Chapter 7 #2
Beth leans forward, almost toppling her glass as she does so. “Have you ever thought about staying here? I don’t mean in Clonard. But Cork or Dublin. Up to Belfast. We’ve got cities on this island too, you know.”
“No. It’s too small. The whole draw of the rest of the world was anonymity.
Some people love knowing everyone else,” I add.
“But it’s not for me. I’ve never felt like myself here.
Over there I found people who got it. Who got me .
I never had to explain why I am the way I am or why I do the work I do.
I liked my job. I loved my job. And I liked making money.
I know you’re not supposed to but I did.
I liked buying nice things and eating in nice restaurants and I liked not having to worry about bills or rent or what I would do if something happened.
I knew what I would do. I would pay for it. ”
“With all your money.”
“Exactly.” I flex my fingers, staring at the ring.
“I liked being busy. It motivated me. I liked working at the highest level with people who were smarter than me because it meant I would get smarter. I liked solving people’s problems. I really liked making reports.
Some people hated doing reports but not me.
I was good at it. I was great at it. And I worked for years to get to where I was only for it to be taken from me in the space of few minutes by a security guard with a cardboard box.
” The pressure in my chest rises again and I focus on Beth, pushing it back down.
“I liked my life,” I say. “I don’t want another one. ”
“So that’s your only goal?” she asks after a moment. “Get the hell out of Dodge?”
“And never look back.”
She looks like she wants to say something but, whatever it is, she thinks the better of it, sitting back in her seat. “You know. At times like this I find there’s only really one solution.”
We get drunk.
Another bottle of wine turns to shots and I barely notice the time go by.
Beth is… fun. A lot of fun. Less extreme than Jess, where I never knew what was going to happen when I was with her.
Warmer than when I went out with people from work, when every conversation involved an undercurrent of one-upmanship.
She tells me all about her ex’s farm and the three weeks he lasted running it.
She tells me about deciding to stay in Clonard, about the community she found here, and though her descriptions of this place are so at odds with my own memories, I bite my tongue even as the alcohol loosens it.
Clonard needs people like her. I just hope everyone realizes it in time.
By the time they kick us out, we’re holding on to each other, half because of the wine, half because Beth insists we’re best friends now, and she’s yawning as she leads me to the street.
“Do you want to split a taxi?” she asks.
“I’ll walk. I need the air.”
“You can’t walk.”
“I’m twenty minutes away.” I urge her toward the short line of cars waiting outside the pub. “It’s Clonard. I’ll be fine.”
She’s too drunk to argue but sticks her head out the window when she gets in, her face open and earnest. “Don’t be a stranger this time,” she says, and she sounds so genuine that I don’t know how to respond, only offering a small wave as the car drives off.
I watch until she disappears around a corner and only then begin to wander home, not wanting the night to end just yet.
I feel lighter. And yes, that is probably the wine coursing through me, but I have a feeling it’s also from seeing a friendly face and getting to talk about my problems even if I didn’t solve them.
I twist my engagement ring from my finger and for one wild moment think about throwing it into a nearby rain gutter. I put it in my pocket instead.
I’ll tell Louise this weekend. I chickened out at dinner but it wasn’t so bad telling Beth. And maybe Louise will be a little nicer to me.
Or maybe not. But it’s worth a shot.
I keep walking, past the funeral home and Dessie’s store and am heading to the bridge when I hear a car slow behind me. I glance over my shoulder, pausing when it stops in front of the café, its lights switching off.
Luke gets out.
His course in Sligo. I remember him talking about how late he can be sometimes. And, of course, it’s been exactly a week since he offered me a ride. A whole week I’ve been here.
It feels like much longer.
I should keep moving, but I don’t, lurking in the shadows as he reaches into the back seat for something.
I’m still hurt about what happened between us and unfortunately the wine only increases it tenfold, making me almost angry as I watch him.
I know it’s irrational, but I can’t help it.
I don’t need to be frowned upon just because of some ridiculous misunderstanding.
This is why I left this stupid town. No one understood me. No one even tried to.
I mean, who does he think he is? Judging me like that. He doesn’t even know me. We’ve barely talked since we were kids. He’s just jealous that I got out. He’s jealous and petty and mean and—
“Hey!”
Luke jerks upright at my shout, almost dropping a textbook as he turns my way. “Abby?”
“Yes, Abby .” My boots slip out from under me as I stumble toward him.
“What are you…” He trails off with a frown. “Are you drunk?”
“Obviously.” I stop a few feet from him, holding on to a lamppost for support. Drunker than I thought. The chilly night air has done nothing to sober me, if anything I feel fuzzier. “I have a question for you.”
“Alright.” Luke grabs a plastic grocery bag from the back seat and flicks the door closed. “Ask away.”
“What,” I begin, momentarily distracted by how loud my voice sounds, “is your problem?”
“Right now it’s deciding between the two microwave meals I bought.”
“You—”
“Go home,” he interrupts. “It’s late.”
“I can’t go home.” I follow him to the café. “I don’t have a home.”
“I mean your sister’s.”
“That’s not my home.”
“Then—” He breaks off as he turns, not expecting me to be so close. The grocery bag swings, banging sharply into my hip as we collide and he grabs a hold of my arm, steadying me before I can fall.
He doesn’t let go.
For a moment we just stand there, our bodies pushed together, and I struggle to remember why I was so mad.
“Abby?”
I like it when he says my name. I like the way his lips move.
I wet my own as I stare at him, my breath coming out in sharp bursts of mist. Luke doesn’t seem to be breathing at all.
God, I’m attracted to him. More so than when he was just some stranger on the road.
More so than when he flirted with me over lunch.
But before I can do anything about it the memory of him in the café flashes through my mind, the barely concealed distaste when he looked at me.
Like I was something he scraped off the side of his shoe.
I shove him away, confused, but it’s me who stumbles back, his body solid before me.
“Did you just push me?” he asks.
“No.”
I try to go back to glaring, try to raise my gaze so I can look him in the eye and tell him all the ways he’s wrong about me, but I can’t seem to get past his mouth.
Just once. Just to see and maybe I’ll stop feeling this way.
And then I can… then…
“Now what are you thinking about?” he asks warily, and this time there’s no lying.
“You.” And before either of us can stop me, I surge up on my toes and kiss him.