Inseparable

by Siobhan Davis

  He gives off an air of understated wealth that is disconcerting. I’m beginning to suspect that Rachel hit the nail on the head with her assessment.

  If this is what my uncle looks like, I have a feeling my cousins are going to easily meet the fit-rich barometer she’s set.

  Luke flips the covers off and stands. He gestures at his clothes. “Relax, I didn’t take advantage of her. I’d never hurt Faye—I love her.” He starts scanning the floor for his runners, conspicuously avoiding my gaze.

  My uncle’s chin jerks up. “He’s your boyfriend?” He looks skeptical.

  “Ex.”

  Now he looks relieved.

  Luke scowls as he sits on the edge of the bed, slipping his feet into his runners. He turns around to face me. “I guess this is goodbye?”

  “Eh.” I rub my hand across the back of my head as I look to my uncle for confirmation. I have no idea what the plans are—whether he intends to hang around for a few days, or if we’ll be leaving immediately. Mr. Kennedy nods, and I turn to face Luke. “Yep. See ya, Luke.”

  He leans over to kiss my cheek, and I pull him into a quick hug. A sad look briefly flitters across his eyes. “Take care, Faye. I’ll miss you.” He strolls out of the room with his shoulders hunched over.

  A layer of tension immediately fills the empty space. My uncle looks at me, and I look back at him, and we just kinda stare at each other, neither one of us knowing what to say or do. His surprisingly familiar blue eyes are glued to mine, and a whole host of emotions skitters over his face. A muscle clenches in his jaw as he continues scrutinizing me, and I squirm uncomfortably. It’s too intrusive—awkward on so many different levels. I chew on the corner of my lip, but I refuse to divert my eyes, meeting his penetrating gaze dead-on.

  After a couple of minutes, irritation starts to build. I feel like a monkey in a cage at Dublin Zoo. My patience snaps. “Weren’t you ever told it’s rude to stare?”

  That breaks him out of his trance-like state. He rocks back on his heels, glancing sheepishly at me. “I apologize, Faye. And for turning up like this, but you missed the appointment at the attorneys, ah, solicitors”—he corrects himself when he sees my puzzled expression—“and I was worried.”

  He slips his hands in his pockets, as I level him with a guarded look. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just … you look so much like … Saoirse.” He almost whispers her name. “You’re the spitting image of your mom at the same age.” As he places a hand across his chest, tears well in his eyes, he drops onto the corner of the bed, and hangs his head. His solid frame heaves as strong emotion rattles through him.

  Unless this is an act, he genuinely seems to have cared for my mum.

  Their relationship, or lack of one, is a mystery I wouldn’t mind unraveling sometime.

  I don’t know what to do, whether I should reach out to comfort him or not, but he’s a stranger to me, and it doesn’t feel right, so I do nothing, letting him deal with whatever is going through his head in his own time.

  A short while later, he looks up, and I’m startled to see so much devastation in his eyes. In this moment, he appears to have aged twenty years. Raw pain radiates from his eyes, and he doesn’t do a thing to shade it from me. I kinda like that. There’s an honest quality to it that endears him to me.

  Slowly, I release my grip on the covers and slide out the side of the bed. I sit down beside him. “It’s true? You really are my mum’s brother?” Not that I need verification. He has the same color eyes, the same complexion, and similar little strips of fiery red trace a path through his dark hair. He’s like the male version of my mum. Tears gather in my eyes as her image surges to the forefront of my mind. I blink them away, but not before a sneaky beggar slips out, cascading down my cheek.

  “Yes, and I’m James, by the way.” He extends his hand and I reluctantly shake it, feeling terribly awkward. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Faye. I’ve been distraught since I heard the news.” He scrubs a hand over his prickly jaw, and at this proximity, it’s easy to confirm that truth. Bruising purple shadows hang underneath his bloodshot eyes, and his skin has an unhealthy tinge to it. It’s clear he hasn’t slept in days.

  “Why didn’t she tell me about you?”

