by Sophie Moss
“Do you believe me now?” he asked softly, threading his fingers through hers. “When I say I understand what you’re up against?”
Tara nodded, letting out a long breath. “But how did you do it? How did you get away?”
“I used to make a point of getting home before Liam, of making sure that I was the first one my father saw when he stumbled home drunk. It didn’t matter which one of us was there. He’d go after whoever he could get his hands on. But one night, Liam was supposed to be at our neighbor’s house, but he’d come home for something and ran into our father. He’d been drinking all day on the couch. Liam said something to him about it, and he lost it. When I got home that night my father was gone and Liam was unconscious on the kitchen floor.”
“How old was he?” Tara whispered.
“He was nine,” Dominic answered, after all these years, the memory still fresh in mind. “I carried him to the nearest hospital and the doctor said he’d broken his shoulder. The police came, started asking questions. But I’d heard stories of what happened to kids who were taken in by the police and put in new homes. The siblings were always separated.”
“Did they go? To find your father?”
Dominic nodded. “And as soon as they left, we ran. We found our way to the island and our grandparents.”
“What did they do? When you showed up at their door? Did they know that their son was…? Did they know he was abusing you?”
“They didn’t even know we existed.”
Tara’s eyes widened. “They didn’t even know they had grandchildren?”
“My father left Seal Island when he was eighteen and never looked back. He cut off his parents and his friends because he was a worthless drunk. The only reason we even knew where to go was because we’d both heard enough of our father’s late night drunken slurs about an island and a bunch of seals to put two and two together.”
“Did he ever come for you?”
“Yes.” Dominic nodded. “I spent every night awake those first months, listening for his voice, waiting to hear him come crashing into my grandparent’s house or into the pub. But as the weeks went by I began to think he was probably just glad to be rid of the burden.”
Dominic watched a family pick their way over the rocks to the sandy strip of sand across the harbor. “He showed up after nine months. It took him that long to figure it out.”
“What happened?”
“He was drunk. And high on something—something that made him think he was stronger than he was. He barged into the pub during a normal rush, thinking he could take every one of my grandfather’s friends in a fight.” Dominic watched the child across the harbor pick up a shiny seashell, holding it up for her parents to see. “It didn’t work. They had him on the floor in about five seconds. But instead of fighting back—when he finally realized he was outnumbered—he started to beg. For money. For my grandparents to pay him in exchange for us. He didn’t want us back. He didn’t even want to see us. He just wanted their money.”
Tara closed her eyes. “Did they… Did they give it to him?”
“No.” Dominic shook his head.
“What happened to him?”
“He died a few years ago, in a hospital in Dublin.” Dominic lifted a shoulder. “Liver complications.”
At least she’d had a happy childhood, Tara thought, gazing at the long scar slicing through Dominic’s eyebrow. At least she’d had a mother and father who loved her, who would do anything for her. At least she’d known another life once, and been strong enough to find her way back there.
He’d had nothing to believe in, nothing to base his hopes on. He’d never known if his grandparents would treat him the same way. All he’d known was that he needed to protect his little brother and to do that he had to get them the hell away from their father.
“My father didn’t have the connections or the power that your husband has,” Dominic continued. “But abuse is abuse, Tara. You can let it rule you. You can let it follow you. You can let its shadow chase you from city to city and from town to town until there’s nothing left inside you but a big black hole. Or you can stand up for yourself and confront it.”
Chapter 15
“Where would I go?” Sam murmured, threading his way through the crowded cobblestone streets of Galway’s quay. “Where would I go if I didn’t want to be found in Ireland?” His gaze scanned the colorful shop fronts, the charming burst of petunias and geraniums. “Wouldn’t I go to Dublin? A city three times this size?”
Spotting a travel agency, he ducked into the air-conditioned shop, scanning the display case of brochures. Yes, he thought to himself. He would. But he wasn’t Sydney. And if she was downsizing after only two weeks on the run, then he needed to start thinking smaller. Towns. Villages. Hidden hamlets off the beaten path.
“May I help you?”
Sam turned, taking in the friendly smile of the pretty blond proprietor. “Yes,” he said, smiling back at her and noting the name on her nametag. “I’m looking for a place where I can relax, Brianna. Somewhere… without too many other tourists.”
“It’s a tough time to be in Ireland if you’re looking to dodge the tourists,” she said, smiling sympathetically, “but I might have a few suggestions for you.” She reached around him, picking a few brochures from the case. “If I were looking for a place to get away from the crowds, I’d head north, into Connemara.”
Sam took the first brochure she handed to him. “There are several charming seaside towns along the coast if you’re looking for a bit of peace and quiet.”
Sam nodded, glancing over the glossy pictures. “What about something… a little smaller. More remote that this.”
“More remote than this?” Brianna raised an eyebrow. “You are looking to get away.”
Leaning a shoulder against the pewter walls, Sam ran a hand through his sandy blond hair. “Have you ever had one of those weeks, Brianna? One of those weeks when all you want is to slip away to a place where no one can find you and put a pause on life?”
