Chasing Serenity (Seeking Serenity) (8 page)

The last box left on the shelf contains several worn titles. Some of the pages are frayed, the spines cracked and protest when I open them. I add Persuasion to the “A” section and Nineteen Eighty-Four to the “O” then reach into the box for the last book. My breath catches when I see the title. “To Kill a Mockingbird” by Harper Lee.
  Hand shaking, I open the book, scan the title page to see the dated inscription on the inside. “To Adrienne— Never forget to disturb the peace, Harper Lee.” 

I flip through the pages, pausing here and there to read some of my favorite lines and a small thump in my heart has me remembering my mother reading this book to me when I was eight. Joe had argued with her over it, saying I was too young for such a heartbreaking story, but Mom insisted and cuddled next to me on my bed, book in hand. She wrapped me in her arms and read to me Scout and Boo’s story. I’d never cried harder than when we came to the end. I stop at a well-worn page and smile when I read the section. It had been my mother’s favorite quote in the book:

“Mockingbirds don’t do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat up people’s gardens, don’t nest in corncribs, they don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”

Declan comes behind me and I brush my hand against my face to wipe it dry. He sets a stack of books next to me and I can feel his gaze again. I don’t argue when he slips the book from my hand and thumbs through it.

“Thinking of nicking this?”

“Yeah, maybe.” I sit down fully and rub my sleeve against my eyes. “Some people really have no clue what they have on their bookshelves. These,” I wave to the collection of donated books, “are given to the library because people run out of room in their houses or they move or they’re given books as gifts and never read them. Most of them are just paperbacks or hard covers with spines that have never been cracked, but sometimes, sometimes you find something special. Like this.” I take the book back from him and hold the delicate cover in my hands. My fingers smooth over the pages. “My mom used to read this to me when I was a kid. I was obsessed.”

“Still are, sounds like.”

“I’d never deny being a book nerd.”

He sits next to me, his elbow on his knees and I know that he watches the expression on my face, the change in emotion as I read several pages.

“What was she like?” he asks, his voice curious, soft.

“My mom?” He nods. I hesitate only for a moment, unsure if I’m comfortable discussing her with Declan, but then I notice the half smile on his face, the way his eyes relax as though he is genuinely curious and I relinquish my anxiety. “For a long time, when I was a kid, she was happy, smiling all the time, dancing to music that didn’t play.” My smile widens as an image of her in her bikini, twisting and dancing to “Proud Mary” comes to my mind. I found her highly embarrassing at eleven. “But then later, after my father left, she lost her zing.” I don’t let him ask the question I know is on the edge of his tongue. “She smiled, but it was never quite as wide, quite as genuine as when my father was around.”

“Where’d he go?”

I close the book and set it back in the box. “No idea. Don’t really care.” Uncomfortable with the course of the conversation, I dust off my lap and nudge Declan with my shoulder. “What about your mom?”

He straightens and his eyes are trained on his Chucks. They are filthy and covered in a thin film of dust and he brushes them clean as he speaks. “Sad mostly. She was sick a lot and I had to look after her. Missed a bit of school because of it, but I didn’t mind. She was sweet, but like your mum there was always a sadness there.” He shrugs. “It wasn’t easy for her, I reckon. She raised me on her own for most of my life, but she got sick and was dead by the time I was seventeen.”

He doesn’t pull away from me when I grab his hand. “I’m sorry.”

 
“It’s done.”

“Still sucks though.”

“That’s the truth, McShane.” We’re silent for a moment, both lost in our thoughts and then Declan smiles. “She made the best biscuits and cakes.”

“Typical man, thinking of his stomach.”

“They were brilliant. Especially for my birthday. She’d make these grand, elaborate cakes. Chocolate. My favorite is chocolate and I’d nosh away at them. She wouldn’t let anyone else have them. The birthday cakes were all for me.”

“So you were spoiled?” Declan’s smile widens when I nudge his foot.
 

“A bit, yeah.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“January twentieth. You?”

“Oh. Um, November twelfth.” The light from the window is nearly gone when I come to my feet. The day has passed quickly and in our busyness, I hadn’t noticed how the light in the basement has grown thin. Glaring at the battery on my phone, I see that the icon is blinking red. “My phone is almost dead. What about yours?”

“I left it at my place. I was late this morning, wasn’t I?”

I sit down again, stretch out my legs and we both watch the light from my phone grow dimmer and dimmer.

“You don’t like talking about your birthday?” I can barely make out his face in the low lit room, but I know his question is more comment than accusation.

“Not really. I haven’t celebrated it since I was fourteen.”

“Why not?”

Declan has this unreasonable ability to fish information out of me like no one else I know. Normally, I don’t talk this much about myself and certainly not about my family, but I get the sense that he is just interested, that his intentions aren’t to ferret out the details of my life to initiate some emotional catharsis. That’s something Sayo tried doing months back and it led to the biggest fight we’ve ever had. But I don’t believe that’s Declan’s motive and I find myself unable to secure my secrets when he digs.

 
“My father left on my birthday.” I bump my head against the bookshelf behind me when I stretch my neck. “We were supposed to go to Nashville for the weekend. But I woke up with him crying on my bed and in the morning, he was gone.” Declan reaches his fingers to link with mine and he holds my hand. I’m not bothered that he’s likely feeling sorry for me. “Since then, I haven’t wanted to celebrate it. I’m not much of a holiday person anymore. Besides, it’s just another day.”

“Your mum didn’t bake for you or want to celebrate?”

“She did, but it was always low key. My father was the one who went in for big parties, but when he left, well, that all stopped.”