  His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “We had a complicated relationship.” He says it with a real drawn-out American twang that’s kinda funny. His accent is a bit messed up. “I didn’t realize she had a daughter,” he continues, eyeing me earnestly. “I didn’t know you existed until a few days ago. I’m sorry you had to go through the funeral by yourself. I should’ve been here with you, but the solicitor said his instructions were very clear. He was only to contact me after the funeral.”

  “It’s okay.” I toss him a feeble smile. “I survived the ordeal.” Barely, but he doesn’t need to know that. I close my eyes, forcing the horrific memories away.

  Another layer of uncomfortable silence descends. I smile weakly at him.

  “I thought I was going to have to avenge your death,” he murmurs a few minutes later, motioning toward the red-stained bed linen.

  I can’t bring myself to laugh even though I understand he’s trying to lighten the mood. “Apparently, I thought it was a good idea to undergo a makeover last night.” I grimace as I inspect strands of my now garishly red hair.

  “I’m surprised that you would drink yourself into such a state, especially after what happened to your pare …” He trails off when he spots the expression on my face.

  Undisguised misery fills every part of me, and I can’t deal. My breathing becomes labored, and that awful fluttery feeling is back in my chest. I need to shut it down before it destroys me. I can’t go there. It’s still far too painful to think about the specifics of the accident. And who the hell does he think he is? Swanning in here like he knows everything?

  He knows nothing.

  “You don’t get to lecture me,” I grit out. “You’re not my dad.”

  If he thinks he can replace my dad, he has another thing coming. He’s my uncle, not a substitute dad, and the sooner he understands that the better. I’m only agreeing to this farce of a move because I’ve no choice. At least not until January.

  All bets are off once I turn eighteen.

  However, he’s also right in his insinuation, and I loathe myself in this moment. My parents were killed by a drunk driver, and drinking myself into oblivion isn’t the best way of honoring their memory. Mum hated me drinking, although she was realistic enough to know that she couldn’t stop me. She’d be so disappointed in my behavior, and I hate feeling as if I’ve let her down, which is mad, because she’s let me down in a much worse way.

  She promised she’d always be here for me.

  But she lied.

  Because she’s gone, and I have to try to find some way of living the rest of my life without her in it.

  A painful lump jams my throat as tears gather in earnest. A wayward sob escapes before I can stop it.

  “Shoot,” James says. “I’m making a right mess of this. I’m not used to girls … not since …”

  He doesn’t need to say it.

  Not since my mum.

  I look into his sincere eyes, and my sudden burst of rage-fueled grief disappears. I can tell he means well and that this is as hard for him as it is for me. “Well,” I say, deciding to be charitable, “I’m not used to having an uncle, or cousins, and I’ve never even been outside of Ireland, so I think my level of unease totally trumps yours.” My fingers pick at a loose thread on the hem of my shirt. “Not that it’s a competition or anything. I’m just saying.” I shrug.

  A huge grin transforms his face, and he looks so young when he smiles. “I have a feeling you’re going to fit right in, Faye.”

  He stands up, offering his hand. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  My eyes are out on stalks as we ar
rive at a small, private terminal at Dublin Airport a little while later. I’ve been glum the entire half hour of the journey. James didn’t waste much time hanging about. I was showered and packed in record time. Locking the door to my house was a heart-wrenching moment. Everything is happening so fast. Too fast. My life is about to flip right over, and I’m ill prepared.

  The sight of the private jet awaiting us only adds to the surreal feeling. A narrow red strip stretches along the side of the whitewashed plane, broken in half by a striking, red, circular logo with a distinctive “K” in the center that immediately captures my interest.

  I know that brand!

  Everyone at school has been raving about their new teen clothing range. It doesn’t take a genius to join the dots.

  No way!

