Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
brIDGET
Caitlin greets me at the door and gives me a big hug. “How are you feeling, love?” she says brightly. She has her watering pail in one hand, a trowel in the other, and pink floral gardening gloves. “Cavin was a bit worried.”
“I’m grand,” I say. “Cavin was just concerned because he thought I was relapsing, but I’m totally fine.”
I hate lying to Caitlin. She’s been so good to me, and she loves me like I’m one of her own daughters. For one crazy second, I almost open my mouth and blurt out the whole truth, but I don’t. It wouldn’t be fair to her or to Declan.
“If you need anything, anything at all, all you have to do is say the word, love.”
How about: Can you talk to someone so Declan and I can be married? Okay?
But I just give her a smile and nod. “Thank you, Caitlin. Really. It means the world to me.”
“Of course,” she says with a wink. “The girls are in the kitchen. Bronwyn made some excellent scones. Go have a few. I’ve just put the kettle on.”
She heads back to the garden.
It smells like tea and scones, and my stomach growls with hunger.
Declan would scold me if he knew how little I’d eaten today, but I’m nauseous as fuck.
When I go to the kitchen, my laptop pressed to my chest, it’s alive with the McCarthy women: Bianca at the table, laying out clotted cream, my sister sitting beside her, Kyla pouring out the tea, and Bronwyn taking the second batch of scones out of the oven.
“Bridget!” Bronwyn says brightly. “I was about to take out an extra mug.”
My heart lifts in spite of itself. “Hi, girls.” I smile.
“New recipe I found online,” Bronwyn says. “You’re my first test subjects.”
“I will happily be your test subject, and I will happily eat this entire pot of clotted cream,” Erin says, pulling it toward her. She plates two of the largest scones, cuts them in half, and smothers them both lavishly with clotted cream and jam. My mouth waters.
“Oh god above, that looks delicious.”
We all help ourselves.
Bronwyn squints at something on her phone screen. “Strange that Valentina posted a hundred times a day before she was engaged to Declan, and now nothing. Not a single post.”
“It is a bit strange,” I say with a nod.
“And it’s just a little… I don’t know how to say it. Well.” She leans in and whispers, “She seemed so much nicer online than she is in person, didn’t she? She was funny and witty and even a little nerdy, but the real Valentina’s… well. Not.”
Kyla rolls her eyes. “It’s called a curated online presence, Bronwyn. She probably had someone posting as her or something.”
“Who does that?”
Erin looks on with a frown. She hates socials. It doesn’t help that she was bullied online.
“Only everyone? Someone who wants the notoriety and fame,” Kyla says with an eye roll. “Stick to the baking, will you?” Kyla shakes her head. “No meddling, Bronwyn.”
Bronwyn gives Kyla an affectionate little shove. She takes a sip of her tea, but I notice she doesn’t put her phone away.
After a while, we catch up. At first, I was afraid that if someone even looked at me, they would immediately know I was pregnant. It was a silly fear, but a very real one. It’s good to sit here, catch up, and chat with the girls.
“You’re feeling better?” Bronwyn says, studying my face. She knows what the danger is as well as I do, though neither of us says it out loud.
“I’m fine now. Labs are solid, and the doctor’s not concerned.” Okay, so that’s a lie. I go on. “Must’ve been a bit of a bug,” I say, putting more jam on my scone. Why did I never realize how delicious jam tasted?
Erin gives me a curious look. “Since when do you like jam?”
“A girl can change her mind, can’t she?” I say, but I look away from her because my cheeks feel a little bright, a little flushed, and I don’t quite want to give myself away. That’s the worst of it—I’m so worried that one comment, one look, and everyone will know the truth.
“Bronwyn, look at the time,” Kyla says. “We need to go. We’re going to be late.”
They have an appointment somewhere. Bronwyn gives me a quick hug on the way out. “I’ve missed you, lass. Don’t be a stranger around these parts, will you?”
Would they still say that if they knew the truth? Would anybody?
Then Erin and I are alone. Caitlin’s still in the garden, and the large, rambling McCarthy family home is nearly vacant.
Erin turns to me, taps her papers together neatly, and in that big-sister tone I know all too well, gives me a pointed stare. “Now that we’re actually alone, it’s time you told me the truth about what’s really going on with you. I’m not a fool, Bridget. I see the signs.”
Of… what? What does she know?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You went to the doctor. Cavin was in touch with Rosenberg himself. You don’t come to the family gatherings on the weekends. You don’t answer my texts.” She leans across the table. “You’re hiding something from me, and I don’t like it. Are you really alright?”
Hiding something from her? I’m hiding everything from her.
“Bridget,” she says, reaching for my hand to give it a little squeeze. “What’s going on?” Her voice breaks a little, and that’s what does me in.
I bite my lip and look away. By my calculations, I am exactly three months pregnant. My clothes don’t fit anymore, and according to the app I downloaded and hid from everybody, my baby is apparently the size of a lemon. I’ve been hiding a lemon.
“I—Oh, Erin.”
And before I can talk myself out of it, I’m sobbing on the kitchen table—deep, wracking sobs. How much longer can we hide? How much longer do we have to do this alone?
