“No,” he said, so matter-of-fact there could be no doubt about it. “But I was more willing to pretend. If you can’t see a future with anyone, it doesn’t feel like settling so much as being grateful for what you get. But that wasn’t fair to her, either, so it’s good she didn’t let us stretch it out.”
That was such a sad sentiment to me, but it wasn’t like I didn’t understand it. The decision to close yourself off, to stop yourself from wanting anything more—it came from a protective place, even if it ended up in a punishing one.
“It’s easy to get jaded about love,” I said. “I’d been feeling that way, too.”
“Until?”
Eamonn had bent to pet the dog again, so that single word took its time firming up in my mind. I’d used the past tense, saying Ihadbeen feeling that way instead of that Ihave. It hadn’t been a conscious choice, so I didn’t know why I would’ve made that distinction.
Until I woke up in another country and didn’t know how I got there. Until I felt that wind on my face, leaning out of your car window. Until I heard that violinist play a song that expands in my chest, every single time. Until now. Untilyou.
The sun had been warm on my face, but then the clouds moved, and I couldn’t feel it as much. It was terrifying, not knowing exactly where I was or why or what had happened to me. It was exhilarating, too, knowing that whatever else was true about this day, there was no denying that it was special.
But I couldn’t say any of that to Eamonn, obviously.
“Until I saw some daffodils,” I said instead. “It’s hard to feel jaded when the daffodils are out.”
We’d just started talking aboutwhether we should do something else with the dog—if there was a place we could take him, if we should try to find him some water to drink—when a young woman approached us, out of breath from running. She looked college-aged, and barely, wearing leggings and a Trinity sweatshirt and a headband that pushed her light blond hair off her face.
“Oh my god,” she said. “Thank you. I’ve been looking for him everywhere.”
Eamonn stood up, smiling at her as he handed the leash over. “He got excited by the birds,” he said. “He’s grand.”
The woman reached down to ruffle the dog’s head. He panted up at her, seeming pleased with all the extra attention he was receiving. “What’s with you and birds, huh?” she said in a baby voice. “You leave the birds alone.”
“What kind of dog is he?” Eamonn asked. “Lab mix?”
She straightened, giving us an overexaggerated apologetic look, like she knew she was about to deliver bad news. “No idea, I’m sorry,” she said. “He’s not mine. I walk him a few times a week for some extra money.”
I could tell this pained Eamonn on some level. Not that he had any problem with a dog walker, per se, but just that there was a part of him that thought,If the dog needs someone to hang out with, then why not me.If he lived in the city, he probably would’ve done that girl’s job for no money at all.
“Ah, well,” Eamonn said. “Glad the fella found his way back to ya.”
“Thank you again for watching over him,” she said, giving the dog another scratch around his ears.
“It was our pleasure, truly,” he said. “Best of luck.”
It was the same thing he’d said to me, only a few hours before. The woman was walking away with her dog—or at least, the dog she was in charge of—and it was funny to think that we were already out of each other’s lives. She’d needed help with something, Eamonn had provided it, and then they’d gone their separate ways. That could’ve been me, all those hours ago.
Instead, I was here with him. The way he’d saidourpleasure—I knew it was just a saying, a way to comfort the woman that it hadn’t been a hardship to watch the dog for a bit. But I liked the way he put us together in a sentence like that. I liked the idea that this day might be something we were both enjoying, not just separately butwitheach other.
“Damn,” Eamonn said, giving one last glance over his shoulder as we started to walk again. “We never got the dog’s name.”
Twelve
I had so many questionsfor Eamonn as we strolled through a bit of the park and back out among the buildings, but I didn’t know how to break the silence, or bring any of the subjects back up. I wanted to know more about his dating life—did that mean hewouldn’tdate, if given the opportunity? Did that mean he was celibate? Just because his last relationship had been three years ago didn’t necessarily mean that was how long it had been since he’d had sex. But that was obviously not something I was going to ask him about.
We passed an imposing modern building, all glass and concrete, with a large metal sign that saidGARDAin carved-out letters. Eamonn, keeping to the outside of the sidewalk, glanced briefly over at the sign, then at my face, like he was about to say something. But in the end we just kept walking.
What had he done, to have a criminal record? He’d said hiscrime was ten years in the past, but I didn’t know if he’d gone to prison, or for how long.
I tried to picture what the crime could’ve even been. He’d said it wasn’t anything violent, so maybe it was something like cashing bad checks. Business had been bad, he’d needed the money. It would be understandable.
But then there’d been that clarification—not as such. That made me think it was something more than a few bad checks.
“You doin’ all right?” Eamonn asked from next to me.
I tried to clear my face, worried that the direction of my thoughts might’ve shown through somehow. “Oh yeah,” I said. “Great.”
