Summer at Castle Stone

by Lynn Marie Hulsman

  Despite my rescue effort, his skull still caught the side of the table and he was out like a light. Panicked, I rolled his head onto the pillows and put my hand on his chest to check for breathing. His skin was warm and his smooth chest was, indeed, rising and falling. His lips were slightly parted and he looked serene, not in danger. After one last look at his long, lean body, I wrapped what I could of the bedspread around him. I gathered the signed letter, my pen, and my passport, and shoved them into my bag. Carrying my high-heels, I crept into the hall, leaving the door on the latch. I knocked on the room next to Chris’s, praying that it belonged to his business associate Percy. Thankfully, Chris’s bleary-eyed sidekick, dressed in a matching cotton pajama set did, indeed, answer the door.

  “Percy, sorry to bother you. Chris had a bit too much to drink and he hit his head.” Percy looked at my naked feet and my disheveled dress. “He seems alright, but could you be a friend and watch for signs of a concussion? Great!” I said, not waiting for an answer. “Door’s open. Goodnight,” I said scurrying back to my door and fishing in my bag for the key.

  “They don’t pay me enough…” I heard Percy grumbling from behind me in the hallway as I opened the door to the suite I shared with Tom and slipped inside. It was pitch black. I had imagined Tom might be up waiting for me. I felt my way across the furniture and glanced into my room. The digital clock read 3:22. Easing my way through the darkness, I turned on the bedside lamp. It threw just enough light out into the common area to light my way to Tom’s door, in his corner of the suite. I wanted to show him the letter. Proof that I was on his side. It was my “get out of jail free” card – evidence that I’d only gone back to Chris’s room for the good of Castle Stone, and to champion the Irish farmers. I wanted Tom to love me for it. I tiptoed up to knock and then I saw the sign hanging on his doorknob.

  Do Not Disturb.

  Chapter Twenty

  Truth stands when everything else falls.

  “It’s been nearly an hour.” I’d be the worst prisoner of war, ever. Tom blanking me from the driver’s seat had turned me into a coiled spring. I tried looking at the scenery, meditating, counting backwards from 100, singing through The Sound of Music in my head. Nothing worked. I had to know what he was thinking. “At least tell me you’re happy that the deal’s done.”

  “I am.”

  Oh, the sweet relief of interaction. “Don’t you want to say thank you?” I teased.

  “I’ll do you one better. I’ll find a way to pay back the debt.”

  That stung. I didn’t want him to pay me back. I wanted us to be friends, people who did things for each other. “I did it because I wanted to.”

  “Nevertheless.”

  We rode in silence. There was a trailer in front of us, and a horse stared at me.

  “Are you at least impressed?”

  “Aye, you did things I never could.”

  I let that sit there. I took a sip from the diet soda I’d picked up at a newsagent before we got on the road. I didn’t normally drink soda, but I was kind of hungover. Finally, I couldn’t stand it. “Like what?”

  “You’re an excellent liar.”

  That was it. “You asked me to lie!”

  “I asked you to play a part. The only fib I suggested was that you say you worked for Castle Stone. And there you sat, banging on about your life in Manhattan and how much you had in common with your man Chris.”

  “He’s not my man.”

  “Oh, isn’t he?” Tom thundered. “Whose man was he at three o’clock yesterday morning, then?”

  “If you think I slept with him, you’re wrong. I didn’t.”

  “Just like you didn’t sleep with the lad who broke your window. Save your breath. I’ve heard it before. Now I know how easily lies roll off your tongue. Well done, you.” His face was hard as a rock. He breathed in and out through his nose, nostrils flaring.

  I felt a little scared. Not like he’d hurt me or anything, but like he’d cut me off. I chose my words carefully. “I did not sleep with Des at Castle Stone.” It was a half-truth. I couldn’t summon the bravery to tell the whole story. Tom could put me on a plane tomorrow, end of story. I wasn’t ready for that.

  He drove on. I pretended to drink from my empty can, just for something to do with my hands. The horse still stared at me, sideways, out of one huge eye. I put the can down.

  “I’m not a liar, Tom.”

