Somehow I manage to text Denny: I just saw. I need to process.
And then I lie back in bed and stare at the ragged glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and try to do just that. Process.
But I can’t.
The dread and anger want to sink in. I want to throw shit around the room, I want to have a temper tantrum better than Tabby ever could and scream my head off. I want to punch the wall and ask what I did to deserve this, why I have to lose everything at once, why God hates me right now.
I want to do all that and just let this new reality destroy me from the inside out.
And yet it can’t find its way in.
Not right now.
Not this morning.
I’m thinking of everything that happened last night with my family and everything Sandra told me the night before.
I’m thinking about fear and how I’m always so afraid and how I always play it safe and how I never stick my neck out.
How I care too much what others think.
I’m thinking despite all of that, shit still fell apart.
Playing it safe gets you nowhere and being afraid won’t save you.
I’m thinking that I don’t even know who I really am.
But maybe it’s time I find out.
Suddenly, I throw back my covers and get out of bed, ignoring my phone which is buzzing with more texts, and I head down the hall to my sisters’ rooms.
I go right to Sandra’s room, throw open the door to see her crumpled in a heap in her bed, and say, “I’m going with you to Ireland.”
“What?” she asks, confused and half-asleep.
Then I close her door and make my way down to the kitchen where I can hear Angie and Tabby puttering about.
“What are you doing up so early?” Angie asks, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Even Mom and Dad aren’t up yet.”
“I’m going with you to Ireland,” I tell her.
She blinks at me in surprise. “You are? What happened?”
“I just got laid off,” I tell her.
“What?” Sandra says, appearing behind me, trying to tie her bedhead back.
“Are you serious?” Angie asks.
I nod. “Just happened. Almost everyone has been laid off. The CEO and Editor-in-chief resigned because of it.”
“Holy shit,” Angie says. “That’s huge! You guys were such a big site.”
“They want to concentrate on video more. Goodbye to the written word.”
“I am so sorry,” Sandra says, giving me a hug from behind. “You are having the worst luck.”
“The worst,” Tabby repeats, chewing on the end of her toast.
“And so now I’m coming with you guys. Don’t you dare retract your invitation.”
“Of course not!” Angie exclaims and brings out her phone. “Hold on, let me see if there are any seats on our flight. With any luck you can sit with us.”
“Aren’t you flying first class?” I ask, eyeing Sandra. With Angie’s settlement and Sandra’s TV money, the two of them never have to worry about finances.
“Are you sure?” Angie asks, raising a suspicious brow. “You’re not going to get cold feet and back out at the last minute? Because once you get this ticket, you can’t get a refund.”
“I’m going,” I tell her with as much determination as I can muster, even if I do feel the fear starting to creep in again and those little voices asking me if it’s a good idea. “I’m going, I’m going, I’m going,” I repeat, like a mantra.
I’m going.
3
Padraig
Dublin, Ireland
“You have to come home,” my grandmother says. Her words seem to echo, bouncing around in my head with no safe place to land. “He’s gotten worse.” She pauses, her voice cracking. “It’s much worse than we thought.”
My grandmother is the strongest woman I know. Ninety years old and still going for walks every day to the beach and back, still checking in guests to the Shambles Bed and Breakfast, still putting you in your place with her razor-sharp tongue. I’ve never heard her voice be anything but steady.
Until now. That crack splits me right open.
My father is dying.
I know that’s what she’s saying.
“Padraig,” she repeats. “Where are ye?”
I clear my throat. The brain fog has returned along with the rise in my blood pressure, making it harder to think. “I’m at home. In Dublin.”
“Then ye need to come here as soon as ye can,” she says, her voice back to being stern and commanding. “He needs ye.”