“Say no more,” Brianna said, holding up a hand and selecting another brochure. “The islands are the thing for you.”
“Islands?”
“We’ve half a dozen beautiful islands just a ferry ride away off the coast. Perfect for hiking, swimming, relaxing outside with a pint.”
“Which one would you recommend?” Sam asked, pushing off the wall to scrutinize the pictures on the brochure.
“Well there’s several to choose from. For most people, I’d recommend Inishmore. It’s the largest of the Aran Islands. An easy distance from the mainland. Impressive ruins, soaring cliffs, shops full of authentic, hand-knit wool sweaters. But it’ll be flooded with tourists this time of year.”
“Okay. Scratch that. Where else?”
She handed him another brochure. “This one—Inishbofin—is a little farther away from the others, but they’ve just opened a brand new resort on the island. I was just there last weekend and the rooms were lush, the food divine. How does that sound?”
“It sounds… like a possibility.” The island as a place to hide. The resort at a potential spot for employment. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “Definitely a possibility.” Sam glanced up from the brochure. “But let me ask you this. Where would you go, if you wanted to get away? Say you were coming off the week from hell at work and you just needed to get away from everything and everyone?”
“Oh that’s easy.” Brianna smiled, choosing one last brochure and passing it to him. “I’d go to Seal Island. It’s my favorite. And if it wasn’t Midsummer’s Eve this weekend, I’d have mentioned it before. It’s very remote. But there’s a festival on the island this weekend. And it’s a huge tourist draw, so I wouldn’t point you there.”
Sam took in the soaring cliffs and long silver beaches captured in the glossy pictures. “But if it was any other weekend?”
“Absolutely. Any other weekend, really. Most of the islands are swamped with tourists now through the end of the summer,
but Seal Island is one of the farthest islands from the mainland. Most people won’t make the trek just for a taste of authentic island life. But I’ve always had a soft spot for that island. It’s the kind of place that makes you want to just sit and be still for a while. The kind of place that makes you wonder how we got ourselves wrapped up in all this hustle and bustle in the first place.”
She smiled and he glanced up, meeting her eyes. “It sounds nice.”
She nodded. “It’s the perfect place to slip away and fall off the map for a few days.”
***
“Kelsey,” Tara whispered, putting her hand gently on the child’s shoulder. “Wake up.”
Kelsey’s sleepy eyes fluttered open, blinked, then widened. “Tara?”
Tara nodded.
“Tara!” Kelsey scrambled out of her sheets, throwing her arms around Tara’s neck and holding on as tight as she could. “They said you left!”
“Who said that?” Tara asked, her arms coming around Kelsey to hold her just as tight.
“Ronan’s parents. They said you left on the ferry and you weren’t ever coming back.”
“I just went to the mainland to pick up some things for the festival.”
Kelsey pulled back. “Then why did my dad go chasing after you?
“It was only a misunderstanding.”
“Ronan’s mom said he was trying to stop you from leaving.”
“I didn’t tell your dad where I was going because I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“My dad doesn’t like surprises.”
Tara smiled. “I’m starting to realize that.”
Kelsey searched her face. “So you weren’t running away?”
“No.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.” Tara reached into her bag and pulled out a lavender satchel. “I got you something in Cleggan.”
“You got me a present?”
Tara nodded, handing it to her. “Open it.”
Untying the knot, Kelsey dipped her hand inside the fabric and pulled out a silver charm bracelet. “It’s so pretty!” she exclaimed, running her fingers over the dozen tiny charms.
“I picked them out myself,” Tara explained, pointing to the first charm and listening to the quiet chime of silver on silver. “I picked a seal because of the island and the legend, a mermaid because when I’m through with you this summer you’re going to be able to swim as fast and competently as a mermaid.”
Kelsey giggled.
“There’s a little pot of gold for Ireland, a spoon for teaching me how to cook, a tiny pair of scissors for the day you cut my hair, and a rose for…well, for the roses outside my cottage.”
Kelsey held out her arm and Tara clasped the tiny chain around Kelsey’s wrist.
“I’m never taking it off.”
Tara smiled and pulled another satchel out of her bag. “I got you something else.”
“Another present?” Kelsey’s eyes went wide. “Does my dad know about this?”
Tara shook her head. Pulling a long silver chain with a single pendant dangling from it out of the bag, she held it out to Kelsey. “I want you to wear this for me during the festival.”
“A whistle?” Kelsey asked, taking it from Tara’s outstretched hand.
Tara nodded. “Around your neck.
“Why?”
“By tomorrow this island will be swarming with tourists. I want you to stay by my side, but if by some chance we get separated, I want you to blow on this as hard as you can, so I can find you.”
Kelsey frowned. “I’ve never had to wear a whistle before.”
“I know. But this year is different.”
“Why?”
“We’re expecting a bigger crowd than last year. I just want to know that you’re safe.”
“I thought I was helping you out in the kitchen?”
“You are.”
“And then aren’t you going to be on my team for the treasure hunt?”
