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“Ronan?” I called, not sure where he would be hiding in the tiny cottage. I looked out the window where the car had been parked yesterday, but there was only light gravel where it had been.
Gone.
Panic vanished just as quickly as it came. Ronan wouldn’t go to all this work just to leave me here. Would he?
No. I decided no. He wouldn’t.
The bread was gone so I grabbed a piece of turkey from the fridge and ate it before taking my antibiotic with a glass of water. I skipped the pain pills because they made me loopy, and the ache wasn’t bad enough for all that. There was also a pot of stew and a jar of jam in the fridge. Some apples and wilted head of lettuce. Maybe he went into town to get groceries.
Suddenly, I had a picture of an oddly domesticated Ronan that didn’t fit any part of what I knew about him. But truthfully, what did I know about him? Slightly more than nothing and half of that was lies.
The sun was butter yellow in a bright blue sky, and the grass was so green it didn’t seem real. Up on the hill, I could see Father Patrick working in his garden and I wondered what part of Ronan he knew. What secrets the priest could unlock. Ronan would hate me talking to the priest. Hate me asking about him.
It wasn’t decent. Or respectful. Or kind. But I wasn’t feeling kind anymore. I felt like baring my teeth and getting answers.
I shoved my feet back in the boots I’d worn briefly yesterday and pulled open the door, letting in the cat that seemed to come and go as she pleased. I made sure she had food and tried to scratch her ears while she ate, but she hissed at me, claws extended.
“Sorry,” I muttered, thinking this cat and Ronan had a few things in common.
I left and took the path around the cottage up the hill to the church. The wind and the sound of the waves roared around me, and Father Patrick didn’t hear me until I was practically right beside him.
“Sorry, Fath—”
I’d spoken quietly, trying not to startle him, but he jumped anyway, bashing into a staked pea plant with tiny, curly tendrils climbing up a string tied to the fence.
“Jaysusmaryandjoseph!” Father Patrick yelled, a hand against his heart. “You scared me!”
“I’m sorry. I was trying not to.”
“Everything all right?” he asked and then again more seriously, “are you all right?” He pointed at my sling.
“I’m fine. It’s just a sore shoulder. Honestly. I just woke up and saw the sunshine and you in your garden, and thought I’d ask if you needed any help.”
“Your husband would not like you being here.”
“Well, my husband is not here at the moment and if he were—he’s not the boss of me.” Father Patrick barked a disbelieving laugh, and a blush heated my cheeks. “Would you like some help?”
“Well, I don’t want to cause any trouble but . . . more hands make light work.” He pulled the ball of string from the ground.
“Just tell me what to do,” I said.
He explained how he was staking strings tied to the fence next to the pea plants so they could grow up the string. “I get more peas that way,” he explained, and I began tying one end, holding the string taut while he cut and then staked the other end of the string. It was awkward with the sling, but I made it work.
“This is quite a garden,” I said. It really was big. Organized and tidy.
“Thank you. A true labor of love.”
“Has it always been here?”
He was silent and I looked down at him only to find him shielding his eyes as he looked at me. “I started it some years ago. With the help of two students from the school.”
“Well, it’s impressive. I can’t keep a cactus alive.”
“That’s trickier than you think,” he said. “Because they don’t need much, you forget to give them anything and when they’re dead, they still look like they’re living.”
“That’s it exactly,” I said with a laugh. And then realized that had been a pretty fitting description of my life before Ronan came in and blew it all up.
“I texted your sister,” he said. I turned, having forgotten the problems that could cause, and my stomach went suddenly cold. “I didn’t hear back from her.”
“You shouldn’t . . . you shouldn’t do that again. I mean, I shouldn’t have asked you to do it in the first place.”
“Ronan told me. I understand. But I didn’t want you to think that you’d asked and I hadn’t done it.”
“Thank you, that’s kind of you.”
“If I do hear from her, I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you.”
“Your sister, what’s her name?”
“Zilla.”
“That’s an interesting name.”
“My mom said she wanted to call her Zinnia. After the flower. Poppy and Zinnia. But the nurse filling out the paperwork heard Zilla and wrote it down. I guess it just stuck.”
