don’t want to let him go, but I know that if I go after him, he’ll turn me away. He’s too hurt. Reaching for the door handle to the car, I whisper, “Goodbye, Declan.”
After I check into a hotel in the city proper, I see that my parents called but didn’t leave a message.
I collapse on the bed and quickly file my final report as Declan’s coach. Likely, I lost my job, but I want him to get the credit he deserves. He did well practicing etiquette. In fact, after leaving Blancbourg, I hardly had to teach him a thing.
His childhood sounded so challenging, and now I better understand why he tended to rebel, back in the confines of high school and the pranks while on the Bruisers.
However, he’d flourished with me. The thought makes me wonder about the vengeful woman, Keefe’s mother, who’d confronted him at the cemetery.
What was she talking about, selling his story to the media?
Realization dawns. My parents. My terrible, horrible, evil parents. I’m about to punch call on my phone when it beeps with a message. Likely, they called me earlier to gloat and are texting now to really rub it in. They probably resent that I reject their lifestyle and, by default, them.
However, the message is from Etta Jo. It’s simply an emoji with a surprised face. Then, a link to the B&S Media website. Squishing up my eyes, I don’t want to click it, but can’t bring myself to see what more damage my parents have done.