by KT Webb
Dear Grandpa,
I don’t know what to say. I’m feeling so many different emotions that it’s hard to pin down which one is strongest. I’m missing you terribly right now. You always knew what to do, and you always listened to whatever I needed to say. This is the first time I’ve been allowed to get on the computer in a week and don’t tell the doctor, but I might not officially be ungrounded.
A lot has happened here. I guess I should give you the “reader’s digest” version, as you always said. I finally confronted your brother. We had a plan to record him in case he admitted the threats he’s made to me in a seemingly anonymous method. Everything went perfectly, except for the final piece of the puzzle. My rescuer never arrived. I feared the worst. I thought somehow, he’d been incapacitated and kept from me. Because he wasn’t there, I got hurt. My friends got hurt. If Aoife hadn’t called the Garda and shamed the officer into coming to our aid, I don’t know that I would be alive to write this final post.
I’m relieved that I faced the person threatening my happiness. I’m angry and confused. But most of all, I’m hurting. It’s the kind of ache that comes from disappointment. I put my trust in someone that I thought would never let me down, and he did. I put my heart in his hands only to find him kissing another woman when I needed him most. Now is the moment I wish I could talk to you again. When I’m faced with an impossible situation. The need to make a decision about what to do with my future.
I’ve been hurt before. I’ve known heartbreak, but not like this. I’ve never loved anyone so much and felt the pain of losing them balancing on the edge of the abyss. If I walk away, I don’t know that I’ll ever feel this way again. But if I don’t, I’m afraid I will end up feeling exactly like I feel right now.
I miss you so much. I love you more than words.
With Love,
Blake
The blood is pounding in my head, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I release it in one whoosh. I feel like what I just read echoed the finality I feared I was facing. Blake may love me, but she doesn’t know if she can forgive me. As much as I’ve tried to keep my tears at bay, there is nothing else for me to do now than let them flow. Breakfast is forgotten, I’m not hungry anymore. I just want to sleep until everything is right once more.
It’s been a week full of hazy memories. Aoife and Molly have been in and out of my cottage more than I remember. The thumping in my head has finally subsided, and I feel well enough to read the letter Aoife left on my bedside table. I pick it up and see that it was sent from the B&B I stayed at with Gannon in Galway.
Our stolen vacation seems like a lifetime ago now. I had no idea Gannon had written a letter to me while we were there. The envelope is heavy, and I can feel something sliding around inside. I stare at it for a few moments, trying to decide if I want to read it right now. With a sigh, I set the envelope back on the table and slowly get out of bed. I’m going to need coffee before anything else.
While my coffee brews, I begin entertaining the idea of sneaking in a blog post without first getting approval from Dr. Roald. My laptop is sitting on the decorative table by the window. The headache has been gone for a day or so, and I haven’t felt dizzy at all this morning. Writing is the best way for me to sort out my feelings when I have this much uncertainty swirling around inside my head. I busy myself adding a shit ton of creamer to my coffee, trying to give myself time to think of something else to occupy my time. The only options my brain keeps offering are, write a blog post, or read the letter. I’m still unsure as to whether or not I even want to read the message. I have no idea why he’d felt compelled to write me a note and I’m not convinced it’s a good idea to read something he wrote before the shit show that happened with Old Roald. How do I know I can believe that whatever is in there is still an accurate representation of his feelings?
I’m not stupid. I know Gannon loves me. I love him too. I’m just not ready to feel good about that right now. I want time to be mad, to fully process the myriad feelings that keep fighting for the spotlight. With a sigh, I grab my computer and plop down on the couch. Time to do a little soul-searching through words.
As I write, I think about what happened that day. I really try to examine what I saw when we walked into the Wolfhound. It doesn’t do me any favors to think about Madigan herself; I already know I don’t like her based on the limited knowledge I have of the woman. Instead, I try to focus on Gannon. Before he even knew we were there, he was fighting to end the clearly one-sided kiss. When Gannon looked at me, his expression wasn’t one of a man who’d been caught with another woman. No, Gannon was already feeling grief all his own when he took in the sight of our various injuries. He was angry, too. I saw the storm raging in his eyes when he turned to face us after pushing Madigan away. That fury softened to regret when he looked into my eyes.
I know all those things, but it doesn’t change the fact that I was utterly lost in a sea of pain. That bitterness reared its ugly head and spewed out of me when I threw out the accusation about the whiskey. Gannon didn’t have to tell me she was the bad memory related to that whiskey. I already knew.
By the time I hit submit on the blog post, I’ve made up my mind about one thing; I’m going to read that letter. For now, that’s the only decision I can make. Well, not the only decision. Call me a wimp, but I’m going to put off opening the letter in favor of a shower. Everything is always clearer after a nice hot shower, right?
