Breakaway (22 page)

“I’m just scared,” Sandra whispered.

Erin brushed a tear from her friend’s cheek. “Scared of what, love?”

“Scared of happiness. I don’t know how to be happy.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve just forgotten how. I’ll help you figure it out, okay?”

Sandra looked at her pitifully. “Promise?”

“Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Stick a needle in my eye.”

“If I die before I wake.”

“Ask the Lord my soul to take.”

They’d been saying this to each other since they were kids, and saying it now helped lighten the mood.

“See, it’s a little better already, isn’t it?”

Sandra nodded wearily. “It always is, girl. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

*   *   *

A few days after Larry Joyce disappeared, Jake rang Rory up, asking if he could stop by after supper. Rory was surprised, but happy. He’d had the feeling that handling the Larry situation together wasn’t just about the two of them making sure the wanker never terrorized his family again; it was a way for them to bond, despite their competition for Erin’s attention.

His gran was bustling around the kitchen as if Leonardo DiCaprio, her favorite actor, were coming over.

“Gran, it’s just Jake, all right? You don’t have to make sure there are three types of biscuits on the table. Jake’ll eat whatever you put in front of him.”

“It’s my house and I’ll do what I feel is proper.”

“All right, all right.”

Rory joined her at the kitchen counter, tearing open a pack of McVitie’s Dark Chocolate Digestives. “I suppose you want these on a plate.”

“Take a wild stab at the answer, son.”

There was a knock at the back kitchen door and then Jake came in. “Hiya, Gran.”

“Jake! If it’s not the man himself. What’re you doing, knocking on the door? You’re family; you can come and go as you please.”

Jake smiled and gave her a big hug. “It’s good to see you.” He looked sheepish. “I mean, visiting and all.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” said Gran. Rory waited for her to get a little dig in at him, but none came.

“Now,” she said, face glowing. “We’ve got digestives, shortbread, scones, and cream crackers, so don’t be shy.”

Jake looked over her head at Rory in amusement. “I guarantee that a good lot will disappear, believe me.”

“I’ve got Barry’s or Lyons for tea.”

“Barry’s.”

“There’s a good lad.”

Jake had always been good at chatting with Rory’s gran, which was no surprise: she’d known him since he was five. When the tea was ready to be served, his gran poured three cups and Rory brought the big plate of biscuits to the table.

“There you are.” She looked at Rory, the tiny tea cup in her hand trembling a little from age. “If you need me to break ya apart before you crack each other’s heads open and sawdust goes tumbling to the floor, just give me a shout. I’ll be in the other room watching the telly.”

Rory gave her the thumbs-up. “Got it.”

His gran shot him a look of warning. Rory knew that
look:
act like a jackass and you’ll be getting an earful from me, mister
. His ears should have been elephant-sized by now, that’s how many earfuls she’d subjected him to over the years.

He sat down opposite Jake. It didn’t feel weird so much as formal.

“I feel like we’re two mafia dons at a sit-down.”

Jake smiled at that as he reached for a digestive biscuit. “I suppose it is a sit-down, in a way.”

“Is it? You’ve got your brothers stationed outside the door to burst in at any moment?”

“If I asked them to, they would.”

“I know.” Rory took a big gulp of tea. “C’mon, mate. What’s eatin’ at you?”

Jake let out a groan. “Threatenin’ Larry like that.”

“What?”

“I keep waiting to feel guilty, interfering in San’s life that way without her knowing, but I don’t.”

“’Course you don’t. The fecker deserved our threats, and more. If you ask me, he’s lucky we didn’t beat him within an inch of his life.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jake mulled this over as he dipped his biscuit in the tea. “The thing is, Rory, it sort of made me feel like we were brothers again, you know?”

“I feel the same way.”

“I still hate your bloody guts, mind you. But now you’ve come back for a bit, I can see you know you ballsed it all up with Erin. I figure I can hate your guts but still be your mate. That’s how I feel about my brothers, after all.”

“I know I fucked up. But you can see I’m trying to make things right.”

“I know. There’s just one thing more to get straight between us: Erin.”

Rory regarded him warily. “What about her?”

“Much as I would like it to be otherwise, I know I don’t have a piss chance in hell of winning her. Not only does she want the opposite of everything I do in life, but she’s still in love with you.”

Rory went very still. “Why’d ya say that?”

“Cut the fake humility, you pompous twit. You know she is. I think there’s a difference between a good life and a happy life. And what’ll make Erin happy is getting out of Ballycraig and being with you.”

“You’re right.”

“You wanker! Fake some humility just to make yourself a tolerable mate, would ya?”

Rory was trying to come up with something snappy to say. But he was at a loss, and so he resorted to what he and Jake always fell back on at times of emotion.

“Fuck you, you stupid shite, you just told me to cut the fake humility,” he said, grinning broadly.

“And fuck you, too, you gobshite,” Jake responded reflexively, breaking into a laugh.

He bit into a biscuit. “She’s yours,” he admitted. “Always had been, always will be. But I swear on my mother’s grave, if she takes you back and you mess her around, I will hunt you down like a dog, Rory, and beat you within an inch of your life.”

“I know.” He grabbed a shortbread from the plate. “Mates?”

“Mates.”

Jake turned gloomy as he took a bite of his biscuit. “It’s back to online dating for me, I guess.”

Rory frowned. “What are you on about?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, there’s not a huge bevy of girls to choose from here.”

“You’re a moron.”

“What? Who’s here? Old Grace Finnegan? Those two batty twins in Crosshaven who go everywhere together?”

