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As she was about to shut the door he quickly said, “Sammy…” She paused and gazed at him. The pain in his eyes was too much to bear. “We could write. Maybe see each other one last time before August.”
She shook her head. “No, Colin. I will not share you with a monastery. You chose your church and she’s the only mistress you can have. Please, just let me have this memory without turning it into some shameful secret we’ll always have to hide.”
“We could be friends,” he pleaded.
“No.”
She convulsively swallowed back the lump forming in her throat. “I’ll never be able to look at you as only a friend. This is goodbye. We can’t…” Why was he making this so hard? She was losing her resolve. “Please don’t try to contact me. Goodbye.”
She shut the door to the car and walked up the porch steps without looking back. When she heard him pull out of the driveway her shoulders sagged and she pressed a fist to her mouth as she began to cry. Stifling her emotions, knowing there would be endless time to cry later, she quickly wiped away the few tears that had escaped and raised her chin. She would not look back. Opening the door, she quietly slipped inside.
It wasn’t watchingthe cabin fading away in the distance or the sight of Braydon waving goodbye from the train station platform that did her in. It wasn’t the voicemails waiting for her from her parents saying how lovely their trip was going or the letter from the school she student taught at asking her to come in for a second interview. Nor was it the lonesome hike home from the train station through the labyrinth of walkways and crossroads that made her loss sink in. It wasn’t the quiet echo of her keys dropping onto the table in her silent and empty apartment either. No. It was the rain.
Samantha walked past the lightly dusted tables and the forgotten article she had left unread on her sofa. She sidestepped the few weeks of mail, knowing it was without a single letter from a friend. She went to her window and pulled back the drapes and watched as the clouded sky finally broke in two and began to cry. And with the deep blue grayness blanketing the world, she wept.
Surrendering to it all, Samantha wept for the moments she never allowed herself to cry for Meghan. She wept for the family she would never have with the McCulloughs. She wept for Braydon’s understanding and Luke’s secret. She wept for the tiny part of their home that marked the day Frank had given his heart to Maureen and the moment of truth when she saw Italian Mary help Morai the way only a true friend could.
She wept for her parents’ loss and for the blessings they gave her anyway, without ever blaming her for taking their baby. And when she found herself sitting on the floor of her empty apartment, trembling with the weight of emotions she’d spent years fighting, she cried for him.
She let her sobs take her away to a place she had never had the courage to go. She knew she might never come back to herself again after admitting her heart had broken, but she cried anyway. She sobbed past the point of feeling raw and into a state of numb acceptance. She cried because he loved her, because he let her go, because she would never forget those sacred moments they shared at the water, and because she would never have him again. She cried harder than she’d ever allowed herself to cry. And she knew that as the last tear fell, she’d never allow herself to cry so freely for him again.
Hours later, Sam woke on the floor of her apartment as the sun faded behind the Philadelphia skyline. Another webbing of cracks spread over her heart at the reminder she would never again see those purple mountains that had been her view the day before.
After showering and forcing herself to eat a cup of powdered broth and tepid water, she changed into her pajamas and crawled into bed where she remained for the next several days aside from the time she needed to go to campus for class. Moving like a zombie, promising herself that this feeling would soon pass, but with each day she suffered the disappointing reality that her heart was still broken.
She wasn’t sure if she was even passing her classes, let alone maintaining her GPA of straight A’s. Yet she couldn’t muster the concern to even pretend she cared. When her four-week term finished she was surprised to see that she had actually achieved two low B’s. It wasn’t until Sam faced the fact that she had to be out of her apartment by the end of June that she admitted how far she had gone off the deep end.
She faced the disaster her home had become over the last month and wondered how she had lost such track of herself. It was as if days had come and gone, yet she had no recollection of them passing. Four Saturdays she had no memory of. Thirty evenings of staring at the television set, but no memory of what shows she had watched. When she threw away the twentieth empty pint of Ben and Jerry’s littering her end tables and nightstands, she finally admitted she was depressed.
All Sam wanted to do was sleep. She woke up tired and went through her days exhausted. She cared about nothing and found it hard to remember what it was that once moved her to try so hard. Sometimes Samantha would find herself crying and not even realize she’d been doing so. She no longer listened to music, as every song reminded her of him. His name was barred from her mind, knowing he would only ever be a secret she could not betray.
As she packed up her belongings that had marked her time as a college student, but had no place in her real home, she touched and held memories that now seemed insignificant, and small, memories that told nothing of who she really was.
When every corner of her apartment had been cleaned and all that remained was an empty box with her one cup coffee pot resting beside it, she removed her key from her ring, placed it on the counter, and locked the door.
Driving home was a blur. When Sam arrived, her mother and father greeted her in the driveway with genuine smiles that fell short at the sight of her. Samantha knew she looked terrible. She had lost weight and seemed to have perpetual bags under her eyes.
“Samantha?” her mother said, concern lacing her voice. “What is it, baby?”
Unable to hold it all inside, Samantha fell to pieces and sobbed in her mother’s arms. Her parents shuffled her into the house and watched as she cried, but she never breathed a word about why. She only promised them that it would soon pass and she’d return to herself once more.
The concern in her father’s eyes was a tough pill to swallow. He looked at her as if he saw through her. The more he gazed across the table at her, the more familiar that eerie stare seemed. When she was lying in bed that night she realized she had seen that pained look in her father’s eyes once before.
It was the look of impotence, being completely helpless when his child needed him. He had looked that way the day of Meghan’s funeral. It was wrong to burden her parents with her own grief.
Lying there in bed that evening, she vowed her broken heart would be hers to keep and no one else’s. There would be no more crying for her. She would move on and, once and for all, accept that Colin would never belong to her.
At the end of July she had her second interview with Suzanne Antonelli, the principal of the school Sam had student taught with. She was offered a position with the English department on the spot and gladly accepted. She should have waited until she finished her other interviews, but she’d been so exhausted lately and the entire job hunting process was draining and she wanted it over. Sam needed to know where she was going so that she could begin setting goals again.
On the last day of July, the eve of August the first, she would be facing her demons once more. At some point that following day Colin would no longer be Colin McCullough, but Father Colin McCullough forevermore, a man married to his Heavenly Father and never to belong to or love another living being more.
CHAPTER18
Sheilagh had waited all summer. She’d waited and bided her time for that one week a year when the Clooney’s all disappeared to the Outer Banks of North Carolina for a week of relaxation without the rest of the family. Patrick had told her that Tristan declined their offer to join them. Although he’d roomed with Ryan, Patrick’s older brother, and was practically a member of the family, he still did not want to intrude on what had always been a longstanding, private, Clooney tradition. And so it was time.
Flipping down the visor, she applied a fresh layer of gloss to her lips and fluffed her red hair over her shoulders. As she climbed out of her car parked at the foot of her cousin’s property, twenty feet from Tristan’s truck, she adjusted her skirt and brushed the wrinkles out of her fitted tee.
She knew her legs looked fantastic in her four-inch espadrille wedges and they added to her confidence as she sauntered up the drive. The house was dark with the others gone, but the porch light burned an orange glow around the front door. There was no overhang over the porch so when it started to drizzle Sheilagh tried not to worry too much about what it was doing to her hair.