  He let that hang there in the air. He took his eyes off of the road for a moment and looked me full in the face. “Did you lie to Mary?”

  Oh my God and Jesus. Has Tom known why I’m here all along?

  “What do you mean?” Hank always told me that diarrhea of the mouth never helped anyone. Shut up and let the other person talk, he said. That’s how you get the story.

  “You want me to spell it out?” he asked, tersely.

  I didn’t really, but there was no choice. “Yes.”

  “Do you like girls?”

  The tension drained out of my body like water through an open dam. “No, I like boys.”

  “Oh, that’s grand,” he said. “’Course I’ve no judgment, I didn’t mean it like that. But why in heaven’s name, then, would you lead Mary on? It’s just cruel.”

  “Mary’s a lesbian?”

  “Too right, and she seems to have a little crush on you.”

  I felt awful. Thinking back on it, I noticed the small things. The smiles she gave me and the fact she had always given me the best jobs. And she always offered to walk me back to the dorms from the main building. I felt so bad! This is why I’ve never been a liar. Someone always gets hurt. It’s my number-one rule. Lies always snowball. Starting with the ones in Brenda’s office back in March, mine certainly have.

  “It’s complicated,” I told Tom.

  “The truth is the truth. There’s nothing complicated about it.” I watched the horse trailer pull off the M11 (check this), and felt more alone than I had in ages.

  “I’ll talk to Mary.”

  “Good.”

  I had the rest of the trip to think in silence. I felt sick about Mary. I couldn’t count the times I’d been on the other end of that equation. Even if I hadn’t misled her on purpose, my tunnel vision had prevented me from seeing the forest for the trees. Looking out the window at the beautiful countryside dotted with sheep and colored with wildflowers, I noticed that I didn’t feel joy. I just felt scared. Where had all the lying and jockeying for position as a writer gotten me? All of my New York ambition and desperation to please Hank had turned me into someone I never wanted to be. Someone like Matty, like Lizbeth, like Brenda. I felt like there wasn’t a floor underneath me. Lost, I turned my head to the side so Tom couldn’t see the tears racing down my cheeks. Mom knew me, but she was gone. Maggie knows me, but she’s far away. The thought of driving away friends, of driving away Tom, sent cold water through my veins. I was twelve years old, running down the hallway of the hospital wailing; the day mom slipped away.

  When we got back to Castle Stone, I said polite goodbyes to Tom in the parking lot and made my way back to the dorms alone. I didn’t want to get into a conversation with him. I had thinking to do. As much as I didn’t want to be by myself, my instinct told me to batten down the hatches. I didn’t trust my judgment. Being out in the world seemed dangerous. I was a hermit crab who had left the safety of one shell without the protection of the next. I silently thanked God I had the day off tomorrow. I stayed off the paths, dragging my case across the field in order to avoid people. Looking both ways, I sneaked in the main entrance and quietly crept down the hallway. I finally breathed out when I closed the door behind me.

  Dear Mags,

  You have no idea how much I wish I was with you in our old apartment, sitting on our IKEA loveseat and drinking coffee. I feel a world away from you (which I guess I am). It’s not just the distance, though, it’s the change. I had a fantasy of hopping on a plane tonight and heading home for a hug. Tonight, I’m staying in my room. I keep a stash of bott
led water and juice and some random snacks in here, so that’s my dinner.

  Remember when I told you on the phone that I was going to Dublin to help Tom with a business deal? Well, even though it shames me to write these words, it was a disaster. I wanted to be the hero. For once, I wanted to be the star of the show, the one whose name everyone remembered in a good way. I wanted Tom to like me for it. Really, I wanted Tom to love me for it. Really really? I just wanted Tom to love me. Oh, God, Mags. I’m in love with Tom.

  Shit.

  Love Shay xx

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Burning embers are easily kindled.

  The grass was still dewy at 6:30 a.m. when I made my way to the back door of the kitchen. I needed to speak with Tom. I’d hardly slept and my brain spun from a lethal combination of fogginess and buzzing. It was now or never and I planned to tell the truth, whatever the consequences.

