He had to keep reminding himself that Aidan was a couple of years older, because he didn’t act it at all. The fumbling and the clumsy kisses were just as if he’d never done it before. Maybe he hadn’t. That was all the more reason to take it slowly, and talk. Yes, they needed to talk, discuss what they were doing, because after yesterday, friendship dates were out of the question. Patrick had gone to The Grand Heights in the hope of making an arrangement to do just that: meet up for a proper date and talk about where they were heading. And yes, he could’ve phoned, but he’d needed to see Aidan so he’d chanced a quick visit on his break. He’d just have to come back after work and hope Aidan could snatch a few minutes away for a chat. And maybe some more of those kisses.
In his broom cupboard.
Patrick shook off the thought and stuck out his right arm to indicate he was turning into the cemetery. A car clipped his back wheel, jolting the bike to the side and sending him skidding into the sidewalk. Patrick landed hard on his hip and was about to let rip with a string of very bad language, his angry scowl morphing into amazement as the car screeched to a stop and the driver got out.
“Oh my God, Patrick! Are you all right? I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
“Lily. Hello again.”
Aidan’s sister-in-law lifted the bike off the felled Irishman and held out a hand. He grabbed on and allowed her to pull him to his feet.
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Well, I was, because I saw you and thought, oh, there’s Aidan’s friend, and…I’m really sorry. Are you hurt?”
“No, no. Just—” Patrick winced and drew breath sharply through his teeth. It did hurt, but it wasn’t anything serious, though he’d have a heck of a bruise on that hip later. Lily kept her grip tight, watching him anxiously while he attempted to put weight on his right leg, only releasing once he was back on two feet again. She moved the bike out of the road and propped it against the cemetery railings, returning to Patrick and eyeing him in concern. He gave her a grin. “We really must stop meeting like this,” he joked.
She narrowed her eyes, but she was smiling too. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t you worry about it. Were you visiting?”
“Not yet. I was just on my way to the florist, and then I was gonna go see Nadia and Poppy. I’ve brought my paint and brushes with me to do a little more work on the forget-me-nots. They’re not quite the right shade of blue.”
“Ah. It’s a lovely day for it.”
“Yeah,” Lily agreed doubtfully.
Patrick grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make light of your loss. I love working outside, especially days like this, with the sun shining and lovely clear skies.”
Lily took a look around her and nodded. “It is a nice day.” She turned back to Patrick. He brushed himself down and took a step toward the bike, ready to get back to work. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.
“No, thanks. I’m perfectly fine.”
“All right. I’ll head off and maybe see you in a little while.”
“You will?”
“Yeah. When I’ve been to the florist?”
“Oh, of course. Silly me.”
Lily frowned and Patrick felt his cheeks burn. He needed to get his head out of his backside. Or empty out some of his thoughts so he could at least function and avoid any further accidents.
With one last reassurance, Lily returned to her car and continued on her way to the florist. Patrick walked Arthur’s bike back; better safe than sorry.
<<< >>>
Patrick leaned on the rake and studied the heap of muck and stones at his feet. The ground was nowhere near ready to take turf; it needed going over with the rototiller first, but that was a job for another day. It was almost five in the afternoon, and they were on autumn closing times now, so by the time he’d gone and fetched the thing he’d have an hour at best for a two-hour job. It could wait until tomorrow, and besides he was in no mood to have his hands buzzing with the vibration of the machinery for the rest of the day. He might need them later, with any luck. For God’s sake, would you get off that dirt track?
And there was a thing. Patrick was eager to catch Lily before she left, and he was feeling bad about that. Much as he liked the woman, wanting to see her was only so he could ask about Aidan. Just a few questions, not a full inquisition, and he knew he needed to go carefully. He still hadn’t told Aidan that he knew who Lily was; nor had Aidan mentioned Lily or the baby. Granted, they hadn’t conversed much yesterday—there were other far more pressing matters. But they had talked on Saturday night, mostly about those dreadful women at The Grand Heights, and whenever Patrick asked about Nadia, Aidan instantly clammed up. How sad and telling it was that Aidan found it easier to admit that he had been used for sexual favors than to talk about the loss of his twin sister and her daughter.
