Summer Fire
Page 64
She rose and grabbed some of the empty Chinese cartons, stacking them together before carrying them inside. She tossed them in the trash, missed, and scattered rice and sauce on the floor. Tears filled her eyes as Merlin trotted up to lick the tiles clean.
“Good boy. You love Mummy, don’t you?”
Aaron appeared in the doorway, holding the rest of the take-out cartons. “While I was working undercover, we went to a club where Ewan was playing. I had to tell him so he didn’t blow my cover.”
“And Jamie?”
“He wanted to meet up when he visited Dublin.”
She was certain that if she’d visited Dublin and wanted to meet up, Aaron would have simply said no.
Chapter Four
Fiona strode along the country lane in the old jeans and T-shirt she kept for dirty jobs, her gardening gloves folded in her hand. She turned down the footpath through the woodland that bordered the lough and emerged on the overgrown track that led to O’Malley’s cabin.
Aaron’s large black SUV sat next to a huge metal skip. As she walked up, Jamie and Aaron carried an old cupboard out of the cabin and tossed it into the skip with a metallic bang and crunch of shattering wood.
“Ready to get your hands dirty?” Jamie grinned at her as he wiped his filthy hands on his jeans.
“Yes, but I won’t get as dirty as you,” she said pointedly, “because I’m the one who has to do the laundry.”
Aaron glanced her way and muttered a greeting without meeting her eyes. They hadn’t spoken since their argument the previous evening, and she didn’t especially want to talk to him now.
Finding out that he’d confided in her brothers while he kept her in the dark had stirred up the aching hurt emotions again. Last night she’d dreamed of Aaron walking away from her. She’d called his name, but he’d kept going without looking back. It was the first time she’d had that dream in years, and she hated the empty feeling of desertion that stayed with her after she woke.
The only reason she’d come to help today was for old Mr. O’Malley. Fiona had loved him like a grandfather. He’d been kind and patient when she was young and let her help with the boats, even though she probably hindered more than she helped. He was the one she’d poured out her heart to after Aaron left.
Maybe he’d known Aaron would never come back and run the boat rental business. Maybe he’d known her dreams were hopeless, and so were his own. But he hadn’t burst her bubble. Instead he’d told her how lucky his grandson was to have such a pretty girl in love with him.
Seeing the cabin fall into disrepair had broken her heart. Now she had a chance to repay the old man’s kindness by helping to fix it up.
“What shall I do?” She stood on the threshold of the wooden building and pulled on her gardening gloves.
“We’re chucking everything in the skip,” Aaron said. “There’s nothing here worth salvaging. My father cleared out everything of value after the…funeral.”
“That you didn’t bother to attend,” Fiona said under her breath. She gathered up a handful of dirty paper off the floor. It was only as she tossed it in the skip she realized it was a bunch of brochures for the boat rental business. Her heart pinched with sorrow for what might have been if Aaron had honored his promise to his grandfather and taken over the boats.
She, Jamie, and Aaron trudged back and forth, gradually emptying the cabin and filling the skip. Ewan was there, seemingly oblivious to the hard work going on. He sat on the dock with his feet dangling in the water, playing the same tune over and over on his guitar.
She shared an eye roll with the others. Nothing changed. She loved Ewan dearly, but he’d driven her nuts when she was young. He always skipped his chores to practice his guitar, and she ended up doing double chores.
“What did your dad do with your granddad’s stuff?” She’d have liked a keepsake, something small to remind her of old Mr. O’Malley.
“Dad sold it at auction and gave me the money.” From the tone of Aaron’s voice, he wasn’t happy about that. “I thought I might turn the cabin into a holiday rental place. I’d have liked to keep the good furniture. Too late now.” He sighed and turned away.
“You’ll have to get the stink out of the place first.” She scraped up a dustpan full of rat droppings from under where a cupboard had been.
The three of them worked together as they had years ago, silently coordinating their efforts as if each knew what the others were thinking.
A few hours later she pulled off her stinking, ruined gloves and tossed them in the skip before rubbing her back. “I need to head home to prepare for the afternoon visitors. I’ll make you sandwiches if you want to come too.”
“Yay, I’m starving.” Ewan scrambled to his feet, leaving wet footprints on the sun-bleached wooden dock.
Fiona shook her head but couldn’t help smiling at her middle brother. He might live in a strange alternate reality where the only thing that mattered was music, but he never missed a meal.
*
For the rest of the week, Fiona continued the routine of getting up early to bake the scones before preparing breakfast for their guests, so she had time to walk down to the lough to help clean and repair the cabin.
On Friday, Aaron waited for her and gave her a ride in his car. They were on their own today. Ewan had gone to Cork for a recording session, and Jamie had to take the mower to be repaired. He’d volunteered to get some groceries at the same time.
Fiona dangled her hand out of the open car window, letting strands of long grass and wildflowers graze over her palm as Aaron maneuvered his huge vehicle along the narrow lane and turned down the track to the cabin.
When they arrived, he climbed the ladder to finish nailing on cedar shingles to repair the hole in the roof while Fiona washed the inside walls and floorboards with disinfectant for the third time.