  I threw open the screen door and scanned the room for Tom. Brigid stood arranging scones on a tray, dish dogs were carrying clean plates to the dining room, and Bill assembled quiches.

  “Where’s Chef?”

  “Not here and you’re late,” Bill snapped. He turned his sautéed spinach out into several waiting crusts.

  “I’m not on this morning.”

  “Then get out of here, you’re in the way.”

  “He’s gone to his mam’s,” Brigid told me. “By the way, Mary wants to see you in the office.”

  “Thanks, Bridge.” I shoved the information about Mary to the back of my mind. One thing at a time. I followed the path to Maeve’s cottage part of the way, but kept running into early-rising guests out for brisk walks and gardeners trudging along with buckets, wagons, and spades preparing to start their day’s work. I cut across the grass and let myself in the gate. Nap was standing on the little table by the window, tap-dancing and whining.

  “Sheila, dear,” Maeve greeted me as she swung open the door. “I was beginning to think I’d never lay eyes on you again.” I saw Tom over her shoulder, sitting at the table.

  “I’ve been…uh…busy, Maeve. It’s nothing personal, I promise.”

  “Well, get yourself in here and sit down with a cup of tea.”

  “No, thanks. I came to have a word with Tom.”

  “I won’t hear it. Come through, I’ve a batch of mince pies, warm from the oven.”

  I sat at the table. Tom sipped his tea without even a glance in my direction. Maeve set a cup and a plate with two pastries in front of me.

  “Maeve!” I heard a man call from upstairs. “Could I trouble you for a glass of water?”

  I looked at Tom. His face was thunderous. “Tony?” I asked.

  He nodded and looked away. Maeve rushed through with a glass in her hand and called, “Don’t you dare get up! I’m on my way.”

  “Your matchmaking worked,” Tom said to me coolly. “The day we left for Dublin, His Lordship stopped here. I suppose he heard I’d gone on a journey and seized the opportunity to swoop in on my innocent mother. While he was here, he claimed to have a pain in his heart. McGeever, the physician from the village called in, and insisted that he be put to bed. I can’t see why it had to be my bed in this cottage given that he owns Castle Stone and all the land it sits on, but here we are.”

  A laugh bubbled up from my depths and burst out from behind my lips. The more I tried to hold it in, the throatier and chestier it became. Aware that I was infuriating Tom, I strove to contain it but that only served to make the barks and snorts louder. Soon, tears were streaming down my face.

  Tom stood up. “You’re beyond belief! You think it’s funny that an innocent elder is being taken advantage of? That she’ll have her heart broken and be left to feel like a fool?” he shouted.

  “Shh!” That stopped me laughing. I didn’t want Maeve to hear, or she would feel like a fool. “Will you at least step outside if you’re going to yell stupid jackass stuff?” I whispered.

  “It’s the truth,” he hissed. “But yes, let’s step outside. He indicated the door and I walked through.

  “Mother!” he called. “I’m just showing Sheila out. I’ll be back in two shakes.” He closed the door behind himself. Nap jumped down from the table and started circling the two of us, herding us and pushing us closer together, barking the whole time.

  “Nap! Go,” Tom shouted. “You,” he said to me, “follow me.” He marched across the grass at a pace twice as fast as mine. I burst into a sprint to keep up. I was winded by the time we reached the catering cottages. He pulled a set of keys from the pocket of his hound’s-tooth chef’s trousers, opened the door to the unit in which he’d given me a cooking lesson and pushed me inside. He shut the door behind himself, and started in.

  “This isn’t working out. I’m going to have to ask Mary to terminate your stint in the work experience program.”

  I couldn’t speak. All I could hear was static. I realized Tom was upset but I did not see this coming. “You can’t do that,” I faltered. “What about Chris Burton and the plan for the Castle Stone line of products?”

  “Fucking Chris.” Tom ripped the snaps open on his chef’s coat. It was boiling hot in the cottage. He stormed from window to window in the kitchen, opening each while wrestling with the shades. I guess he didn’t want anyone to see us. “It’s for the best. You should never get into bed with someone you don’t trust, and I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

  “Speaking of trust…”

  “Yes, speaking of trust,” he said, eyes flashing. “I thought I told you to stay away from my mother. Now look what’s happened.”

