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“Kim,” his tone becomes guarded, and the noise around him quiets. “Talk to me. Are you okay? Where are you?”
“My mom.” I have to force the words out of me, and I can’t say the rest.
“I’ll meet you there,” he says. “I’m on my way.”
“Okay.” My speech is thick with tears. My finger hovers over the lever to cut off our conversation.
“Kim?”
Silence sits between us, and I listen to him breathe for a moment, a sliver of comfort across a phone line. Tears fall unchecked. I sniff and wipe them impatiently with one hand.
“I love you,my a chroi. Whatever’s happened, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” His tenderness eases over me like a blanket. An engine starts in the background.
I press my finger on the lever disconnecting the call before my traitor heart either says the words bubbling inside me or I collapse sobbing on the floor.
It takes almost no time to collect her things. I’ve signed the paperwork and picked up the two boxes before Lorcan even arrives. When he strides through the sliding doors, my heart leaps into my throat, and for the first time since I arrived at the facility, I’m worried I’m going to cry. Nothing seems real. Having him here is like being hit by a splash of water. It jolts me into the moment.
He doesn’t say anything when he sees the boxes clutched in my hands. Gently, he takes them from me and sets them on the counter. He draws me into his chest and wraps his arms around me with the right amount of pressure.
“It’s not going to feel real for a long while.” His lips move against my hair. “Maybe never.”
There’s a familiarity to the crushing grief, but I don’t have my mother to lean on. I push closer to Lorcan, and he tightens his arms more. His lips press against my temple. I’m grateful he doesn’t tell me everything will be okay. When Chad died, and then again when my father died, it was a refrain people couldn’t help saying. Be strong. It’ll be okay. Time heals. It’s bullshit. The ache might change, but it never goes away.
“Let’s get you home.”
Home.My mother is dead.Home.The last of my family is gone.Home.
I glance up, and his hazel eyes are filled with kindness. He brushes another kiss across my forehead. I sink deeper into his side.
With me tucked close, he slides the two boxes off the counter and juggles them until they are perched precariously under his arm. He leads me to his SUV. When I go to move away from him to my vehicle, his fingers dig into my hip. “I’ll send someone for the car. I’ll drive you home.”
I don’t argue. I’m not sure I should be driving right now. Waves of dizziness and nausea keep hitting me out of nowhere. He places the boxes in the back and helps me into the vehicle. I want to resent his help, but I can’t. My body is numb, and my brain isn’t too far off that.
On the way home, he holds my hand and doesn’t say a word. Having lost his own mother, he knows there are no words, and he doesn’t try to fill the silence with ones meaning nothing.
When we get to the house, he tries to guide me to his rooms, but I shake my head.
“I want to be alone.” I take the boxes from him.
He searches my face, and then his hand comes up to graze my cheek with his thumb. “I’ll stick around here for the rest of the day. You come find me if you need me, yeah?”
“Yeah.” I wander along the hall to my old rooms. The code hasn’t changed. After entering, I place the boxes onto the dresser.
Collapsing onto the bed, I stare at the ceiling. Finn pops into my head, unwanted. I don’t have any information, and I haven’t told Lorcan anything. There isn’t an ounce of energy in me to deal with it though.
I peer at the boxes a few feet away. What would my mother have deemed worthy of keeping? Curiosity gets the better of me, and I take the first box off the dresser, setting it on the bed. I dig through old family photos and a couple albums. The thought of looking at them right now makes me want to vomit, so I put the lid on the box. I put it on the top of the dresser and grab the second box. It’s smaller, lighter. With a finger, I flip the lid off and stare into a sea of papers. Frowning, I pick up the first piece. Chills run across my chest and along my arms like in the phone booth. It’s my father’s scrawl across the header.Notes on the Donaghey family.
I suck in a deep breath. “Oh, God.”
With shaking hands, I spread my father’s notes across the bed, putting them in order, sequencing his surveillance, his suspicions, and his mini-files on each member of the family. Every time I see Lorcan’s name, I avoid reading too much of the page and add it to his pile. It’s smaller than the others, but it isn’t insubstantial. I was fifteen when my father died. So Lorcan would have been twenty. He should have been in Ireland going to university. Finn would have been home by then, twenty-five, done with the fighting, done with Carys, neck-deep in the business.
When the box is almost empty, I glance at the bedside clock. I’ve been at this for hours, sorting, reading, trying to piece together what my father stumbled upon that got him killed. It probably shouldn’t be taking me this long, but it’s hard to keep my distance when each letter, each note is in my father’s familiar scrawl. The box is a glimpse into a history I knew nothing about. Near the bottom is a white envelope. I pluck it out and tap it against my hand. It’s sealed, but no one is going to care anymore if I open it. Sliding my finger under the edge of the seal, I rip it open.
Dear Kimi–
I knew I needed to write this before I couldn’t remember anymore. We both realize that time is coming, and I guess if you’re here, that time has already passed. I’m sorry. If I could have stayed, I would have. I wanted to. So much. But somebody somewhere had other plans.
You’re smart, so you’ve probably pieced together some of this box. Your father never did figure out exactly who killed Chad. I wish I could tell you he didn’t die in vain. The only thing I do know is the Donagheys had something to do with it. And while I can’t prove they murdered your father, I’m convinced it was them. I know it.