with the steam from the mugs. For a moment it feels like we’re just taking a walk and enjoying the day and that everything is back to normal. Even my balance seems fine and I’m not in any pain.
Except in my heart.
That pain hasn’t dislodged a bit.
“So what do we do now?” Val asks me as we head down the lane, walking to nowhere in particular.
“What do you mean?” I ask warily, having a sip of my coffee. I don’t want to discuss anything anymore, don’t want to think about what happened. I just want to be.
“I mean, us. You. Me. What do we do? How do we move forward from this? Your dad is still dying. Your nan is still here and so are we and we can’t be ignored forever.”
“I have to talk to them,” I tell her with a heavy sigh. “That’s all we can do. I have to get them to know that what they saw wasn’t a lie. What they witnessed between us, the fact that we love each other, that wasn’t fake. They’ll just have to believe me.”
“And if they don’t? What if they hold a grudge forever?”
“Well I fucking hope not because neither of them have forever.” Which makes my stomach clench in pain. There’s so little time now and I’m not sure if I can even begin to make things right.
“What about me?” she says quietly.
“What about ye?”
“Well, I don’t know … what are we doing? Now the charade is over and I’m still here. How long do I stay here for?”
I know she’s asking an innocent question but it makes me snap at her. “Stay or go, I don’t care. Do what ye like.”
She stops in her tracks. “Padraig!” she exclaims, fire in her eyes. “What you mean you don’t care?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s up to ye, sweetheart. Whatever ye want to do. If ye want to get the fuck out of here and go back to New York, I wouldn’t blame ye. You don’t belong in this big fucking mess.”
She looks crestfallen. “Is that what you want?”
“Of course that’s not what I want.” She should know that by now.
She takes a step over to me and grabs my free hand. “Then when I ask how long I should stay, tell me how long you want me to.”
“Like I said, whatever ye want.”
She rips her hand out of mine. “What’s your problem?”
“My problem?” I can scarcely believe my ears. “You don’t know what my problem is? I have many problems, darlin’, which one do I start with?”
“With me, Padraig,” she says patiently. “What’s your problem with me? You’ve been snapping at me lately. I’m on your side, remember?”
I exhale loudly, closing my eyes and throwing my head back to the sky. She’s right. I have been. I’ve had nest of wasps in my heart lately and it can’t all be blamed on what happened last night, though that certainly doused that nest with gasoline and set it all on fire.
“I’m sorry,” I say, looking at her. “I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the medication.”
Too bad there’s no medicine for fear.
“It could also be your brain,” she says. “MS can alter your moods and the way you think.”
I raise my brow. Sometimes I hate how much knowledge she has about my disease.
It’s like dating my doctor.
That thought throws me off. I really need to work on bettering my mood for the sake of our relationship. I’m turning into a real wanker.
“You know what else alters your mood?” I say to her, but I add a smile. “Being diagnosed with fucking MS.”
“Well, hopefully those anti-depressants kick in soon,” she says.
“Wouldn’t that be nice.”
We lapse into silence and walk as far as a big red barn with a collapsed roof. She always likes to take out her phone and take pictures of it but right now we just turn around and head back down the road toward the B&B.
“I guess I should seriously start looking into freelancing,” she says. “I mean, I’ve had a month and I have barely written anything, just a few paragraphs on falconry.”
“You’ve had your hands full,” I tell her. “Taking care of me, that’s not easy. And to think, it’s only going to get worse for ye.”
Her gaze sharpens. “I can handle it.”
She says that now …
“We’ll see,” I say. “But don’t think that ye have to write.”
“I want to.”
“I know, I’m just saying. If you’re taking care of me that way, I might as well