When she’d finished, she pulled off her rubber gloves and rested her hands on her hips. “It doesn’t smell as bad inside now, but there’s still a faint odor of rats.”
Aaron joined her, pulling off his gloves to rub the sweat off his face with the back of his hand. “I don’t know what else to do short of ripping up all the floorboards and replacing them.”
“We have special biological cleaner up at the castle that’s supposed to eat dirt.”
“Okay, let’s try that tomorrow. I need a break, and I don’t want you to spend your whole day off cleaning.”
They took the car back to the castle, then changed and cleaned up before meeting in the kitchen. Aaron grabbed two sodas from the fridge and sat at the old oak kitchen table while Fiona put together some sandwiches. She’d been very aware of him today, a subtle tension between them that kept her on edge. A few times she’d caught him looking at her as if he wanted to say something.
When she set a plate on the table in front of him, he caught hold of her hand. “I didn’t plan to cut you out of my life for so long, you know.” He looked up at her, his deep brown eyes full of regret. “I should have come to visit before I went undercover. My boss told me it’d be for twelve months max. It turned out to be six years.”
“Six years.” The words whispered between Fiona’s lips in disbelief. “How could you pretend to be someone else for that length of time?”
Aaron released her hand and hung his head. “That’s the thing. I started to worry I wasn’t pretending anymore.” His voice had fallen to little more than a whisper. “To maintain my cover, I’ve done things I’m ashamed of. I feel dirty, like I’ll never wash off the stain of that world. That’s why I didn’t want you to know.”
“Oh, Aaron.” Fiona stepped behind his chair, and like she’d done so many times in the past, she slipped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his hair, holding him tight, willing her love and healing energy into him.
“You were only doing your duty, like an actor playing a part. It’s over now.”
“No,” he said so softly she barely heard him. “It’ll never be over.”
; *
Aaron closed his eyes and absorbed the warmth of Fiona’s arms around his neck. Her silky hair tickled his skin and filled the air with the fragrance of cherries from her shampoo. Just her touch pushed back the darkness that had threatened to overwhelm him. Much of the time he could keep his terrible memories locked away, but occasionally something would rise from the mire and he’d be right back there, reliving a shooting he’d witnessed, or worse.
He gathered Fiona’s hands in his and lifted them to his lips. He’d been such a fool. When he first went undercover, he’d imagined coming to tell her about it afterwards like some movie star playing at being a detective. The reality had shocked him. In the last six years, hardly a day had passed when he wasn’t terrified he’d be found out and killed. And the deeper he got, the more he had to play the role. He’d felt like he was digging his own grave and burying himself.
“Talk to me if it’ll help,” she whispered.
“I’m not allowed to until it’s come to trial and the cases are over.” Even then he wouldn’t want to tell her, wouldn’t want to disgust her and shock her. He kissed her hands again. “You’re sweet and good and everything that’s right with this world. I need to keep you separate from the darkness.”
She hugged him tighter, her breath warming his hair before she pressed her lips there. “You need to heal. Will they give you counseling?”
“It’s been mentioned.” Though he didn’t want to go over everything with some psychoanalyst and have them pick it all apart. He wanted to forget.
“Maybe you should make a wishing jar. They can be very therapeutic.”
Despite his dark mood, Aaron laughed at the idea. How could putting flowers and sparkly stuff in a jar help him forget? “Jamie says they remind him of weddings.”
“They can be used as wedding favors. You can put anything in a wishing jar—memories, hopes, and dreams. A wishing jar is what you make it.”
Fiona pulled her arms away and withdrew, leaving Aaron bereft for a moment. He hadn’t known how much he missed her. He’d forgotten how much she meant to him. It was more than attraction; she was the only woman he’d ever been able to talk to about stuff that really mattered.
She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Give it a try. You have nothing to lose, and it might help.”
“Really?”
She nodded, her silky ponytail bouncing up and down.
“Okay then.”
If it meant they got to spend time together doing something other than cleaning out the cabin, then why not? He’d like to find out more about what she did. He was proud of how successful she was. Who would have thought his little kitten would do so well.
Chapter Five
Fiona took Aaron’s hand and led him out the back door. He followed without another word, and that alone upset her. She’d never seen Aaron like this before. He used to be full of himself as if he could conquer the world.
Some of her earliest memories were of Aaron. She’d loved him all her life, with the childish expectation that because she loved him they would always be together. Even though he didn’t return after college as he’d promised and he’d kept her in the dark about his job, that hadn’t changed how she felt about him.
“Here we are,” she said as she threw open the wishing barn door and quickly opened a few windows. The place always got so warm in the summer, but it smelled wonderful inside, a mix of sun-kissed wood and the mingled fragrances of the scented items she kept for people to put in the wishing jars.
Aaron halted on the threshold and twisted his lips uncertainly. “You know, I’m not sure about this. I can’t think what I’d put in one of your jar things.”
Unfazed by his reaction, Fiona pulled a pad of paper and a pen from a drawer. People who had serious issues often couldn’t think about their future until they’d cleared out the past. She’d discovered a simple way to do this when she’d been dealing with her own hurt feelings and broken heart.