Erin pushes herself to her feet and waddles over to me, bending down to hug me. “Shh,” she says, running her hand down the back of my head like she did when I was sick. “Whatever it is, it’ll turn out alright.”
“It won’t,” I bawl, shaking my head. “Because it can’t.”
Erin straightens and comes around to stand in front of me. Crouching down, she places two hands on my shoulders. “You look at me, Bridget Kavanagh,” she says fiercely. I sniffle hard and look at her.
“You have been through too much to be hopeless now. I don’t know what it is.
I don’t know what you’re hiding. But I’ve seen you battle a terminal illness.
I’ve seen you bleeding uncontrollably, facing the odds that would scare anyone, and beating them.
I’ve seen you watch your parents face exile, your sister marry into another family, and all with a smile on your face.
I’ve held you when you bled, wiped your tears when you were spent, and watched as you were the one who told me that it would be alright. ”
She leans in, holding my shoulders tight. “Whatever it is that’s happening, we can handle this. Together. Because that’s what sisters do.” And now she’s crying too.
I have to tell her. I can’t not tell her.
“I—” I open my mouth, and before I know it, it’s all coming out in a torrent of words, in a hushed whisper so no one hears. “I’m pregnant, Erin.”
I watch the way realization dawns, as her eyes go wide and bright and her lips part into a surprised smile. “Pregnant?” she whispers. Then she grins, and she’s crying in earnest now as she hugs me tight.
“Is that all? Oh my god, I’m so relieved. I was so afraid you were relapsing, and you didn’t want to tell anyone the truth.” She pulls back. “Bridget Kavanagh, don’t you ever do that to me again,” she says, then stills at my sober expression.
“Um… Who’s the father, Bridge?” she whispers.
“You know who it is,” I whisper back. “Declan. It could only be Declan.”
“Oh my.” She closes her eyes as if processing it all, but it doesn’t quite compute, her voice the tiniest whisper. If anyone heard—
“Cavin said that… he was worried about Declan.”
“Aye,” I say with a nod.
“Oh my,” Erin repeats, as the full weight of my revelation dawns on her. “Well, we can—”
“Help! Somebody help me!”
Erin and I stare at each other for a moment before we realize it’s Caitlin.
My heart’s already beating frantically as we both leap to our feet.
She rounds the kitchen, her gardening gloves still on, the trowel clutched in her hands, her eyes wide with terror.
She’s breathing heavily, as if she’s run all the way.
“It’s Keenan! He’s in the garden, and he can’t—can’t breathe. He can’t get up—”
I’m already on my way, Erin right behind me. Of all days for everyone to be gone.
We find him on the flagstone path between the rose beds, half slumped against the garden bench, a hand flat to his chest. His lips have a strange bluish cast that makes my stomach lurch. Every breath he takes sounds wet and labored.
“Keenan.” Erin drops to her knees beside him, her voice steady in the way it gets when disaster strikes. “Stay with us. You’re alright.”
Erin’s already dialing the medics on her mobile.
Caitlin stands behind me, sniffling.
“I think… I think this could be the edema I was reading about. With Bronwyn. She was worried—never mind.”
I turn to face Keenan and fall to my knees in front of him.
“Keenan, I need you to listen to me. You’re going to be alright, but it’s important you don’t fight this.
” He’s trying to gulp air, which will only make it worse.
“Slow it down. Small breaths. In through the nose.” I demonstrate.
“Like this, okay? Don’t try to fill your lungs.
Just small ones. Let me do the counting. ”
He looks at me, his eyes wide with fear, this man who’s birthed the most terrifying men I know, a plea for help in them. “Good,” I say. “That’s it. Keep your eyes on me.”
“They’re on their way,” Erin says.
“Tell them it might be pulmonary edema. History of congestive heart failure. They want oxygen ready the moment they arrive.”
Erin relays the message. Caitlin kneels beside me and takes up the same breathing pattern as I am. “Just like that,” she says, her voice husky but strong. “You can do this. Don’t give in to the fear, Keenan. Breathe nice and slow, like Bridget showed you.”
I watch the color begin to return to his cheeks as the bright flashing sirens pull up to the house. That was so damn fast, but thank god.
They run up the large grassy hill, uniformed medics with oxygen in tow. One falls to his knees beside us and takes over as I step back.
Caitlin hugs me, holding me tight.
“Thank you,” she says fiercely. I feel like I didn’t do much, but I know she needed someone to anchor to.
“Of course.” I hug her back. I love this woman as if she were my own mother. We all do.
“They’ve got him now. It’ll be alright, Caitlin. You’ll see.”
As they load him onto the stretcher and Caitlin follows, cars start pulling up the winding driveway. The family’s been notified.
Erin walks over to me, smiling but still a little shocked, I think. We all are. My heart’s still pounding in my chest. “Brilliant, Bridge. You helped him through it until the medics came, didn’t you?”
I shrug. Maybe, but it doesn’t feel like much.
Erin eyes me curiously.
“Bridge, let’s go back to mine for a bit. Caitlin will go with them, and I’ll update Cavin.” She gives me a meaningful look. “We need to talk.”