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He holds me all that night, folding me against his chest, his strong arms keeping me warm.
“I love you,” I murmur near his ear. “Forever, okay?”
“I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. We said never sorry.” I won’t make demands or tug at his heartstrings. “One day, perhaps I’ll find you. And you won’t feel you have to be my watcher.”
I stroke his face. His beloved face. We kiss until I taste my tears. But I don’t think they’re only mine.
When I look out the window and see how much rain is on the ground, it’s nearly a relief. I’ve got to get up to the Patches. We hug at the door, and kiss deeply, and turn back for the bed.
Afterward, I dress for cold and rain. And I bid him goodbye.
Twelve
Finley
Monday morning, there’s a mud slide trapping two sheep and killing three others. I call for help via my repaired radio, and Mayor Acton sends Mike Green. He is, as ever, quiet and helpful. We spend Monday night sleeping in shifts in one of the huts down by the fields. Whoever isn’t sleeping is keeping the sheep away from the thick gulches.
Tuesday, June 20, brings more rain, as well as Benny Smith to help in early afternoon. It’s frigid, and the rain is mixed with sleet. The three of us are miserable as we use sand bags to redirect an overflowing gulch.
As the rain turns to mist, and then a thick fog, I allow myself to think of him. Ten more days. That’s all I have left with him. I feel nothing at the prospect. I suppose I can’t believe it.
We pile into Doctor’s car at half past five. I’m headed toward Mike’s family’s home when Benny says, “I need my bones warmed.”
Mike, in the front passenger’s seat, looks over his shoulder toward Benny, in the back, and then turns to me. “Would you take us to the bar, Finley?”
“I don’t see why not.” Younger lads aren’t meant to indulge, but when it’s quite cold, or on a special day, they sometimes have a toddy.
“You should come in with us,” Benny says. “You never do get out much.”
“Finley doesn’t hit the bottle,” Mike says. “Everyone knows.”
“I do on the rare occasion.”
“It’s a rare one when we lose so many sheep.”
It’s a rare one when I feel as poorly as I do. I can scarcely bear the thought of seeing Declan. My heart is so full—so battered, stretched, and sore—I fear seeing him will only make me ache. And yet, it’s all I want. Perhaps one glass of something wouldn’t hurt so. Only the one. Truth be told, I’ve lost that fear of becoming my father. I’ve become Mum instead.
As we walk to the bar’s front door, where banjo music spills into the cold air, I notice the blinking Christmas lights draped around it and realize it’s solstice—the longest night. How fitting.
There’s a bit of a crowd just inside the doorway, so I’m stopped for a brief moment on the porch. I touch one of the lights and look up—and that’s when I see between Benny and Mike. I see what’s drawn the crowd.
It’s Declan. Wearing dark pants and a pale shirt, he’s whirling Holly to a fast-paced song. He’s been on the bottle. I can see it in his loose movements. In the way he laughs, unencumbered, as his hand grabs her hip and she throws her head back at the song’s end. Just behind them, I spot Dot, her Rob Glass, and Rachel, all smiling and clapping.
Dull weight settles in the hollow of my belly. As Declan and Holly head toward the bar together, the crowd shifts. Mike steps inside
. Benny smiles back at me.
“It’s a bit loud, but it’s—”
I shake my head. That’s all I can manage. Hot pain blazes just beneath my throat—an ache so fierce, I run the entire way back to the clinic, desperate to outpace it. Instead it seems to cleave me deeper. When I round the clinic’s front corner, gasping for breath in the frigid air, my poor heart beating wildly, I nearly run right over Anna, clutching Kayti, who’s wrapped in a blanket.
Anna’s eyes rove up and down me, skeptical and then relieved. “I’m glad you’re back. Kayti’s got a horrid cough.”
Inside, I find this to be true. Kayti’s quite congested, and a peek into her ear canal reveals what seems to be an infection.
“Poor wee dearie. We’ll sort you out…”
