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“Yes.” Panic filled me at a rapid rate, causing me to stretch my smile out further, feeling the pressure in my lungs before I uttered a single word. “Can I come inside please?”
“You can,” she answered warily, swinging the door inward. “Is everything alright?”
“Oh, everything’s fine,” I hurried to say, feeling a desperate urge to soothe the worry lines on her face, as I followed her into the house that I had spent so much of my childhood in.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” Lizzie’s mam said as she led us into the kitchen. “Take a seat.”
“Yeah,” I replied, slipping off my coat. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much.”
“No need to explain, Claire,” she said softly, moving to fill the kettle. “Tea?”
“Yes, please.”
“Two sugars?”
I beamed. “You remembered.”
She smiled over her shoulder. “How’s that brother of yours keeping?” Turning off the tap, she walked over to the counter, kettle in hand, and switched it on. “He’s a good one, that boy. He was such a rock to this family after Caoimhe’s passing.” She shook her head sadly. “Such a pity he doesn’t come around anymore.”
“Hugh’s grand,” I replied, taking a seat at the familiar kitchen table. The one I had carved my initials into the underside of when I was six. “He’s doing his leaving cert this year.”
“My god,” she whispered, more to herself than me. “The years are just slipping away, aren’t they?”
“They sure are,” I replied, feeling sad.
“Still playing the rugby?”
“He sure is,” I replied. “Still living and breathing for it.”
“I meant to thank your mother for the beautiful wreath she laid for Caoimhe’s anniversary,” Mrs. Young said, returning to the table with two mugs of tea. “I must have lost track of time.”
“Oh, it was no trouble,” I hurried to say, accepting the mug she held out to me. “She lays one every year. On her birthday and at Christmas, too.” Taking a small tip from my mug, I mulled over my next sentence before finally saying, “You know, I’m sure Mam would love you see you again.”
Mrs. Young smiled politely but didn’t respond, just like I knew she wouldn’t. “It’s been a really long time since you caught up, right?” I pushed in as gentle a tone as I could muster.
Six years, to be precise.
Since her daughter passed away and lines were drawn in the sand.
“My door is always open for your mother,” Mrs. Young replied. Meaning that she had no intention of coming anywhere near our house because of who our neighbors were. “I’m so glad you called,” she continued, reaching across the table to pat my hand. “You’re like a breath of fresh air, Claire Biggs.”
She wouldn’t think that once she knew the true intent of my impromptu visit. “Is Mr. Young home soon?” I asked, shifting in discomfort when I locked eyes on the family portrait hanging on the wall of the kitchen. The one that contained two smiling sisters with their casually smiling parents. Oh god. “It’s just what I wanted to talk to you about should probably include Lizzie’s dad, too.”
Mrs. Young stared at me for a long moment, confusion etched on her face. “Didn’t Lizzie tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“We’ve separated.”
I gaped at her. “You’ve what?”
“Lizzie’s father moved out last Easter.”
“He did?” My mouth dropped, right along with my heart. “Mike moved out?”
“He’s in Tipperary since January,” Mrs. Young explained, pausing to take a sip from her mug. “Took a job in Thurles. He comes down every few weeks to visit Liz.”
“Are you serious?”
