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“Your feet,” Dante said. “Are they hurtin’ ye?”
Now that he mentioned it, they were a little sore, but it was nothing compared to the pain around my neck, so I shook my head.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’ll be careful where I put me feet.”
We walked into the small but beautiful graveyard and strolled down the centre pathway, pausing in the middle. Both of us looked around until Dante pointed to the left.
“That’s the only turned-over dirt I can see.”
Wordlessly, we walked down the path, passing by plot after plot, and when we came to the recently filled-in grave, I could hear my heart thumping inside my chest. I began to breathe a little heavy as I kept my eyes low. I stared at the settling dirt of the plot. My eyes flickered up to the bottom of the wooden cross marker, but I couldn’t look up any farther.
“Is it him, Dante?” I whispered. “His name is Ian O’Reilly.”
Dante moved behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, keeping his body pressed against mine for both support and comfort. He lowered his face to my shoulder, kissed my neck, then my cheek, and said, “Yes, love, it’s him.”
I drew in a sharp breath and darted my eyes up to the gold-plated plaque at the centre of the cross and read the words stamped into them.
Ian O’Reilly
I couldn’t even look at his birth and death years, I couldn’t take my eyes off his name. It was my daddy, and he was buried six feet under my feet. Where he was meant that he couldn’t get me anymore. Relief and gladness filled me, and that made me feel somewhat sick.
“I’m named after him, ye know?” I rasped. “When ye mix the letters around in his name, ye get Ina.”
“You’re nothin’ like him, baby.”
“I feel glad that he’s dead, Dante,” I choked out. “I feel glad.”
Dante rounded on me and placed his hands on my face. He gently tilted my head to look up at him. “You deserve to feel glad, deserve to dance around and celebrate if ye choose to. Do not hurt yourself for feelin’ happy that the monster who hurt ye all your life is gone. Be glad, baby.”
I whimpered as I wrapped my arms around Dante’s waist. He murmured comforting words as he held me and repeatedly kissed my head. Minutes passed by, and my crying subsided to mere sniffles. That cry had helped a little. I turned in Dante’s arms and rested back against him. I stared at my father’s grave, and I felt myself straighten.
“Can ye give me a minute alone?”
“Of course,” Dante said as he leaned down and kissed my temple. “I’ll be over at the entrance with the others.”
With one final squeeze, Dante released me and walked away. I turned my head and watched as he sauntered the short distance over to his father and brothers. When he reached them, he turned, and the whole lot of them stared over at me. If I called them, I knew that they would come running. They loved me, and them being here proved that.
They gave me courage.
I turned my focus to the grave and exhaled a deep breath.
“Hi, Daddy.”
The wind kicked up around me.
“A real bad thing happened to me today, Daddy, but I know that if you were here, ye’d blame the situation on me and convince me that what Finn did was my fault because that was the kind of person ye were. Ye were a coward just like him.”
The chirping of the birds in a nearby tree filled the silence.
“I wanted ye to know how great things are goin’ for me in Dublin. I have a beautiful apartment, a wonderful boyfriend, and I work at a business where I’m appreciated for me hard work. I have great friends and co-workers who have become more like the family I never had with you.”
I toed a lump of soil near my foot.
“The life I’m livin’ now, Daddy, I’m livin’ it for the Ina who grew up under your thumb. Ye beat me, humiliated me, and treated me like the scum of the earth, and I didn’t deserve it.”
I lifted my chin, feeling strong.
“Ye’ve some neck, Daddy. When Mammy took her own life, and I asked ye about it when I was old enough, ye swore down that there was nothin’ wrong with her mind and that she was just a weak person. What does that say about you, Daddy? Ye couldn’t even make it a week without me there to pick up the pieces. I know ye’d want me to feel guilty because ye were readin’ me letter before ye ended your life, but I don’t feel an ounce of guilt because your actions were always your own. They were never mine. I see that now.”
I looked over my shoulder, looked at Dante, who was staring at me, then looked back at the grave.
