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Chapter one
Dublin — Ireland
14 years ago…
“Nothin’. You’re not afraid of anything,” I whispered the lines of my favorite movie as the scene played out in front of me on the little box television.
Truth be told, the DVD playing Ice Castles had seen better days. It skipped and stuttered through the almost two-hour movie and some of the lines that I knew by heart were now off by just a bit, but I still said them religiously as I lay on my stomach on my bed.
It was ice cold in the flat my Da and I shared and the pouring rain outside did little to help. It permeated the air, making it feel cool and damp like the inside of a cave and it shot right through my layers of long sleeves and the thick jumper that used to belong to Mam.
Rubbing my feet together I rolled over to stare at the dark mildew stain on my ceiling. That was new in the past six months because no one had been around to battle back the moisture in the flat ever since Mam left.
She had left in the middle of the night, a thunderstorm covering her escape as she whispered she loved me one last time. I’d all but given up hope of her coming back at this point—now it was just me and Da. For better or for worse, except it was usually worse.
As if my thoughts materialized him, my da burst through my shut bedroom door, his pale face already ruddy from alcohol even though it was still early afternoon.
“You’re makin’ too much damn noise,” he complained, his words severely slurred as he stepped inside and glared at the television which was on as low as I could get it while still being able to hear it.
But I didn’t argue and shut it off anyway before he could come any closer. Arguing never worked out in my favor and I had a fading bruise on my cheek to prove it.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, my shoulders hunching as I sat up. I was getting taller by the day, a fact which he seemed to abhor as I was nearly eye level with him at only twelve years old.
It was hard to see what my mam ever saw in Finneas Callaghan. As far as I could remember there were no redeeming qualities about him except for the haziest memories that I wasn’t even sure were true. I was sure he used to be nice—Mam used to tell me all about how he swept her off her feet when they were teens. Now, though, he spent most of his days riding a desk at the Garda station and most of his nights at the pub around the corner.
My da had grown fat from all of the beer, and he was meaner than a feral cat when he was in the thick of a bender. I know he’d been handsome once—the pictures of him and Mam from when they were younger could attest to that—but years of drinking had snatched his looks from him and he seemed to blame everyone else but himself for that fact.
“Look at the state of you,” he hissed as he looked me up and down with a woozy shake of his head. “Can’t even keep your hair neat and clean. Would it kill you to run a brush through it? Useless wain.”
With a huff, Da turned and stomped back down the hallway, not even bothering to shut the door behind him.
A sigh of relief slipped out of me, the stiffness in my spine easing as I slumped against the wall. At least he’d only just yelled at me, much better than the alternative that had become all too commonplace once my mam left.
Glancing over at the mirror I pressed down on my fluffy curls. They didn’t look that bad right now. I was doing my best to keep up with my hair, but I couldn’t do the styles that my mam would spend hours doing for me on Sunday before the school week started.
I knew why he was complaining so much about it today. Even as drunk as he was. Mrs. McCallum, my teacher, had sent a note home in my backpack earlier this week about personal hygiene. She never much liked my hair when I left it out of the braids or simple buns in the back of my head and she was using my mam’s leaving as an excuse to rag on me.
It infuriated Da to read it because there was nothing that he liked less than to be embarrassed in public.
Sure, his mates from the Garda could bring him home and throw him in the front garden to sleep off the drink, but me humiliating him? Not allowed.
My hair was clean and soft, the natural corkscrews usually taking on a life of their own. I just couldn’t do all of the things my mam could with it and it showed.
A pang of sheer longing filled me as I worked to slick my hair into something resembling order, tying it back with a bobbin.
I wanted her to come back home, to me, but on the same token I didn’t want her to come back to Da. He didn’t deserve to have her here for even a minute.
My mam was my favorite human being in the whole world and she’d done her time in this place and I couldn’t fault her for wanting out.
Once I’d finished my hair, I turned the television back on and put the volume all the way down. I didn’t need any sound to finish the movie. I knew it by heart and could probably quote the lines in my sleep.
As I watched Lexie skate after her injury, I could almost hear Mam’s voice telling me about how figure skating was in my blood just like it had been in hers. Her mam had skated her entire life and Mam ran all of the classes at the local ice rink, training the daughters of the richest people in our little area of Dublin.
If I’d been born into a different life, maybe I would be like those girls. But even though Mam was able to teach them, we could never afford the lessons ourselves nor would Da allow it.
When Lexie trips over the flowers that she can’t see, I close my eyes and whisper Nick’s last line: “We forgot about the flowers.”
If I tried hard enough, I could imagine myself in Lexie’s place, standing in front of the cheering crowd after overcoming my childhood. They chant my name, and in the stands I can make out my mam’s face as she gives me her usual double thumbs up.
