Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
To my left, Tommy held my hand, gripping it tight enough to anchor me, but not enough to force me to return fully to the moment. I floated somewhere outside of myself and tried not to think of Rory’s lifeless body on the ground while Tommy frantically worked to restart his heart.
Twisting in my seat, I scanned the gathered mourners. So many faces, but not the ones I had been looking for. My heart squeezed under my ribs and I swallowed against the lump in my throat. When my fingers reflexively tightened around Tommy’s, he turned to me in question. “They’re not coming,” I whispered.
My father was not here.
Nor my mother.
Nor Siobhan.
Nor Paddy.
Not a single member of my family had come to bury Rory and that was beyond devastating.
“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he murmured, leaning toward me to press a gentle kiss at my temple. My chest clenched so hard I could scarcely breathe. I braced myself, forcing my chin up and my spine straight. But it was like being stabbed over and over, each realization deeper than the last. Even in death, my father refused to acknowledge Rory, just as he had erased me from his life.
I was nothing to him, and yet somehow this felt like it was being done to punish me. Just when I thought Seamus Conlan couldn’t be any crueler, he proved me wrong.
And my mother—God, my mother. The woman who had birthed me, who had cradled me when I was small, who had tucked me in at night when I was afraid of the dark… she had chosen silence over standing by my side.
I would never forgive them for this.
Never.
Thankfully, the Mass started and it forced me to let that anger and hurt go as I focused on the priest. He spoke of Rory’s kindness, of his steadfast heart, of his devotion to the land and horses. Most of all, to the people he had loved.
That was me and Kathleen, and now we didn’t have that anymore. The priest’s words became muffled, lost in the dull roar of grief pressing against my ears so that when the service ended, I didn’t even realize it. Tommy stood, gently pulling me up and then we were walking, the procession moving toward the cemetery behind the church.
The rain fell heavier now, drumming softly against the black umbrellas that sprang up around me. Kathleen had one for herself, and Tommy and I shared one that necessitated me having to press close into his body. His warmth was grounding, as was his steady arm around my waist. The cemetery sat just beyond the chapel, nestled against the backdrop of the rolling hills of Glenhaven. Generations of Conlans lay beneath moss-covered headstones and now Rory would be buried among them.
The scent of wet earth rose as the grave diggers lowered the casket into the ground. I barely registered the priest’s final words. I simply couldn’t find comfort in anything.
“It’s all right, darlin’,” Tommy murmured, his lips brushing against my temple. “I got you.”
I clung to him, nodding my understanding of his security, and I managed to put on a brave smile. I kept repeating to myself that it would get better. The grief would lessen, and I would be able to move on.
♦
Rory’s cottage was filled with people, as is the custom, and Kathleen and I spent all day yesterday cleaning and polishing, knowing we’d have visitors. Neighbors brought food, offering murmured condolences, but I didn’t feel the heaviness that was pressing down at the church. Stories were told about Rory and there was also much-needed laughter. Whiskey was passed around along with bowls of stew, corned beef and cabbage and warm soda bread and fresh churned butter. Tommy, bless his heart, played the part of host so Kathleen and I could talk to all the visitors, and I saw him in the kitchen doling out plates of food with a friendly smile.
Kathleen moved through the room with quiet dignity, accepting embraces, nodding to murmured sympathies, and she spent time reliving memories with others. I was glad to see some color in her cheeks and maybe this was exactly what was needed. Community reminding each other why we were mourning—because of how wonderful Rory was.
It was warm in the cottage and I decided to slip outside for some fresh air. The afternoon held a chill, but it felt grand against my heated skin. The rain had slowed to a fine mist and I drew in a deep breath.
“It will all be okay,” I promised myself, and I actually believed it. I was made of stronger stuff and Rory had had confidence in me. That didn’t die with him.
I wrapped my arms around myself, staring across the darkening fields that stretched toward the horizon. Fog rolled in and the wind blew gently. I oddly loved the eeriness of it.