Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Fancy a cone?” Nolan asks me.
I shake my head. “No, thanks. You tell them what we found out?”
“Aye,” Nolan says. “They were the ones that told me, doll.”
He reaches for my hand, and it feels nice, holding his hand like this.
“And he told me you’re to be making amends,” Lachlan says. Though he’s younger than the rest, he carries himself with the air of a much older man. Wise beyond his years, I’d guess. The boy’s seen and experienced much. I can’t help but wonder what his story is.
“Aye,” I tell him. “I will. And when I say I’ll do something, I mean it.”
“Good,” Lachlan says.
“How?” The man with the glasses, the one they call Carson, watches me with his arms crossed on his chest. I hate that none of them trust me, but I hope that I can fix that. He looks familiar to me, and I can’t quite place him. I need to investigate, I think.
“First, my job is to vindicate you with the locals,” I tell him. “And I will.”
“Right,” Carson says, his jaw tight as if he doesn’t believe me.
Just then, the owner of the shop comes round from the counter and approaches us. She looks a bit like Mrs. Claus with her white hair twisted in a bun at the top of her head and round spectacles perched on her nose.
“I know you,” she says looking at me. “You look familiar to me.” She screws her face up as if trying to place me.
“Miss Isobel, this is Sheena Hurston.” Nolan introduces us, and it’s not lost on me how others in the shop watch him. “You probably know her from—”
“Ahh, the reporter.” Her eyes grow cold at the realization. It’s hard to imagine a jovial, friendly woman like her shooting daggers at someone, yet she manages to pull it off. “I have no use for people who drag the McCarthys through the dirt,” she says, turning away, but Nolan reaches for her hand.
“Tell her, Sheena,” he says, warning laced in his voice as he looks to me. This is my chance, to prove to him I mean what I say. I swallow, lace my fingers together, and face her. “I’ve come here to have a little chat with you. I was wrong, before, and I’d like to interview you next week. The purpose is to redeem your friends here. May I?”
She stares at me with wide-eyed surprise, but as my words sink in, she flushes pink. “Oh, well, now,” she says. “Me? Why would a big news reporter like you interview a woman like me?”
I flash her my most charming smile. I’m aware of Nolan watching me, of Lachlan and Carson as well. I have to prove myself to them.
“I’m sure you’ve much to tell me,” I say. “You’ve a thriving business in Ballyhock, and I’m told you’re good friends with the McCarthys.”
She nods, and she grows sober. “Aye, lass. I am. And you ought to know, they keep the people here safe. We’ve no crime to speak of—”
I stop her. This isn’t a good place for us to talk. “Why don’t we speak of this privately next week and you can tell me all?”
“Of course,” she says with a smile. It’s not often people smile at me like that, but I’m starting to like it. No, crave it. It’s much nicer to feel welcomed than hated.
My old doubt plagues me. How can I prove myself to be someone that’s trustworthy? I’ve been so mired in revenge that I’ve lost sight of the good and the light in this world. I’ve no friends to speak of, and the only people I care about are right here in front of me, sitting at little round tables eating ice cream and scones.
But I will. I will prove they can trust me, goddamn it.
We leave the shop and head into town. I’ve never really been here before, though I’ve known of the quaint little places to go in Ballyhock. The coastal village draws tourists from around the world, and thrives on the business they do. I walk with Fiona on my left and Nolan my right, as we walk the cobblestoned streets until Sam’s head falls to the side in the pram, and he naps.
Tiernan’s much more subdued after Nolan had a word. To be honest, it’s the first time since dad passed I’ve seen anything that resembles a boyish look about him as he chatters away to Nolan.
“Best place to go would be the school,” Nolan says. “We’ve the tools, the studio, and the teachers there.”
“Wait, what’s this?” I ask.
“I’ve asked Nolan to teach me ealaíona comhraic,” Tiernan says. “He’s a feckin’ master at it, I want to learn.”
“He said that. Are you sure, Tiernan?”
They’ve been kind, yes. But kindness aside, this troubles me. If Tiernan gets involved with them…