Breakaway (6 page)

“At least then we had the courtesy to go outside and laugh.”

“Too true,” Sandra agreed. She looked down at the duvet again for a long moment, then lifted her eyes to meet Erin’s. “I swear I’ll do something, Er. I’ll call Social Services tomorrow.”

“Good,” Erin returned softly, even though she knew Sandra probably wouldn’t. But maybe she was underestimating her friend. Maybe this time Sandra had had enough.

Erin playfully pinched the top of Sandra’s hand. “You going to lie about all day like a queen?”

“No, of course not; I’ve too much to do.” Sandra looked resigned as she swung her legs to the floor, rubbing her arms. “I’m freezing. Isn’t it supposed to be summer?”

“You say that every summer.”

“Summer: season of tearing my hair out,” said Sandra grimly as she slipped on her robe. “All the kids home, moaning, ‘I’m so bored, I’m so bored.’ At least I’ve got Larry Jr. sorted.”

“How’s that?”

“He’s going to the football camp.”

“Really?” Erin knew it was stupid, but just the mention of the football camp made her stiffen. Football camp equaled Rory. Rory equaled pain. The moment passed.

“Apparently he’s getting in because he’s
underprivileged
.” Sandra looked indignant. “Do you think he’s underprivileged?”

“I don’t.
Underprivileged
is quite a strong word.”

“Thank you. He’s got a roof over his head, food to eat…”

“I think they mean
disadvantaged
—like, you’ve no money to send him to camp or something like that. It’s good he’s going. It gives him something to look forward to every day, you know? Build up confidence.”

“You’re right. I suppose I didn’t think of that. Well, he could be your spy if you wanted him to,” Sandra needled as they headed downstairs.

“What are you on about?”

“Christ, you haven’t heard? You must’ve been holed up all day and night yesterday with your nose pressed to the computer.”

“What are you on about?” Erin repeated, growing irritated.

“He’s back.”

There was no question about who
he
referred to.

“Get out of it.” Erin’s mouth grew dry as she followed her friend into the kitchen.

“I’ve got it on good authority.”

“Who?”

“Bettina,” Sandra answered, looking proud that she’d been the one to tell Erin.

“Go on, then. What did she say?”

“She said the bighead came swaggering into the Oak like he owned the place.”

Sounds like Rory,
Erin thought.

“Said he’s staying the summer to help his gran out with this and that. That he’s gonna be helping out Jackson Bell at the camp. It’s obviously a load of bull,” Sandra continued, frowning as she took in the disaster area that was her kitchen. “He could hire someone to work on his gran’s; he’s got the money.” She gave Erin a sly look. “You’d have to be stupid as a stone not to realize why he’s really here.”

Erin snorted. “Well, good for him! If he gets within a mile of me, he’ll never play hockey again. My father will break his legs.”

“He’ll have help from all the men in town. Bettina said Liam told Rory that if he tried to come near you, he’d have his head handed to him on a plate. You know your cousin: he would do it.”

“And what did Mr. Big-time Hockey Star say to that?” The thought of Liam threatening Rory was extremely gratifying.

“Bettina didn’t say.”

“Hmm.”

Erin sat down at the table while Sandra put the kettle on.

“What are you going to do?”

Erin was annoyed. “What do you mean, what am I going to do?”

“You’re bound to run into him.”

“And when I do, we’ll exchange pleasantries and go our separate ways.”

“And what if he wants more than pleasantries?” Sandra pushed.

“Then he can go chase himself.” Erin was tempted to take one of Sandra’s cigarettes to calm herself. Her nerves were jumping. “I can’t believe he has the gall to come back here.”

“I know,” Sandra agreed. “Especially when the reason is so obvious.”

Erin frowned. “Will you stop banging on about that, please?”

“You know I’m right.”

“All I know is he’s the jerk who turned my life upside down, and if it wasn’t for you and Jake, I’d be in the lowest level of hell. He’s an idiot if he thinks I’d ever give him the time of day.”

Sandra raised her eyebrows. “Seems to me you’re getting very emotional about someone you claim not to give a toss about.”

“We have a long history,” Erin replied evenly. “It’s not like that part of my brain has been burned out, you know. There’s a thin line between love and hate. I used to love him. Now I hate him.”

“You could always cross back over,” Sandra said suggestively.

“And you could keep your yap shut.” Erin looked at her in amazement. “Listen to you, talking about me crossing back over. I thought you hated him like poison. I thought you said if you ever crossed paths with him again, you’d tear his head off.”

“I was just testin’ ya. See how you would react.” She gave a small yawn. “You do realize this is going to be Ballycraig’s summer entertainment. You and Rory.”

“That doesn’t speak well of Ballycraig, then, does it?” Erin was working hard to hold her temper at bay. “It makes the village look like a pack of bumpkins.”

“Nevertheless, I don’t think you’re going to be able to brush him off as easily as you think. Don’t forget: I know you.”

“Then you know I’m not a moron. Now can we change the subject?”

“The drainpipe needs fixin’. And I don’t know what’s wrong with the telly.”

Rory took a deep breath so he didn’t snap at his grandmother. His reception at the Oak was tepid compared to what he thought it was going to be. As always, Bettina was the one with the biggest balls, going after him about Jake. There was no gray with the lot of them: Erin and Jake were good, and he was bad. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t turn things around.

His assessment of the night ended abruptly with a sharp, painful twist of his right ear.

“Are you listening to me?” his gran snapped.