Tara caught her bottom lip in her teeth. She’d forgotten about that. There was no way she was going to let Kelsey run all over the island this weekend, with or without her. But she’d have to discuss it with Dominic. They’d figure out how to address it together. “Right,” she said, nodding for now. They’d deal with it later.
Kelsey watched Tara curiously. “If we’re going to be together all weekend, how are we going to get separated?”
“I don’t know,” Tara admitted. “I’d just feel better if you wore it.”
“Okay,” Kelsey said, slipping the chain around her neck. “But what if I can’t find you?”
Tara pulled out the identical chain holding her own whistle, hidden under her shirt.
Kelsey’s eyes widened. “Is anybody else wearing one?”
“No. Just us.”
“Because we’re special?”
“Because we’re special,” Tara agreed, smoothing a hand over Kelsey’s curls. “Now do you believe me that I was just going to pick up some supplies from the mainland?”
Kelsey nodded, scooting back under the covers.
Tara kissed her on the forehead and started to push to her feet, but Kelsey reached out, grabbing her hand. “Wait.”
Tara paused. “What is it?”
When Kelsey just looked at her, those big blue eyes searching her face, Tara eased a hip back onto the mattress. “What is it, Kelsey?”
“You know that story you read to me? After I had that dream about you?”
“Sleeping Beauty?”
Kelsey nodded.
Tara smiled and started to reach for the book on the shelf. “Do you want me to read it to you again?”
“No.”
Tara pulled her hand back, surprised at the forceful tone in Kelsey’s answer. “Didn’t you like it?”
“I don’t know,” Kelsey said, tracing a finger over the stitching on her blanket. “Did you ever notice that the roses in the story are kind of like the roses outside your house?”
“What do you mean?”
“They keep getting bigger.”
“They’re a plant. They’re supposed to grow.”
“Not like that.”
“Okay,” Tara said, “I admit that they have grown a little faster than most plants grow. But it’s nothing for you to worry about.”
Kelsey glanced up. “How do you know? What if one night you go to sleep and they grow so thick we can’t get to you? What if we can’t wake you up?”
Tara smiled. “That’s not going to happen.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s just a story. A fairy tale. You’re not supposed to take it seriously.”
“But… if the selkie legend is true, why can’t Sleeping Beauty be true?”
Tara opened her mouth, closed it.
“What if the prince never found her?” Kelsey pressed. “What if he never woke her up?”
“But he did find her.”
“What if he didn’t?”
“Then everyone in the kingdom would still be asleep.”
“I don’t want you to fall asleep forever,” Kelsey whispered.
“Kelsey,” Tara said, gently squeezing her shoulder. “I’m not going to fall asleep forever. No one’s going to prick their finger on a spindle. We don’t live in a storybook kingdom. There are no fairy godmothers. And no prince is going to come and rescue any of us.”
“I think you’re wrong.” Kelsey touched a finger to the rose charm on her bracelet, watching the way it sparkled and flashed in the lamplight. “I think they’re trying to tell us something.”
“What?” Tara tipped Kelsey’s chin up so their eyes met. “What are they trying to tell us?”
“I don’t know,” Kelsey said, shaking her head. “But I wish they would go away.”
***
Sam snagged the last empty barstool in the corner of Fitzgerald’s, watching the bartender shove a rowdy customer out into the crowded streets of the bustling coastal town.
“And don’t come back!” he
shouted, slamming the door and weaving his way back through the crowded pub to the bar.
“Got your hands full tonight,” Sam called out when the bartender made his way down to his end of the bar.
“Aye, what can I get you?”
“Whiskey.”
He grabbed the bottle of Jameson’s, poured it into a glass and set it in front of Sam.
“Is it always this busy here in the summer?” Sam asked.
“Busy? Yes. But not like this.” The bartender started clearing empties off the counter and dunking them into the sink of soapy water beneath the bar. “This is our biggest weekend all year. Spillover from the festival,” he explained. “You won’t see the streets of Sheridan this crowded until this time next year.”
“I just drove up from Galway,” Sam explained. “I haven’t had much of a chance to look into it, but is this festival just a big Irish party or is there more to it than that?”
The bartender walked over to the taps, starting the slow process of building a Guinness. “Most people go for the selkies.”
“What’s a selkie?”
“It’s another name for a seal.” He passed a plate of salty chips glistening in oil over the bar to a tourist’s outstretched hand. When the raised voices in the middle of the crowd reached a fever pitch, he scanned the faces of the troublemakers, relaxing when he saw it was the drunken slurs of a group of college kids and not another fight brewing.
Sam waited for him to make his way back down to his end of the bar. “Can’t you see seals anywhere in Ireland?”
“Not these kinds of seals.” The bartender glanced up at the football game blasting from a TV in a raised corner of the pub, wincing when the other team scored. “These are special seals. Magic seals.”
Sam raised an eyebrow and the bartender grinned. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, moving to the other side of the bar to pour a shot of Baileys into a tumbler. “But you have to remember where you are. This is Ireland, and most of us are far more willing to trust in superstition than facts.”