Page 16 of Distant Shores (Stapled Magnolias #2)

IRELAND

I lost weeks of my life.

I could recall parts of it in a vague sense, but there were no pictures.

Not of the first time Dad ventured out of the apartment with Wilbur for breakfast. Not of him finally going on a Zinnia House field trip to the beach, his gray hair blowing in the breeze as he stood barefoot in the sand.

Not a single one of the blooming cherry blossoms at Live Oak as spring crept toward summer.

And definitely none of the stained-glass windows in the packed church where Gil’s funeral was held.

The past month may as well have never happened.

The aches in my body, in my heart, however, argued against that statement.

A wiry face appeared beside me a split second before a wet nose bumped my forehead. Reggie, Miss Lenny’s Jack Russell terrier, licked my face and whined. I sighed as I sat up, scooping him into my lap.

The day after the news of Gil’s passing, I put on my big girl ballet slippers and had a conversation with Wilbur, asking him if it was okay for me to crash on their couch for a few nights.

It wasn’t even because I had nowhere else to go. It was that I wanted to be there for Dad. Right there if this change ended up being too much for him and triggered something bad.

I swiped my hand down my face.

Fuck, I was wretched. Dad always said I was born with a hard shell, but damn if that shell hadn’t been thoroughly splintered. I wasn’t really sure what was underneath, but I latched onto the hard pieces that remained, which were probably the only thing keeping me from completely spiraling.

I spent my days facing the community of Live Oak and riding my board as much as possible, but I resented my time among the grieving. I couldn’t stand the tears of the nurses and people down at the Locc when they spoke about Gil.

I couldn’t stand the guy from the maintenance company who smelled like cigarettes and sweat as he sneered at the staff when they explained what needed fixing.

I couldn’t stand seeing Gil’s tool belt in my locker or the empty picture frame in the closet.

And I couldn’t stand the fear of running into Ari or Liem, of seeing their pain.

Dad’s illness had been the only reprieve I’d had because he didn’t remember Gil at all.

So mostly, I couldn’t stand myself.

I forced myself out of bed and waded through the routine of staying at Miss Lenny’s house.

The dogs begged for attention when I entered the living room after a long shower, clean but not exactly refreshed, and I gave them pets and scratches until I felt my shell soften too much, signaled by the burning behind my eyes.

Then my phone beeped, and it was time to go.

I barely spared a glance for Miss Lenny’s nude portrait as I left, grabbing my longboard and duffel bag by the door.

I stepped into the warm, late spring day and fought Miss Lenny’s lock for dominance, taking out some of my frustrations on it as I cursed under my breath.

Once I won, I moved the duffel strap to hang across my chest diagonally, then dropped my longboard onto the asphalt with a clatter.

I held it in place with my foot while I sent Miss Lenny my updates.

That done, I kicked off toward the Locc, wobbling for a few seconds with the added weight of the duffel before I adjusted to it.

Miss Lenny was due back in town today, and I wouldn’t be taking advantage of my working relationship with her by asking to crash there when I wasn’t pet sitting.

I ignored the Live Oak bus—the same one that took us all to Gil’s funeral— parked in the visitor’s lot as well as my reflection in the Locc’s windowed doors as I opened them, the burst of air conditioning more than welcome.

Unlike the gaggle of locals waiting at the reception desk.

Sighing, I got in line to talk to Jillie and see what work needed to be done, wondering if I should just go hide in a forgotten corner of the Locc until this group dispersed.

A white-haired man in front of me turned around and gave me a huge smile. “Good morning!”

“Morning,” I responded, my gaze flicking to the huge fanny pack buckled around his waist. It had a blindfolded woman in gold thread embroidered on the front with the words “Fortuna Casino & Resort” in a darker gold thread below it.

Ah. The bus was a shuttle to the casinos today.

“Oh, lass, you should smile more,” the stranger said seriously in a lilting Irish accent I hadn’t noticed before. “It may make your day better.”

“ Roy Gallahan Murphy ,” a woman around the same age with the same accent and same fanny pack beside him hissed, swatting him on the arm. She gave me an apologetic look before turning back to the man who was presumably her husband.

“What?” he asked, bewildered. “She’s a beautiful young lass, is all!”

She huffed and, in a move that could only be described as ruthless, unzipped his fanny pack and plucked out something from inside.

“No player’s card for you, Roy,” she warned, pointing the card at him, “until you’ve earned it back. Not a single woman on this Earth owes you her smile, this young lass included. Now, apologize. ”

He gaped at his wife, but at her glare, he turned to me. “My mistake, lass.”

“You don’t owe him a response either, my dear,” the woman said. “In fact, if I could wipe this from your memory for you, I would.”

I held back a flinch at the phrase. A few weeks ago, I could have easily blown the phrase off. But every nerve about memory and, well… anything was just too fucking tender right now.