“Take this pad, then go and sit somewhere quiet and write.”
He gazed at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I thought you wanted me to make one of your jar things?”
“I do. But first you need to write.”
“Write what?”
“Whatever you need to write. Let all your worries come out on the paper, as many words as necessary. It doesn’t matter if it takes the rest of the day or longer. When you’re done, come and find me.”
“Are you going to read it?”
“No. You don’t even need to read it yourself. It’s simply a way of getting all the bad stuff out of your head.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay. What do I do with it afterwards?”
Fiona smiled and slipped past him out the door. “Follow me.” She led him to the small garden behind the barn. It was a peaceful, sheltered spot, a sunny hideaway in the afternoon.
In the center of the circular paved area on a pedestal sat a large blue ceramic pot decorated with yellow and red flowers. It looked as though it should be a planter, but it had a different purpose.
Fiona tapped the edge of the pot. “You put the pages in here and burn them.”
“You expect me to do all that work writing stuff down, then just burn it?”
She suppressed a smile at his indignant tone. It was a normal reaction to her suggestion.
“Yep. You’ll feel better afterwards. Believe me. I know.”
His frown relaxed, and he dropped his gaze to the pad in his hand. Then he looked at her, a question in his eyes as if he’d guessed she’d done this after he’d hurt her. But she wasn’t going to bring that up now. She didn’t want to heap any more guilt on his shoulders.
He might only be here for a few weeks, but in that time she’d do all she could to help him deal with whatever trauma he’d suffered and move on.
*
Aaron wandered away from the castle to find privacy to write. He followed the footpath through the meadow to the River Glass. A weeping willow shaded a wooden bench near an ancient arched stone bridge that spanned the narrow river and led to the churchyard on the other side.
Very aware of the pad and pen in his hand, he stepped on the bridge and stared into the clear water bubbling over the rocks, tiny fish darting about like silver flashes in the depths. When he was younger, he’d hung out here with Jamie and Fiona. They had paddled, fished for minnows, or simply laid in the shade of the weeping willow and talked.
He smiled when he remembered how Fiona always pretended to be a cat and went through a phase when she mewed instead of talking. That was when he’d started calling her kitten, and the name had stuck.
Fiona had tagged along after Jamie and him back then; now she was the one giving the instructions. He glanced at the pad and considered what she’d said. In a crazy sort of way, it made sense that writing stuff down might help purge it.
He swiped a fly away from his face and stared at the fish some more. “Enough procrastinating,” he said.
Aaron sat on the riverbank, pulled off his shoes, and dangled his feet in the cool water like he used to all those years ago. Then he rested the pad on his knee and twirled the pen between his fingers, staring across the river at Saint Patrick’s Church. Just write what comes to mind, Fiona had said.
He put the pen to the paper and let the first words flow.
Sorry, Granddad. Sorry I broke my promise and let you down.
Okay, that surprised him. He’d expected the nightmares about his undercover work to come crawling out onto the paper.
He put the pen to the paper again.
I’m an idiot. I should have stuck to my dreams and not let Dad talk me out of them. I know being in the Garda is worthwhile, and I know it makes Dad proud of me, but I should have been true to myself. I should have come back to Ballyglass and married Fiona.
Seeing the words married Fiona on the paper made Aaron’s chest cramp, and it hurt to suck in a breath. He never let himself wonder what life might have been like if he’d made different choices. There was no going back. He
wiped the side of his hand across his lips and glanced towards the castle. She’d said she wouldn’t read this. He hoped that was true.
I wish I hadn’t hurt Fiona. I know she must have waited for me, and I didn’t even bother to let her know I wasn’t coming back. I was a jerk. I was a coward.
He stopped writing and squeezed his eyes closed, his chest hurting again. Writing stuff down was painful.
He wrote a bit more about his granddad and Fiona, then the nightmarish thoughts of his time in Dublin hijacked his mind with dark, haunting images and terrifying memories. The words poured onto the paper, his heart thumping and his hand cramping. Events he’d pushed deep down and tried to forget rose to the surface like oil on water and found their way onto the page.
Finally the last drips and drabs of memories became sentences, his writing now barely legible as his hand was so tired. He blinked as if waking from a trance, amazed when he counted twelve full pages.
The process had exhausted him mentally, but he also felt lighter as though dumping out all those words on the page had eased the weight inside him. Maybe there was something to this idea of Fiona’s.
For a moment, he considered reading what he’d written. Almost immediately, he dismissed the idea. That would be like tossing out the trash, then going and picking it all up again.
He strolled back to the wishing barn and found Fiona sitting at a workstation, the melodic tones of one of Ewan’s songs coming from an iPod dock nearby. She perched on the tall stool, her long, tanned legs crossed. Engrossed in her work, she didn’t notice him at first.
It looked as though she was making an ocean-themed wishing jar. She arranged some scrunched blue tissue in the jar, then dropped in a small piece of dried seaweed and nestled a tiny wooden boat in the papery folds. Then she started sticking seashells on the jar lid.
“I’ve finished,” he said.