  “Are you kidding me?” I stride purposefully across the tarmac. “This plane belongs to Kennedy Apparel? That company is yours?” I know the stuffy solicitor dude said my uncle was wealthy, but I didn’t think he meant the filthy, obnoxiously rich type of wealthy. The enormity of the situation presses down on me like a heavy weight. I’m suddenly feeling a little green around the gills, and the prospect of flying isn’t responsible. I’m even more apprehensive over what lies ahead. What am I getting myself into?

  James chuckles. “This is actually my own personal jet, but it’s technically owned by Kennedy Apparel. That’s my wife’s business. It’s been in her family for years, although she rebranded when she took the helm after we were married and she started using my name.” He ushers me up the steps, and I walk into the compact cabin.

  Plush, white leather recliners engraved with the signature K logo line the spacious cabin on both sides. Chairs face one another, sandwiched between small, glossy, walnut-topped tables. Four pairs of two in total. James leads me past the main area and out beyond a small bathroom, stopping in front of a narrow space passing as a kitchen of sorts. “Would you like a drink?”

  Even the thought of alcohol makes my stomach flip one-eighty. Nausea rises up my throat, and I clamp my mouth shut. I’d rather not hurl in front of him. “Water, thanks.”

  He hands me a cold bottle and two tablets. “They’ll help with the hangover.” I accept them gratefully, popping the pills in my mouth as I take a healthy glug of water.

  “Come on through to the cockpit,” he offers.

  I follow him into the small space with a frown. “Where’s the pilot?”

  His lips curve into a smile. “That’d be me.” My jaw falls open, and he laughs. “Michael is on hand as co-pilot if I need him.” He gestures behind, and I glance over my shoulder at the tall, gray-haired man who has just stepped into the cabin. I smile as he lifts a hand in greeting.

  “Strap yourself in,” James instructs, dropping into his seat as he gestures at the one alongside him.

  A mad swarm of butterflies floods my belly. I never imagined my first time in the air would be in a glamorous private plane and that I’d be sitting in the actual cockpit. Nervous adrenaline floods my system as I lock my harness in place.

  James flips a ton of switches on the control panel, verifies info with some dude on the end of his radio, and then pushes a few levers. I settle back in my seat as the thrum of the engine starts up and the plane starts moving.

  I’ve had my nose glued to the window the last half hour, even though all I can see are big, chunky clouds. I still can’t believe I’m airborne. I’d presumed my first time would be with my parents, so my euphoria has a bittersweet edge to it.

  James taps my elbow, claiming my attention. His smile is expansive as he takes in my awestruck expression. “First time?”

  “Yeah. It’s every bit as incredible as I thought it would be,” I volunteer.

  “Let me show you something. Hold on.” His grin has turned mischievous.

  The plane starts tilting right, and my heart jumps into my throat. I grab onto my harness as the plane continues to veer right, and all the blood rushes to my face. I scream my head off as we roll over, turning completely upside down, and my breath huffs out in panicked spurts. My hair covers my face like a blanket.

  My breathing only starts to recalibrate when the plane has right-sided and we’re back on track. Pushing clumped locks of hair out of my face, I stare at my uncle with wide-eyed alarm. “Oh my God!” I shriek, when I finally find my voice. “Some warning would’ve been nice!”

  “And miss hearing you scream and seeing the look on your face right now? No way!”

  He chuckles, and I find myself laughing with him. “You’re insane!”

  “What good is having your own plane if you can’t have a little fun every now and then?” His face lights up excitedly, and in this moment, he’s like a little boy on Christmas morning.

  He’s into planes.

  My dad was obsessed with cars.

  What is it with boys and their toys?

  “That said,” he adds, with a cheeky grin, “it might be best not to tell Alex.”

  “Alex?”

  “My wife.”

  I twirl a lock of hair around my finger. “I assume she knows about me?”

  “Of course. I told Alex and the boys as soon as I found out. Don’t worry.” He pats my hand. “They are expecting your arrival.”

  “And how did they take the news?” I watch him like a hawk as he prepares to answer.

  “They were shocked, like I was, but they’ll come around. The triplets are extremely excited to make your acquaintance.”