The shower helps me feel less like a zombie. I dress in yoga pants and a sweatshirt, pile my hair on top of my head and sit down with the letter in hand. From the date on the postmark, I see this was sent the day we went to Menlo Castle. If it went out in the mail that day, he must have written it before I told him how I felt. And, considering the envelope bears the logo of the B&B we stayed in, he must have written this while I was asleep. Now, curiosity has gotten the better of me. Careful not to rip anything, I slice the envelope open with a butter knife.
The items that were sliding around inside are keys. Oh Lord, I swear if he wrote me something cheesy about holding the keys to his heart, I will go over there and punch him in the throat. I set both keys on the table next to me and unfold the letter.
To Blake,
You’re sound asleep after rocking my world yet again. I couldn’t sleep. You were in my arms, completely exhausted from our “exertions”, and I knew I needed to tell you how I feel before anything else happens between us.
I am completely yours.
But there are some things you need to know before you can fully give your heart to me. I know you know that I was in a serious relationship with Madigan for years. We both know that ended. Everyone in my life thinks my heart was broken over losing her, and that I’ve been pining for her since the day she walked away. I’ve never told anyone the real reason I’ve isolated myself and blocked out any possibility of finding love. That is, until now.
If you’re going to love me as I am, you deserve to know the pain I’ve been carrying. You deserve to know why that dusty bottle of whiskey is still sitting atop the shelf in the storeroom at the Wolfhound. And so, I’ll tell you.
As we were ending our college careers, I’d made big plans for us to settle down in Kinnitty and build a life with friends and family all around. Madigan had her eye set on London. It was a source of contention between us and led to some rocky months. Then, just a few months before college ended, Madigan revealed to me that we were going to have a baby. We were so young, but I was ready to be her husband and become the best father I could.
When we returned home after graduation, Madigan continued to push the idea of moving to London and raising our family there. The last thing I could ever do is take away the opportunity for our parents to be near their grandchildren. This led to a huge fight, and we didn’t speak for a few days.
Madigan showed up at the pub one afternoon and said we needed to talk. I thought she was finally willing to have an adult conversation about our future, one where we weighed out the p
ros and cons of emigrating. Instead, she walked behind the bar, grabbed the bottle of whiskey and two glasses. We sat in the corner booth, and she poured us both a glass of whiskey neat. It’s how she always took her whiskey, and she didn’t care that I preferred mine on the rocks.
This sent alarm bells off in my mind. She shouldn’t be drinking while pregnant, right? That’s when everything changed. Madigan told me we no longer had to consider the factor of our child not being raised near his or her grandparents. I thought she was telling me we’d lost the baby. My heart was breaking. But as we talked, the truth came out. She wanted me to move to London, and if the baby was what kept me from going with her, Madigan made sure to remove that from the equation.
The last eight years of my life have been tainted by the grief of knowing the woman I thought I loved, the woman I thought loved me, chose to abort our child. She didn’t consult me. She didn’t take my feelings on the matter into account. What Madigan saw as removing an obstacle, I saw as a monstrous act by a selfish person. When I still refused to emigrate to London, Madigan left in a rage. I had been so floored by what she’d done that I didn’t have the opportunity to tell her how much of me she destroyed with that one act.
So, while everyone has been seeing me as the heartbroken man still pining for the one that got away, they never learned the truth. I didn’t think it was fair to force our parents to bear that burden. To know they could have been grandparents and have that ripped away without a second thought, it would have cut them more profoundly than any hurt they’d ever experienced.
I’m not heartbroken over Madigan. Any feelings I had for her disappeared that day. No, the reason I’ve kept that bottle of whiskey is that I hope that one day, we’ll be able to finish the conversation. One day, I’ll have the opportunity to look her in the eyes and tell her what I think of what she did. I’ll be able to tell her that I’m glad she left. I’ll be able to have some form of closure.
I hope you can accept this dark piece of my past and understand that my broken heart is not from losing an ex-lover, it’s from losing the child who could have been my world.
Now that I’ve told you about my past, I can tell you what I see for my future. Blake Imogen Molloy, I never knew that I was missing half of my heart until I met you. I’ve done my best to be your friend and nothing more, but it was hopeless. I never believed in love at first sight, I still don’t. But I do think that sometimes we meet someone who changes our lives so irrevocably that we cannot live without them. That’s who you are for me. You are everything my heart needs. I have never been happier than I am when we’re together. The smell of your shampoo, the taste of your kiss, the way it feels to have your body against mine, the utter bliss of making love to you; all of it only adds up to one thing. You are my everything.
I haven’t found the courage to tell you any of this, that’s why I’m writing it down now. I need you to know that even as you lay sleeping not ten feet away, that all I can think about is how our souls are entwined.
With all my love,
Gannon
P.S. The keys are for the pub and my cottage. One day, I hope you’ll share my home, my name, and my entire life.
