Page 159

Fifty-Three

Tears tumbled through Mark’s dark eyelashes as he looked down at the Central Park bench. “My brother died from his injuries six hours later…on New Year’s Eve.”

Alex sat still, frozen in shock. She couldn’t imagine Mark’s grief or how he had bottled it up for so long—what does something like that do to a person? She felt her resolve, her determination to keep him at arm’s length and out of her heart, melt.

Her tears made him all blurry. “Oh, God! Mark…” She threw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in. His body shook against hers, lost in unrelenting sobs. She tightened her embrace, desperate to give him the privacy and sympathy he deserved. He hid his face in the nook of her neck. “It’s okay. It’s okay. God, I’m so sorry.”

She cradled the back of his head and slowly rubbed his back, wishing more than anything that she could take away his pain. They hugged for several minutes with only their tears speaking for them.

Mark pulled away slightly, wiping his nose. Her hand lingered on his arm, hesitant to release him entirely.

“I blamed myself. Kieran wouldn’t have wandered away …wouldn’t have died if I had just done what Dad asked—“Look after your brother.” But no, I had to show off to that stupid kid. Mum told me over and over, it wasn’t my fault. Dad said so, too, but only once—at Kieran’s funeral. I remember like it was yesterday. He kneeled down, pulled me close, and whispered to me, “None of this is your fault, lad. None of it.” But I couldn’t see his face during the hug, Lex. How could I believe him if I couldn’t see his face?”

Tears swelled in Alex’s eyes, imagining eight-year-old Mark, desperate for absolution, for the love of his father to erase the horror and guilt tormenting his young mind. She squeezed his arm and reached in her bag for tissues for both of them. “I’m sure your dad meant it, Mark. It wasn’t your fault. You were just a little boy…”

He gently shook his head and accepted a tissue. “Our family fractured, trying to cope. I felt detached from everyone, lost in my own bubble of guilt. Mum would go overboard with hugs, asking if I was all right every ten minutes. I always said yes, so she wouldn’t worry. I had flashbacks…nightmares. I regularly mitched off school with stomach upsets. Gracie wouldn’t eat and locked herself away in her room, refusing to play or see her friends, but it was always worse at night, when I’d hear Mum sobbing through the wall. Dad became a shell of his old self…didn’t sing anymore. Late on weekends when he thought everyone was asleep, he would drink himself into a stupor in front of the telly. All the while, I knew it was my fault. He wouldn’t have been sobbing if…if I had just watched Kieran.”

He wiped the back of his hand across his cheeks as more tears fell, quickly sweeping them away. “Mum decided she couldn’t bear to live in the pub anymore. They argued about it for months until we moved to our house. We tried to rebuild our lives, but couldn’t catch a break. The jerk who bought the pub for less than it was worth leveled it and built a block of flats. I know Dad was gutted. Mum got diagnosed with lupus in 2004 and couldn’t continue her job mending clothes at the Delaney’s dry cleaners…” He leaned his head back, blinked a bunch of times, and inhaled a shuddering breath.

Silent tears rolled down Alex’s cheeks.

“Dad died two months later…I was twelve.” Mark bit his lip, trying unsuccessfully to stifle his emotions. “I overheard Mum telling Mrs. Delaney once…she said it wasn’t a heart attack that took his life, it was a broken heart from losing Kieran.”

Alex grasped his hand. “Your poor family. I can’t even begin to imagine…” She sniffed back her own tears, but it was no use. They raced down her warm cheeks and fell, seeping into her blouse.

Mark gathered a slow breath. “I don’t know how Mum carried on after that. I really don’t. She thought about taking us to London for the holiday Dad had planned but couldn’t face it without him. Mrs. Delaney pitched in: making us meals, cleaning our house. She rehired Mum, giving her the full-time cashier position. That job was a godsend.” He dried his eyes with a tissue. “Me, though…I was the opposite of helpful. I went right off the rails, drinking, hanging with a bad crowd. I was letting my whole family down, until our Gracie beat some sense into me one day.”

Alex grinned through her tears. “Sounds like her. You’re lucky to have her, Mark.”

A faint smile curled his lips. “Yeah, I am, and Mum. She sat me down that night, and I thought, I’m in for it now. But she didn’t yell—she hugged me, and cried. We both did. I hadn’t cried since the day she told us Dad had died.”

Alex could imagine Niamh: loving, but firm, trying to put herself in Mark’s shoes, to understand his torment. “You have such a great mum.”

“Yeah. She wasn’t a pushover, though. I knew some kind of punishment was coming. Pulling me out of football seemed the obvious choice, but she put me in afterschool drama classes.”

“Like you said in your email…”

He nodded. “Mum thought drama would help me. At the time, I didn’t get it. I thought drama class was just goofing around, but it meant a lot to Mum, so I wanted to really give it a go, for her…”

“And did you take to it, right away?” Alex smiled.

“Ahh, Lex, I loved it. I loved being part of a group, a team really, creating something together. I loved playing with accents, getting lost in my imagination—being someone else for a while. Drama became my escape. Plus, I was good at it. People I didn’t know clapped and cheered. I couldn’t get enough. When I was up on that stage, I wasn’t that sad little kid anymore, the one who let his family down, the boy everyone felt sorry for—losing his brother and dad. I knew it made Mum happy, seeing me throw my heart into something…positive.”

As the tears faded from Mark’s eyes, Alex spotted something else: determination. She squeezed his hand. He reciprocated by rubbing hers gently with his thumb.

“I’m still that twelve-year-old kid in a lot of ways. I think a part of me will always feel guilty, but the psychologist helped me see that Kieran’s death was just a tragic accident—it wasn’t my fault. And Dad…he was proud of me…I didn’t let him down. I’d like to think he would be proud of me now, too, you know?”

“Mark, he would be. He is.”

“I hope so. I figured speaking to the psychologist might get my stress and ulcer under control, but I had no idea he would make me relive my childhood. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, Lex.”

“You’re strong—stronger than you think. I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of you.”

Mark smiled. “Thanks. I always thought I was working non-stop for noble reasons: to make sure Mum was looked after, to lay a foundation for my life with you…but my therapist blew that theory out of the water.”

Alex blinked rapidly. “I don’t understand…”

“My guilt about Kieran and Dad’s deaths was feeding my need to work non-stop. He said I’ve been using the adulation from fans and audiences as a sort of Band-Aid, to feel better about myself and soothe my guilt over losing them. His words bowled me over. They also made me think about when I gave Mum her new house.”