Page 27

Colin cocked his head. “Sorry?”

“Cordelia.” Why did her name feel so strange on his tongue? “She was looking at all the family photos and Mam still had that fucking picture of us from the engagement party hanging up on the wall.”

“Oh,” Colin said, his face creasing.

“I didn’t even recognize myself. It was like looking at a total stranger.”

“You’re not a different person, Niall. You’re hurting, that’s all.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Niall felt suddenly, overwhelmingly tired. “I’m off to bed. Come, Pocket.”

“See ya,” Colin said. Niall climbed the stairs to his room, stripped down to his boxers, and got under the covers. Pocket curled into his side and he waited for Deirdre’s face to blossom in the dark.

But he found his thoughts wandering to what Cordelia had said, and he turned her words around and pointed them at himself – his father still had a son, yes, but Niall still had a dad. His family dinners weren’t missing a member forever like hers. His father hadn’t always been such a wanker. There was a time when Niall had idolized him.

I’d give anything to have one more dinner with my father.

Maybe, Niall thought as he drifted off to sleep, even though his life was shit, even though he’d lost everything he cared about . . . maybe he did have one or two things to be grateful for.

Cordelia was awakened the next morning by a furious pounding on the front door.

She sat up, startled. The crying spree with Liz had helped, she realized. She felt better. Lighter. Like maybe some part of her had let go a bit.

The pounding came again and Cordelia got out of bed and threw on her robe. There was something different about the light in her room, and it took her a moment to place it – the sun was out. She skipped to the door and flung it open to find Róisín standing on the doorstep, wearing a gardener’s hat, and a thermal sweater under her overalls.

“Still in your nightclothes?” Róisín cried. “Jesus, girlie, you’ll miss the best part of the day.”

“What . . . part is that?” Cordelia blinked around, her eyes unused to sunshine.

“All of it!” Róisín stomped past her into the house, leaving a bemused Cordelia to trail in her wake. Róisín whirled around the kitchen, opening drawers and rifling through the fridge. When she saw Cordelia in the doorway she said, “Well, don’t stand there staring, go put some clothes on. I’ll make us coffee and eggs.” She picked up a spatula and waved it. “Off you go.”

Cordelia stumbled back to her room and tied her hair up in a loose bun. She rinsed herself off in the shower, then put on a pair of shorts – it might be tempting fate but she didn’t care. Her legs wanted fresh air and sun. She threw on a white tee and her favorite rust-colored cardigan with big brass buttons and deep pockets on the front. Slipping her feet into her rain boots, she walked back to the kitchen, where Róisín had made coffee and was scrambling eggs.

“Do you live on cheese and chocolate?” Róisín said. “Christ, child, there’s hardly a scrap of real food in this house.”

“I don’t cook,” Cordelia said.

Róisín shook her head and muttered something that sounded like “Fecking Americans.”

Cordelia poured herself some coffee and took a seat at the table.

“Quite a dinner last night, wasn’t it,” Róisín said. “And I’m not talking about the food.”

Cordelia froze with the milk jug in her hands.

“Mm,” she said noncommittally.

Róisín smirked. “We don’t need to go having a deep discussion so early in the morning,” she said. “But I’m glad of what you said to Eoin. That man’s been far too hard on Niall for far too long. No wonder the lad ran off to Dublin first chance he got. You know all about what happened with him, I suppose?”

“Alison told me,” Cordelia said.

“Good. If she hadn’t, someone else would, and lord knows the way people on this island love to exaggerate. Niall’s a good man, and there’s many in Kilronan would do well to remember that.” Her face crinkled, her eyes going sad. “I’m sorry to hear about your dad, though.” Cordelia looked down and finished adding milk to her coffee. Róisín busied herself around the stove, then turned back to place a plate of eggs in front of Cordelia. “Eat,” she said. She sat down beside her. “So. You’re a photographer.”

Cordelia swallowed a mouthful of food. “Yeah, but I don’t have a camera at the moment.”

“But you’re an artist.”

She shrugged. “I guess.”