Lily was just putting away her brushes when Patrick reached Poppy’s grave; he took a moment to admire her work.
“They’re beautiful, Lily,” he said, and they were. The forget-me-nots were so perfect now that they instantly cast his mind back to that very last spring in Ireland, before they came to the States. He didn’t miss it, as such—not the place—but he did miss being a complete and happy family, like they were back then: Mam, Dad, Seamus, himself and Archie the red setter. That dog was a menace, always off on a jaunt.
“Patrick, can you go and find that damn dog? He’ll be after chasing the ducks again.”
And Patrick would go tearing off on Seamus’s scooter, pumping his foot hard down the lane to get up some speed to make it over the humpback bridge, and onwards to the pond, where Archie was guaranteed to be lolloping about with his big stupid ears flopping all over the place, setting the ducks off flapping and quacking loudly in disgruntlement. The dog never caught any of them—it was all just a bit of fun—and as soon as he saw Patrick he’d be straight over, tail wagging madly in delight that someone had come to rescue him and take him home. Good times.
“What’s on your mind?” Lily asked.
“Hm?” Patrick’s thoughts returned to the present and he smiled. “I was thinking about our old dog back in Ireland. He was great fun.”
“What was he?”
“Irish red setter. We always had setters. Lovely dogs, they are. A bit dozy, but smashing temperament.”
“Do you have a dog still?”
“I live in an apartment, so I can’t, but maybe someday, if I move somewhere with a yard. How about you?”
“No. Nadia and I were going to, once Poppy was a bit older…” Lily looked to her daughter’s headstone. “Why is life so unfair, Patrick?” Her perfect features crumpled in grief. Patrick instinctively put his arm around her and she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, sobbing quietly.
Patrick held her and shushed her, like he had his mam when his dad died. He was a good man, his father, but distant, and it made losing him bearable. Seamus struggled far more with their dad’s passing, whereas Patrick was the other way around. Life was unfair, and death was cruel, especially losing a partner and child. That sort of pain Patrick could not begin to imagine, and he hoped he’d never find out how it felt.
Lily’s sobbing was slowing and she eased away from him, attempting to brush away her tears with her fingers. Patrick gave her a tissue from his coveralls pocket—he always had tissues. They were as vital to his job as a sharp spade. Lily smiled at him through her tears.
“Oh dear. What you must think of me,” she said, embarrassed.
“It’s okay to cry, lovely. What a loss you have endured.” She nodded and stifled a further sob. “What about the rest of your family? Do you have people to look after you?”
“Yes. My mom and dad, and my brother and sister. I just wish…” Lily paused to blow her nose. “I wish Aidan would let me in. It was so hard for both of us, and we should have been going through it together. Instead we drifted even further apart. Nadia wouldn’t have wanted that. Has he been to
see her today?”
“I haven’t seen him.” There was that blush again. Lily studied him and he felt his mouth bending itself, giving him away. “I should say I haven’t seen him today, but we went out to dinner and a show on Saturday, and spent a couple of hours at my place yesterday.”
“You’re dating?” Lily’s surprise was palpable.
“Er, not as such. It was a friendship date.”
“Uh huh?” Lily folded her arms and smirked knowingly. “That’s just what Nadia called our first date.”
“Ah!” Patrick laughed.
“Well…wow! I didn’t know Aidan…I mean, he’s never dated anyone, but…” Lily shrugged.
“What, no one at all?”
“Nope. Not to my knowledge.” She looked him in the eye. “You care a lot for him, don’t you?”