  “I did stay away from Maeve, even though it broke my heart.” I sat in one of the chairs at the dining table.

  “Don’t be so dramatic. Next you’ll be telling me that she’s like a mother to you.” That stung like a slap. Tears popped to my eyes.

  “She is.”

  “I don’t know what your game is, but I can tell there’s something you’re hiding from me.”

  Swiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I said, “There is no game where your mother is concerned. Laugh in my face if you want to,” I could hear my heart, and each breath caught on the jagged beats. I was so afraid he would laugh, “But your mother means something to me. I feel close to her. I want her to be happy.” I was blazing hot. The shades were blocking the breeze and the air stood still. I peeled off my cardigan and threw it on the table.

  “Then why set her up to get hurt?” He smacked the countertop with his open palm, hard.

  I was angry now. “I’m not setting her up. Just because you picked the wrong girl and got your heart smashed, and wound up unable to connect with anyone on a real level doesn’t mean it’s the same with Maeve. She had her heart broken. She loved your father and he died.” Tom winced. “And they’re not my stories to tell, but ask your mother about life before she married. She was a good girl, she had passion in her heart. Your father wasn’t her only love. Do you think the only choices are to be celibate or to have nameless, faceless sex with a string of nobodies?”

  “Don’t you tell me that my mother has been…?”

  “No, idiot. You!”

  He narrowed his eyes and shook his head in confusion. “For your information, there hasn’t been anyone since Tabitha.”

  “Bullshit!” I yelled before my brain could catch up with my mouth. Off-balance, I couldn’t suss out whether that could be true or not. My intellect told me no, but my heart soared with hope. “What about the slut you made me cook dinner for when you were pretending to give me a cooking lesson.”

  “I’m not the liar round here. That dinner was for you, stupid.” He was sweating around his temples. He ripped off his chef’s jacket. Underneath, he wore a blindingly white, ribbed cotton undershirt, the kind New Yorkers called “wife beaters.” He ran both hands through his damp, curling hair, pushing it out of his eyes. “I wanted to do something nice. And you ruined things before they even got started.”

  “You are so Irish!” I shouted.
“I didn’t ruin anything. I knew you were mad at me that day, I knew it. And you just brooded around here with storms in your eyes, talking sharply and not telling me what the problem was.”

  “There was no point. We didn’t see eye to eye about my mam. End of. What’s the point of talking about it?”

  “Talking is the point of talking about it. Like today. I went looking for you so I could talk to you. You’re right. I haven’t been honest. I wanted to tell you something.”

  “You slept with that fucker Burton. I knew it.” His hands tensed, and he stalked in a circle. This time, he banged his fist on the countertop.

  “No, I swear I didn’t. I couldn’t. I mean, I could have, obviously, he had his pants off and everything?”

  “Which kind of pants?” Tom thundered. “American or Irish?”

  “Trousers! But it doesn’t matter. That’s what I tracked you down to tell you. And it’s about a zillion times easier to tell you now that you’ve fired me.” I leaped to my feet and flew across the room to where he was standing. “I couldn’t sleep with Chris because I like you. There! Fire me again why don’t you?” I jabbed him in the chest with my index finger.

  “I said I’d tell you the truth, so there’s the truth. I wanted to sleep with you that night, so I’m the big fucking idiot, because you wouldn’t have me. There. Done. Truth. I’ve wanted your mother to get together with Tony all along. They make a darling couple, and they deserve a second chance at romance, and I wanted to be the one to make it happen. Ha! Truth! And like every other lovesick girl in Ballykelty, I have feelings for you. Truth, truth, truth.” My head was on fire. I threw myself back down into my chair, panting.

  He stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, fists still balled. “I’d have had you.”

  My eyes locked on to his and my hands began shaking. My brain clicked on with complete lucidity, like it had been jolted with electricity. I had utter clarity, as if someone had washed my brain with rubbing alcohol, yet my body was confused. The words “fight or flight” flashed like a stock ticker through my mind. Was he going to attack me or was he going to run. I could hear his breathing. I could hear mine.