They faced reception for their turn to speak with Jillie, and I forced my brain elsewhere, running through one of my favorite ballet sequences until it was my turn at the counter .

“Hey, Ireland,” she said, her dark red hair pulled back in a low bun today, her smile kind as always.

“I need somewhere to live.” The words just… fell out of my mouth.

We stared at each other for a beat, and I tucked my hair behind my ear, but my finger got caught in a knot. I frowned, realizing I hadn’t brushed it after my shower this morning.

God .

Jillie’s brow furrowed in concern as she looked me over.

“I am looking for a place to rent,” I said before she could say anything. “Somewhere affordable, close enough to get here on foot or on my board. Somewhere available immediately, even if it’s not long term, or just for the season.”

I had nothing but my battered pride to blame for not asking her sooner, and I guessed that’d finally run out too.

“Oh,” she replied, nodding slowly. “Okay.”

She clicked on her keyboard and hummed thoughtfully as if I wasn’t describing the impossible—affordable accommodations in a vacation town right before the summer season. A few moments later, she looked up, regarding me intently.

Then her eyes lit up as an idea seemed to come to her. “Would you be open to having a couple of roommates?”

“Yes,” I answered immediately.

As long as they don’t ask me to smile.

“And….” She eyed me hesitantly.

“What?” I asked, but it came out harsher than intended.

I forced my barbs to retreat and took a long, deep breath.

“Sorry, Jillie,” I said, then tucked my hair away again, grumbling when my finger caught on another knot.

I dropped my hand and abandoned the effort.

“Just give it to me straight and ignore that I’m a disaster, please. ”

“You are not a disaster,” Jillie said, chuckling. “But would it help you to know that I have dried pear puree on my pants?”

I frowned. “No? Well… maybe. I don’t know.” I tilted my head. “Tell me more.”

“I tried to make purees, you know, for when the baby comes. At four this morning.” She grimaced. “Rachel isn’t even due until September.”

“Congratulations, by the way,” I said, leaning my arms on her desk and meeting her eyes. “On the baby. I know I haven’t said that before, and I’m sorry for that too.”

She waved her hand. “No need to be sorry, Ireland. But thank you. You can make it up to us by coming to the shower in August. Anyway, what I’m getting at is that you don’t usually start giving babies purees until they’re six months old.

The pear puree was pure mania on my part after a sleepless night, thanks to my new, super fun anxiety.

” She sighed dramatically. “Turns out, you can only freeze purees for six months. The math wasn’t mathing, and even though I spilled it all over myself right before I had to leave to get here, I still cried about it.

Over puree I couldn’t have even used anyway. ”

For the first time in weeks, I laughed, and Jillie’s gaze filled with mirth as she smiled.

“My only actual point, Ireland, is that we’re all just doing our best, and I think your best is exceptional. I see you working your butt off around here.”

Her phone rang, and she held my gaze for a moment before moving to answer it.

Jillie, the woman I’d never seen with a hair out of place, was up with anxiety this morning. How many times had we been up, fretting about things at the same time?

If that wasn’t sisterhood, I wasn’t sure what was.

She hung up and turned her attention to me again. “I have an idea, but I need to make some calls first. All right?”

“That would be great,” I managed, hope making my throat tight.

“You know, I thought you were going to ask me about Ari. About her greenhouse project.”

I shifted on my feet. “I…. I figured that was off.”

Jillie’s entire demeanor turned sad, and we shared a look. This time, I didn’t mind letting my grief show because it was for Ari. I wanted to ask Jillie if she knew how Ari was doing, but there was no dumber question, so I didn’t.

“You know, I think she would be happy to have a project to sink into when she’s back in town. She’s still in Bay Springs with her family. I wouldn’t be surprised if you heard from her soon.”

I nodded, unsure of how to respond, feeling like shit about not calling Ari since I saw her at the funeral.

I thanked Jillie as earnestly as I could, then made my way to the locker room, where I stashed my duffel bag in a corner. My phone beeped, reminding me it was time to visit Dad and possibly have breakfast with him, depending on where he was.

I ran a brush through my hair as I opened my locker, smirking when I saw an extra pair of my sweatpants. I threw my brush back into the locker and then walked purposefully back toward the front desk. Jillie was on the phone again, and when she looked up, I tossed her the sweatpants.

She caught them and then pressed her lips together firmly, holding back a laugh. “Thank you,” she mouthed at me.

I nodded, then headed out of the Locc to Zinnia House, only to find that Dad wasn’t in his apartment .

He was in the cafeteria, sitting across from Wilbur, sipping tea and gesticulating wildly as he told some story.

I watched them for a long time from the shadow of the doorway and then turned right back around and went back to the Locc where I danced until I couldn’t breathe.