Patrick nodded. He cared far too much, when they had known each other for such a short space of time. What Lily had said confirmed his suspicions: Aidan was inexperienced, which meant that Ashmore woman hadn’t just stolen his virginity. She’d ripped his innocence from him in the cruelest way imaginable. But Patrick wasn’t going to think about that. No. He was going focus everything on getting it right with Aidan, taking it slow and steady, giving him time to get used to being with someone, although it was he who did all of the pushing yesterday, like a teenager carelessly racing into a relationship with his first crush. Kid gloves. That’s what Patrick needed. Kid gloves and lots of patience.
“I guess I’d better get on,” Patrick said. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” Lily confirmed, leaning close to give him a hug. She kissed his cheek. “Thanks so much for looking after me, and sorry about before. If there’s any damage to the bike, I’ll pay for it of course.”
“Oh, no need at all,” Patrick said, withdrawing with a smile. A movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention.
Aidan stared at Patrick and Lily, his expression one of horror and disbelief. A bouquet of dried flowers dropped to the ground and he turned away, and he ran.
Chapter Thirteen:
B&E
He’d only ever seen it done on television, but as he charged past his sister’s dead roses and around the side of the house, there was no doubt in his mind. This is happening. Aidan ripped off his shirt, oblivious to his partial nudity. He wrapped the fabric around his fist, his jaw locked in anticipation. His breath came out in little gasps, his ears full of the sound of rushing blood, as he reached the back door. Blue and white checkered curtains hung over the glass window set in the door. Curtains his sister had sewn.
There was a moment where he could have stopped himself, but as he thought about Lily’s lips on Patrick’s cheek and Patrick’s warm smile, hurt overwhelmed him and made him insane.
Stupid fucking Aidan.
He pulled back his fist and let it crash through the pane. The sound of glass shattering echoed out into the yard. Aidan began to shake with adrenaline. He pulled his fist out, shards of glass tinkling as it fell to the ground. Then he reached in with his other hand and unlocked the door.
The soles of his shoes crunched over the broken glass, grinding it into the stone flooring. He flipped on a light, illuminating the familiar kitchen where his sister had once baked. He could almost see her kneading dough at the marble countertop, could almost smell the rich aroma of browning crust. Want a taste, Aidan? Grab the butter. He walked past, leaving Nadia in the kitchen, finding her all over again in the living room, dancing the waltz with Lily to a song that played over a commercial. Nadia was hugely pregnant and glowing.
Aidan flipped on more lights as he went straight to the stairs. She called to him from the bathroom. The toilet was overflowing and she was fighting it back with a plunger. Aidan! Aidan, help! No, not the bathroom, the bedroom. She was lying on the bed, her cat, Pumpkin, trying to stand on her protruding belly. She was complaining loudly about her shoes no longer fitting. Come see my monster feet, Aidan… No one’s ever had such giant sausage toesies!
He turned on the bedroom light, his sister kicking her feet in his memory. Her toes had looked like giant sausages—but he hadn’t told her that.
“Move your feet, Na-Na,” Aidan mumbled to his memory, and in the still room he flung open the cedar chest at the end of the bed. Inside was what Lily had kept from the boxes they looked through: his sister’s hand-sewn wedding gown and dried flowers from her bouquet. He pulled them out and set them aside. Then letters she’d tied together with a ribbon, and their mother’s perfume, what little was left. He misted it and at once was transported.
Easter Sunday. His mother was running a wet comb through his hair, trying to get his cowlick to lie flat. Nadia’s dark brown hair was tightly wound in rollers and she hopped around playfully in her tights and shoes and underdress.
“Spray me, Mama!” Nadia smiled—a tooth missing in the front. “Please?”
Their mother set down the comb and picked up her fancy perfume bottle, shaped like a graceful peacock, and sprayed a fine mist in the air. Nadia squealed, but as a bit of perfume landed on Aidan, he panicked, and ran away from his mother and sister, screaming that he smelled like a girl.
When adult Aidan opened his eyes again, he found there was nothing left in the bottle. He’d sprayed the last dregs. He added it to the pile of Nadia’s possessions. He found a turquoise bracelet and a small locket with a broken chain. Inside was a picture of his mother on one side and him on the other. He found their father’s pocket watch and a small, leather-bound journal full of sketches.