“Yes, for chrissakes.” He rubbed his ear. She’d been doing this to him since he was a little boy. He’d hated it then, and he hated it now. “I promise I’ll get around to it this afternoon, all right?”

“Why? What are you doing all day?”

“I told you, remember? I’ve got to go into town to finalize things about the camp with Jackson Bell, and then I’m going to check out the PJ Leary Walking Tour.”

“That’ll take all of two minutes.”

Rory laughed. “Why do you say that?”

“He’s not a native, is he? It’s not like you can say, ‘and here’s where he went to school,’ and ‘here’s where he wrote his first book.’ There’s nothing to see on the High Street. ‘Here’s where he took his first piss in the pub’? You’d do better just going up to his cottage and introducing yourself.”

“Maybe,” Rory mumbled. He was a huge PJ Leary fan. All the Blades were. Their secret started when they were on the road: when curfew kicked in, they’d all hang out in Eric Mitchell’s room, where Eric would read the book aloud. Eric was great at putting on dramatic voices for each of the characters, maybe because he was married to an actress.

“How did it go last night, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“How do you think it went?”

Rory 1, Ballycraigers 0.

“Did you have a drink or did Bettina chase you out right away?”

“Of course I had a drink.”

“She was feeling merciful, I see.” She paused. “Liam have anything to say to you?”

“Yeah, something about not coming near Erin. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Don’t be arrogant, Rory. You know how much everyone loves Erin. I don’t think you quite know what you did to her. If it wasn’t for Sandra and Jake, the girl might have topped herself.”

Rory was horrified. “Erin would never do anything like that.”

His grandmother glared at him. “How would you know? People thought you’d never piss off on her, but you did, didn’t you? I was mortified:
my
grandson, breaking up with the supposed love of his life on the phone!”

“What was I supposed to do!” Rory replied, guilt building inside him. “Fly back to Ireland to do it?”

“A real man would’ve. But not you. A coward, you were.”

She was right.

“And a fool,” she continued, on a roll. “So now you’ve got a case of ‘you don’t know what you’ve got till you lose it.’ I’ll be eager to see how that one goes. Now finish your tea and get workin’ on that telly before you waste your time in town.”

*   *   *

Never again. Erin was fuming as she got off the bus that ran between Ballycraig and Moneygall. Never again would she fold when her mother handed her a shopping list and, huffing and puffing as if breathing were a chore, told her, “My heart’s acting up again. I can’t handle the stress.” Next time, she’d point out that her mother had never had a heart problem in her life, despite smoking and not having eaten a piece of fruit or a veg since the seventies. “Strong as a bull,” her dad always said proudly.
More like full of bull,
Erin thought.

She was done being an indentured servant. Erin had placed an ad in the
Galway Independent
for someone to replace her as housecleaner and jack of all trades, room and board included. She was flooded with applicants. Her plan was to meet with applicants in Crosshaven, at a small caf there well known for its delicious bacon sandwiches. She’d bring her laptop with her and get some studying done in between interviews.

Erin dragged the upright shopping cart behind her. She hated the damn thing, with its squeaky wheel. She reminded herself she should be grateful. At least she didn’t have to drag her clothes to the launderette like Sandra.

It was a cloudless day, the sky a blue tarp stretching over the world’s head.
Now what color would you call that, Miss Art History Major? Powder blue. No, sky blue.
There was an infinitesimal difference between the two. But it was important, when it came to art, to describe things as accurately as possible, especially if one day you wanted to become a docent or a curator. Color choices could be a clue to the artist’s mind. Somehow, Erin had known that before she even
started working toward the degree. Many a time she and Rory would be out and she’d point at the pink streaks at sunset and—

Rory.

The bastard.

She tried her best to hide it from Sandra, but the news he was back in Ballycraig had shaken her. Reaching into her bag of clichés, she picked “out of sight, out of mind.” Except it wasn’t true. News of his return opened the door in her head called Rory, which was supposedly snapped shut for good. Now all sorts of emotions were loosed. She felt confused and overwhelmed.

Thankfully the bus stop wasn’t far from the B and B. All she had to do was go down the High Street, turn right two blocks, and she’d be back at her own personal prison.

She said her hellos to Grace Finnegan, who was standing outside the grocer’s, smoking a fag, and to Sandra’s daughter Lucy, sitting on one of the benches outside of the pub with her “boyfriend.” “He’s got a face on him that would drive rats from a barn,” Sandra had said, and it was true. Lucy looked mortified that Erin said hi to her. The only thing worse than being greeted by your mother was being greeted by your mother’s best friend.

A small group of people were coming slowly toward her. Erin frowned. The PJ Leary Walking Tour. Knowing there wouldn’t be enough room on the sidewalk for her and the loony devotees, Erin crossed the street, giving the group a quick once-over: a hip, young Asian man and woman dressed all in black. A middle-aged German couple dressed in matching hats. A pack of young, swarthy guys smoking. The usual group of avid Americans. At the rear was a handsome man who looked just like Rory.

Couldn’t be, she told herself, even though she knew damn well he was in town. Erin ducked her head, continuing to check out the group surreptitiously. Shoot. It was him, all right.

Erin hastened her pace. Seeing him was like seeing a ghost:
it jolted her, cheated her of breath.
Three more blocks,
she thought desperately, beginning to feel shaky.
Just three—

“Erin?”

She kept moving. If she stopped, she was affirming his question. But if she kept moving, there was a chance he’d think he’d just called out to someone who merely resembled her.