“Damn. I’m sorry, McShane.” He pulls my hand to his mouth and kisses my palm and thoughts of absent fathers and empty birthdays are forgotten. Declan runs his fingers over my hand, up my arm and the warm buzz from our earlier kissing resurfaces. I know this is not smart. I know that I should be stopping him, but his lips feel so good against my skin and he smells wonderful, like cedar and the rugby pitch. He pulls my face toward him, rubs his thumb against my jaw and I forget to breathe. “You remind me of home.”

I can’t help it, I laugh, and even in the darkness I see his scowl, which only makes my humor increase. “I’m sorry, but it’s not like I haven’t heard that from one horny Irishman or another in my life.”

He drops his hands from my face. “Fair enough. But I do mean it as a compliment.”

“Considering our history, I guess I should be flattered.”

“My being an arse had more to do with Morrison than with you.”

“You really don’t like Tucker, do you?”

Declan scratches his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been here since the summer, practicing with the squad, sorting out where things are in this town and then Morrison shows up like King Midas and everyone is falling over themselves for his attention. For whatever reason, that wanker decides he’s going to take me under his wing, going to show me the ropes, you see. Then he decides to start giving me advice on how to improve my game.” His eyes are bright, somewhat angry. “I’ve been playing since before that idiot was even born and he wants to give me advice on how to play?” Declan shakes his head. “He’s full of himself and I get the feeling he gets off on what playing here means rather than him having any love for the sport. He’s a rubbish captain, besides.” There’s a sliver of light peeking out from the window. It glints across Declan’s body and from the stretch of his thin shirt I can make out his wide shoulders and the toned arc of his back. He must feel my scrutiny because he faces me, a guilty smile on his face. “I know I’m going to sound like a jealous prick, but I don’t think you should see him.”

I laugh. “No need to warn me, Declan. I’ve already dated Tucker.”

“You…
sorry
?”

“Yep. For two years.”

“How did I not know that?”

“You must not listen to the gossip on the pitch.” I wait for his expression, and as expected, his eyes turn cool, his lips lower as though he’s disappointed. “You have to understand, I was a different person when we dated,” I say. “I was everything he loved. Or at least, I represented everything he loved.”

“How do you mean?”

At first, I don’t answer him. The dim light from my dying cell phone casts shadows over his face and I see that his worry is less pronounced. How do I explain myself to him? Why should I? Other than a long couple of kisses, I have no ties to Declan. He isn’t mine. But then his eyes lose that hard bearing, his features soften and I don’t feel his judgment anymore. “He used to call me his Cavanagh Badge of Honor.”

“Not a very clever pet name.”

“No.” I shake my head. “My grandfather brought rugby to the university. And my mother’s grandfather was one of the founders of the town. Tucker has these weird ideals about heritage and history. The roots of my family tree run deep and here I was this shy little idiot running after him, believing everything he said, thinking he was the end all, be all.”

“Hang on.
You?
Shy?”

“Ridiculous, right? But yes. I was a very different person a year ago.” Subconsciously I rub my leg and Declan catches the movement. His face relaxes from the confused wrinkle of moments before and I know that he understands. He inches closer and I like the way his arm rests against my shoulder.

“So, you broke it off with him?”

I try to understand why Declan wants to know, but the walls that I’ve built around my heart are structured firm, no fractures bleeding light through the cracks and though I can admit to myself that I like Declan, I think the disaster of my relationship with Tucker needs to remain locked tight behind my secure barriers.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

 
“I’m glad that you’re rid of him, though the way he carries on and brags, makes me think he doesn’t like hearing ‘no.’ You may want to be careful.”

“Trust me, I know. He doesn’t like rejection. But I’m not interested in dating anyone.”

A thin fragment of weighted silence drifts between us. Declan’s face relaxes and as though it is visible on his face, his intentions become clear. “No? So kissing me was what, exactly?”

“You started it.”

“I was trying to calm you down, wasn’t I?” He moves up, coming to within inches of my face. “Do you reckon you need a bit more calming?” Just as his lips leave a soft breath of moisture against mine, the lights blink on and the sound of the door locks whiz open.

Sayo meets me at the door after she barrels down the stairs. “And we’re back,” she says, her lips wide, a smile breaking across her face. In her hands are two bottles of water which she serves to both Declan and I. My best friend walks to the table and sees the rows of sorted books. “Wow, you guys kept busy, didn’t you?”

I exchange a smile with Declan and offer Sayo a nod. “Yep. Just a little.”

We follow her up the stairs and into the Reference Department to find janitors packing away equipment. “I had to get rid of Mollie and Layla. They were driving me crazy.”

I smile at Sayo, but the grin vanishes as Declan pulls on his button up and a quick flash of her eyes shifts in my direction. I silently warn my best friend not to meddle with a shake of my head.

“So, if you’re done keeping us hostage, can we go?” I ask. She rolls her eyes, answering my question with a flip of her hand.

“Oh wait, Declan, can I get you to carry this out to my car please?” Sayo kicks her foot at a box of non-circulating heavy books in front of the Reference desk. He shrugs and we follow Sayo out to her car. I’m about to bid them both a good night, but stop short when Tucker walks up behind me.

“Autumn?”

From the corner of my eye I see Sayo rearranging the contents of her trunk to make room for the box Declan carried to her car, but his eyes are on me. “What are you doing here?”

Tucker looks past me and I notice the mirrored glares on he and Declan’s faces. “Was he rude to you?”

“What? Oh, yes, at first, but he warmed up.”

“Did he? How warm did he get?”

“Excuse me?” I don’t like the expression in Tucker’s eyes or what he subtly insinuates.

“If he’s being inappropriate, Autumn, just say the word and I’ll pull him off this project. We can find something more suitable for him to do.”

“He’s fine, Tucker. He’s a hard worker.”

“I’m sure he is.” He moves toward me, but his attention is still directed at the car. Being in the middle of a macho chest thumping contest is not my idea of a pleasant night.