Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 126485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Mum spent the day with Finn, though we couldn’t really afford her taking a whole day off work, but he’d missed her and money wasn’t everything.
I strolled toward Ha’penny Bridge and listened to its familiar rushing as I let my gaze wander over my hometown. I truly missed it but I also missed New York, my routine there, Maeve, Talulla, even grumpy Mrs. Byrne.
And Lorcan. I missed him. Maybe it was lust. Maybe my body twisted need into something more. Christmas songs played in a nearby pub as it was the beginning of December.
I closed my eyes, drew in a deep breath.
“I didn’t believe Amal when he told me you were back in town.”
My eyes peeled open and I turned my head toward the source of the voice. Patrick leaned against the railing only an arm’s length away. He glanced around nervously as if he expected someone to jump him any moment. I almost smiled at the idea.
I scanned him from head to toe. He was shorter than I remembered and way skinnier. His attempt at growing a beard was still pathetic. The spattering of acne along his forehead told me his current diet consisted of pizza, crisps and beer.
“You look good,” he said when I remained silent. “Different, but good.”
I hadn’t changed anything about my looks, but I felt different so it made sense it reflected on the outside.
I thought of asking Patrick about his sexual endeavors and confronting him with my own very entertaining sexual training with Lorcan, but now I realized Patrick didn’t mean anything to me. Not anymore. I wouldn’t waste my breath on him. He was a thing of the past. Lorcan had truly eradicated any thought of Patrick from my body at light speed.
“Thanks,” I said simply.
“Where’s your husband? I hear rumors that you and he broke up.”
The Irish community was a damn gossip pool. Had our breakup already made the rounds in the newsletter? This was ridiculous.
“We separated, that’s right. It happens.”
He rubbed the back of his head. “So, uhh, are you free tonight? I thought we could continue where we left off, unless your husband would be against it.”
My eyebrows rose. Did he really want to date me again? What was this? Some sort of male ego thing where he needed to reclaim me?
I shook my head. “Yes, I’m free, but I don’t want to continue where we left off. Nor do I want to go out with you for any other reason. It’s over. I don’t have feelings for you anymore.”
Patrick laughed as if he couldn’t quite believe it. Then he sobered. “Didn’t take you long to move on, eh? You probably spread your legs for Devaney after a few days.”
I nodded. “Our first night actually. He’s hard to resist.” The jab slipped out before I could stop it.
Patrick flushed beet red. Then he turned on his heel and stalked off. Mum had told me she’d seen him drunk a couple of times, getting it on with one of my friends from school whom I hadn’t seen since we graduated.
In the next few weeks, I tried to find a new job, but nobody would hire me. I had a feeling it wasn’t only the name. The Devaney clan had probably told the entire city that I was a pariah. Money was getting tighter by the day.
Being back in Dublin also complicated my search for Imogen immeasurably. Despite what Lorcan had told me, I couldn’t let things rest. I needed to know what really happened, and more than that, I needed to hear it from Imogen. I needed her to tell me that she didn’t want contact to us. Maybe then I could really accept it. I called the office handling the jetties several times, one time even pretending I was Irish police and investigating Imogen’s disappearance, but it didn’t change anything about their tight-lippedness. If they knew something, they had absolutely no intention of sharing it with me. If I were in Miami, I could ask owners of the other yachts if they knew the name of the yacht or its owner.
One evening exactly three weeks after my return to Dublin, I tried to call Lorcan. I wasn’t even sure why. What was there to say? I should be glad that he was willing to forget me.
I sat at the kitchen table that night, staring at the small plastic Christmas tree in our kitchen. It was my birthday.
Twenty.
I didn’t have plans to celebrate. Finn was asleep and Mum worked the night shift. The door opened and she stepped in, completely exhausted, hair all over the place. She worked even longer hours now that Finn and I were back, and I didn’t have any money to contribute. I felt horrible, but I tried everything I could.
She plopped down on the seat across from me and placed a chocolate muffin with a single candle down in front of me. “Happy birthday.”