  My eyes pop wide. “Triplets?”

  He smiles, obviously used to this reaction. “Our youngest sons are triplets. It was one hell of a surprise, I can tell you.” His lips expand wider. “Keanu, Kent, and Keaton will be sixteen in December. They’ll be sophomores this year.”

  An unpleasant sensation forms in my gut. American high school. A bristling shiver travels up and down my spine. I’ve no clue what I’m in for, but I refuse to allow anxiety to tie me into knots. My brain—unhelpfully—conjures up images from a succession of American movies and shows I’ve seen, and I have a sneaky feeling that it’s not pure fiction. Hopefully, I’m wrong, but if I’m not, I’ll deal. I’ve gotten through worse.

  Pushing my concern aside, I focus on getting more info out of Uncle James while he seems to be in a sharing-and-caring type mood. “How old are your other sons? Will any of them be in my year?”

  “Kaden and Keven are at Harvard.” He graces me with a proud smile. “They live on campus, but they’ll be at the house to welcome you. Kaden is twenty and Keven turned nineteen recently.”

  “All their names start with K?” How cheesy.

  He fails to hide his amusement. “Yes. That was my wife’s idea. She’s rather obsessed with her brand.”

  I’ll say.

  “So, um, what about the rest of your sons?”

  “Kalvin is sixteen and he’ll be a junior this year. Kyler is a senior like you. He’s seventeen, too, although you’re older by a few months.” He glances briefly out the side window.

  “Oh.” I hadn’t considered that any of my cousins could be the same age as me. I hope Kyler isn’t one of those do-gooder preppy-male types. Or worse, one of those obnoxious all-American jocks.

  “They are all so close in age. Do they get along?”

  James snorts. “Well, that’s a loaded question if ever I heard one!” A nostalgic look crosses over his face. “They have their moments, but, yeah, they’re close. Having the triplets so soon after Kyler and Kalvin came along was a challenging time. Imagine having six kids all under the age of five? I don’t know how we survived!” He chuckles, as I shudder at the mere thought.

  “And how does Alex feel about the situation with me?”

  He opens the top two buttons of his shirt and leans back in his seat. “Alex is ecstatic. She can’t wait to meet you.”

  I examine his pupils carefully, and they don’t dilate
. I detect no hint of a lie. He’s looking at me expectantly, waiting for a response. I shoot for textbook-polite, which always goes down well with the oldies. “That’s very nice of her, and I look forward to meeting everyone.”

  The rest of the plane ride passes by in uneventful silence. Every so often, I catch him sneaking sly looks at me. It’s a little unnerving, but I guess it’s as strange for him as it is for me.

  I’m still finding it difficult to understand how my mother kept our relatives hidden all these years. Or why. I inwardly laugh at the irony of the situation. For years, I yearned for relations, for siblings, for anyone other than Mum, Dad, and me. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my parents fiercely, and we had a super-close relationship, but there were times when it felt like I was living in a goldfish bowl.

  A dusky skyline greets us when we finally land on the private airstrip attached to Boston’s Logan International Airport. James whisks me into a waiting chauffeur-driven car the minute we step off the plane.

  I’ve barely time to breathe before we set out into the heavy urban traffic. The interior of the car is an ode to Kennedy Apparel—the K logo is splashed everywhere—and I’m beginning to sense a theme. I can only imagine what the house is going to be like.

  My gaze barely strays from the window the entire journey, and I’m mesmerized by my first glimpse of the United States. As I soak it all up, I allow a tiny glimmer of excitement to take root inside me. I imagine Mum whispering in my ear. “You’re on the adventure of a lifetime, love. Embrace it!” A familiar stomach-clenching pang sears through me, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

  I wonder if the pain will ever go away. Or if I’ll feel gutted every time I remember her.

  “Faye? Are you okay?” James’ voice is soft as he leans forward in his seat. His eyes are kind.

  “I’m fine,” I say, a little harshly. “Just trying to absorb everything.”