Holy mother of hell. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know how I should feel. I knew he wasn’t still carrying a torch for the woman, but I had no idea she’d done something so heinous. All the previous fear I had of what I should do has evaporated completely. I look at the keys for a fraction of a second before scooping them up and slipping on my shoes. I need to talk to Gannon face to face. I can’t just give up on him based on one mistake. It’s not like he’s sleeping with my sister.
I’m out the door and walking toward his cottage before I even look at the time. Shit, what if he’s not awake? Instead of heading straight to his place, I veer to the right and make my way toward Peavoy’s. Maybe if I show up with donuts, he won’t mind being woken up. If I’m frank with myself, I have to admit I’m just stalling while I try to figure out what to say when I see him.
I’m still lying face down in my pillow, trying not to think about how pathetic I am when I hear my front door open. I sit up quickly, expecting my mother to walk in unannounced, which is highly unusual. I don’t need her to see me wallowing. I’m on my feet and walking into the living room when I freeze. Blake is in my kitchen.
“Hi,” Blake says shyly.
“Hi,” I say, breathless.
We stare at each other for a few moments as though neither of us knows what to say next. Then, all apprehension melts away, and I’m able to move again. I’m not sure how Blake is feeling yet, but I want to take her in my arms just to know that she’s really here. Blake enters my embrace willingly, hooking her arms under mine and resting her hands against my shoulder blades. Her head leans against my chest and I feel tears forming in my eyes. Tears of relief at seeing her again, at knowing she is willing to talk to me about what happened.
“Blake, I’m so sorry,” I whisper into her hair.
“Me too,” she says, releasing a deep sigh.
I pull away and look at her, “You have nothing to apologize for. You’re not the arsehole who left you vulnerable to an attack.”
My fingers gently trace the spot just beneath the gash across her cheek. The stitches are still looped tightly in place, but it looks like it’s beginning to heal nicely. There will be a scar. Hopefully it will be faint. I want nothing more than to kiss her, take her to my bedroom and make up for lost time. But I know that is the last thing we need to do right now.
“I brought you a donut,” Blake gestures toward the counter.
“Thank you,” the awkwardness between us is killing me.
We sit on the couch while eating, neither of us saying anything yet. I want her to take the lead in this conversation. I need to know what she’s thinking, how she’s feeling.
“I read your letter,” Blake admits.
“I read your blog post.”
Blake winces, “I wrote that before I read the letter.”
“It doesn’t change the confusion I’ve caused. And, there’s more to add to that admission than what you read.”
“Oh? Like what?” Blake shifts her position, so she’s sitting cross-legged and facing me.
“When I confronted Madigan, she admitted she didn’t abort the baby,” I begin, but Blake cuts me off.
“Oh my God,” her hand flies to her mouth. “Do you have a kid?”
I shake my head, “No. She didn’t abort the baby because there was never a baby to abort. Madigan lied about the whole thing to manipulate me into moving to London.”
“Holy shit balls! That’s insane. She’s crazy. I’m so sorry,” Blake takes one of my hands in hers.
“Thank you, I’m not sure which is worse. When I thought Madigan had an abortion, I was heartbroken and hoping for some kind of closure. Now that I know she was lying the entire time I think I’m more hurt and confused than I was before. It’s hard to believe someone would do something so awful,” I tell Blake as she squeezes my hand.
“Why did you send me that letter?” Blake asks as she traces her fingers up my forearm.
Goosebumps appear at the gentleness of her touch. I have to force myself to think about something that doesn’t involve getting her naked on the couch. I clear my throat and bring my eyes up to meet hers. I’m transported back to the day before she left for Belfast. At that time, she had no idea the effect she had on me. Now that she does know, I’m not sure she understands just how profoundly her touch affects me.
“I wrote you the letter because I wasn’t ready to say any of that out loud. I never thought I’d be ready to tell anyone what happened between Madigan and me all those years ago. I also wanted you to know that I’m all in. There isn’t a single reason I can think of that would give me pause when I think about spending my life with you.”
Blake scooches closer to me, shifting her body until she’s leaning her back against my chest. She melts into me, pulling my arms around her.
“Tell me
more,” she whispers.
This is not the time for my nob to react the way it always does when she’s pressed against me like this. Her whispered words encourage me to tell her everything I have in my heart.
“My heart is yours, Blake. I want to be with you every moment. When I’m not with you, I feel like something is missing. I hate that I didn’t walk away from Madigan in the pub to come to you. She caught me off guard. I knew she was back in Ireland because I saw her get into a cab when I was in Dublin,” I explain carefully, hoping she doesn’t think I spent any time with Madigan then.
“You saw her and didn’t try to talk to her?” Blake asks casually.
“She was a block away from me, but I recognized her. The first thing I did was turn around. I went back to my truck and called Pat to see if he knew anything about his sister coming home.”
“Obviously, he didn’t, judging by his reaction when we found you guys in the Wolfhound last week.”