“What about Sandra?”

“Oh, right. Yeah. Sandra. Are you out of your fuckin’ mind? For starters, she’s Sandra.”

“What the hell does that mean? She’s your mate. You like her.”

“I know. But she’s got a lot of baggage. And a house full of kids.”

“You’ve always said you wanted some.”

“Yeah, my own, not prefab.” Jake shook his head in disbelief. “Sandra.”

“Sorry. I just thought: good-looking woman, you’ve known her for ages, happy living in Ballycraig, and all that.”

“Appreciate the thought, mate, but it’s back to tapping the keyboard for me, at least till the right one comes along.”

Sitting in the small caf in Crosshaven, Erin tucked her cell away in her bag, elated. She’d just gotten off the phone with Diana Everett, who’d accepted the job at the B and B. Diana would definitely be able to hold her own against Erin’s mother. The problem would be the rubbish her mother would heap on her, not Diana. It wouldn’t matter that she’d taken advantage of Erin’s good nature for months now. She wouldn’t be able to see past Erin’s “betrayal,” interviewing prospective employees behind her back. Erin had warned her, and her mother hadn’t wanted to listen. Well, she had no choice but to listen now.

Erin had taken the bus into Crosshaven because she was in no mood to study at home. Her mother was in one of her manic spells, which was likely to result in multiple unwanted knocks on Erin’s door. Normally it would be Rory’s “job” to drive her, but she knew he was taking his gran for a checkup with Dr. Laurie. She almost enjoyed the bus ride, being able to read or eavesdrop if she wanted. It almost made her wish she’d hung on to her old job at the jewelry store. Almost.

Nursing her second cup of tea at the caf, she opened her laptop to do some studying for one of her final exams. She’d handed in what she thought was a well-written final paper on the sculptor Louise Nevelson. Nevelson had been flamboyant, self-confident, and brave in a way Erin dreamed of being. Her work challenged Erin, which was one of the things she liked about it. Erin had never been challenged in school.

Erin still found herself in the grip of panic sometimes. Art history: what a stupid, useless degree to get. As if there were loads of jobs for art historians out there. She’d almost chucked it all in except that one night, she and Sandra had ordered in Chinese, and when Erin cracked open her fortune cookie, the tiny slip of paper inside said, “Do what you love and the rest will follow.” Ridiculous as it was, Erin took it as a sign, especially when the first song she heard on Pandora the next morning was Tom Petty’s “Runnin’ Down a Dream.” Maybe the universe was trying to tell her something.

Erin wasn’t sure how long she sat absorbed in her studying. All she knew was that the sight of Rory strolling through the door caught her completely by surprise.

“What are you doing here?”

“Picking you up.”

“How did you even know I was here?”

Rory tapped the side of his head. “Radar.”

Erin rolled her eyes. “How’s your gran?”

Rory grimaced. “Fit as a fiddle, if a fiddle had cataracts and was losing its hearing.”

“Oh, no.” Erin squelched the instinct to reach out and squeeze his hand in a gesture of consolation.

“Ah, it’s not that bad.” Erin knew he was minimizing things. “She’ll get cataract surgery and a hearing aid, and she’ll be good as new. At least now I know she won’t be asking ‘WHAT?’ every two minutes. It’s beginning to drive me spare.”

Erin laughed.

“I’ve always loved your laugh,” Rory confessed with a
big smile. “Like crystal running down a…oh, feck it, you know I’m not a poet.”

“You certainly aren’t.” Erin steered the conversation away from herself. “How long is she going to have to wait, your gran?”

“For what?”

“Her operation and her hearing aid.”

“She’s not waiting,” Rory replied indignantly. “I’m bringing her to private doctors in Dublin. None of this National Health runaround.”

“Good idea,” Erin said, remembering how her brother had once had to wait two years for his elective hernia operation. She could still see Brian walking around with his hand on his abdomen, looking like he was trying to hold his guts in.

Rory picked up one of the laminated menus on the table and started looking it over. That’s when Erin noticed the knuckles of his right hand were still scraped. The pieces came together in a flash.

“You ran Larry out of town, didn’t you?”

Rory smiled slyly. “Maybe so.”

“Don’t come over coy. I know you did. He’d never leave otherwise.”

“Jake and I had a little chat with him, yeah.”

“‘Chat’?”

“We didn’t throttle him, if that’s what you’re worried about. We just conveyed to him that if he enjoyed breathing, he might want to leave town for good.”

“Why was it you and Jake took care of it? Not just you?”

“We both agreed he had it coming. Plus, we didn’t want the weasel thinking he could sneak back into Ballycraig once I went back to New York.”

“I don’t know whether to be appalled or impressed.”

“I’d say ‘impressed.’” Rory laughed delightedly. “Look at you. Your eyes are so wide with wonder you look like a kid who’s just seen Father Christmas.”

“I feel like I have.”

“You can’t go telling Sandra.”

“She suspects it already, but even so, why would I ever do that?”

“How’s she doing?”

“Holding up,” Erin replied matter-of-factly, fiddling with an empty sugar packet on the table. “Saying she loves him and wondering how she’s going to face life without him.”

Rory cocked his head inquisitively. “And who do you love?” He covered his eyes with his palm. “Wait, wait, I think I know.”

“Shut your gob.”

Rory pulled his hand away. “Why? Because my gob speaks the truth?”

“Your gob speaks a load of rubbish.”

Rory rose and leaned across the table, rubbing his nose against hers. “You’re almost there,” he whispered. “I can feel it.”