Aidan’s breath caught as he turned back the first page.
“I didn’t know you drew, Na-Na…” he whispered.
It was a sketch of morning glories, Nadia’s name signed at the bottom. His sister wasn’t a particularly good artist, but as he turned page after page, he realized she was a diligent one. The dates indicated that for an entire month, she’d tried to improve her technique and slowly, the morning glories got a little better. Then, about halfway through the book, the images began to change. The simple sketches became elaborate, detailed drawings—some inked, others water color painted in vibrant, exploding shades. Nadia had dropped her signature. It was as if someone had sat down and taught his sister how to draw.
Had she taken classes? Read books on art? Or had she simply been inspired? What had changed inside of her? He ran his fingertips over a pointillism piece. An ivy covered wall. So beautiful. Then he flipped the page again. Lily’s name was in the corner of a charcoal sketch of a rose in bloom. Aidan frowned. And moved forward. The same style as before, except now the pieces were all signed by his sister-in-law. What had Lily done? Taken the book away from his sister? Ripped it out of Nadia’s hands? Oh, your art is horrible, I’ll show you how to do it better.
He chucked the journal at the wall where it struck and fluttered pathetically to the ground.
Aidan stood, angry again. There were more of Nadia’s things in the cedar chest, but this wasn’t what he wanted to see. He wanted to look inside the boxes. The ones Lily hid away after Nadia died. It was so easy for her to hide Nadia away and forget. And that’s what she was doing now. With Patrick. Patrick…
He headed toward the end of the hall where the pull string to the attic stairs dangled. Nadia was behind him again, begging him to go up and look for her. I swear there’s a ghost up there, Aidan. She hated the attic, because she’d read one too many ghost stories as a child. There were always ghosts in the attic.
Nadia was almost never scared of anything—she faced life head-on. He was always the one hiding behind her when they were children. But when it came to the attic, he got to be the brave twin.
He pulled on the cord and stepped back, the ladder unfolding before him.
The attic was muggy. A naked light bulb hung overhead, but there was no reason to turn it on with the daylight streaming through the clean windows. Lily must not have the same fear of the attic as his sister.
He found the boxes in one corner, each of them labeled Nadia’s Thing
s in crisp handwriting. For a moment he studied them. There were at least three that he could see—maybe more, deeper in the corner. As he approached, a nervous sort of anticipation filled him. What would he find inside? He wasn’t thinking about the things his twin had owned in this house with her wife. He was thinking about Nadia from her childhood. Would he find her dance ribbons? The kitten music box that played Für Elise? The comic book she and her friend Gretchen made in the fourth grade? Sand in a jar from Jewel Beach? Or the only picture of their parents and the twins together as a family?
He took his keys out of his jeans pocket, planning to use them to rip open the tape. Whatever was inside those boxes would bring him closer to Nadia, just for a second. Everyone else may have forgotten her, but damned if Aidan would.
He was just crouching down when he heard a voice say tightly, “Sir, I’m going to need you to put your hands in the air and turn around slowly.”
<<< >>>
Aidan had never been arrested before, and all he could think, as he sat in the back of the police car, was how much he wished he had his shirt and how heavy the handcuffs were. He’d imagined them feeling like the fake plastic ones he’d had as a child. These rested against his wrists with a weight heavier than the steel they were made of.
He let his head loll against the window and sighed.
Aidan should have felt something when he saw Lily’s car turn into the driveway but all he felt was numb. He watched her jump out of her car and come running toward them, waving her arms at the officers. He was so tired.
“Please let him out,” she begged. Her voice was muffled beyond the door. Aidan couldn’t hear what the officer said, but from the way he gestured toward the house, it was apparent he was laying the whole event out for her. She shook her head, sending dark hair flying. “It’s okay. He’s my brother-in-law.”
Seeds of Tyrone Box Set Page 8