Chapter Nine

I stood in the hallway, eyeing several closed doors, wondering which room was Declan’s and if it looked the same as when he was growing up. My childhood room did. Tempted to sneak a peek at his past, but not wanting to get caught snooping, I headed down the stairs. The empty nail on the wall was more haunting than if their engagement picture still hung there. Had it been taken in a photo studio or outdoors next to a field of sheep? Had Declan worn his usual jeans and a wool sweater, or had he spiffed up for the occasion? What had Shauna looked like? If Liam was a good representation of their family genes, she’d been gorgeous. I shoved aside visions of the photo.

At the bottom of the stairs, a large curio cabinet displayed wooden nutcrackers lined up at attention. Nutcrackers creeped me out. Their slanted eyes and brows gave them evil expressions, like they were preparing to stab someone with their spears. One was missing an arm, another a leg, and several most of their paint.

“Welcome to the island of misfit decorations,” Zoe said. “When a decoration is damaged or hideously ugly, my mum can’t help but feel sorry for the poor yoke and buy it because nobody else will. She thinks everyone deserves a home at Christmas. And she always chooses the most pathetic Charlie Brown tree of the lot.” Zoe slid her gaze toward the room down the hall, where everyone had gathered, then back at me. “Can you keep a secret?” she whispered.

I nodded, hoping for a deep, dark secret about Declan.

“We decorated the tree weeks ago, then undecorated it last night so we could do it again with Declan. Mad, hey? But it means a lot to my mum, so we didn’t argue. Besides, that means more cookies and mulled wine. A tree-decorating tradition.” She hooked her arm through mine and led me to the living room.

Flames danced in a green cast-iron stove tucked into a brick fireplace, emitting a strong earthy scent. The overstuffed red furnishings made me want to curl up on the couch with a glass of wine. Christmas prints hung on the cream-colored walls, including one of a little girl placing a star on top of a tree. Declan once mentioned he was an artist. Had he painted it?

A glass of mulled wine in hand, Declan stood relaxed, chatting with his dad, who was stringing lights on a tall, scrawny evergreen tree in the corner. Open cardboard boxes with ornaments and presents filled its tree skirt. Declan introduced me as Caity, rather than coworker Caity.

Colin was a handsome man in his fifties, with graying hair, gentle blue eyes, and a charming smile. Exactly how I pictured Declan in twenty years, except Declan had bluer eyes, currently glassed over from too much alcohol. A contented smile curved his lips and warmed my entire body. I had to let Liam and Declan’s lie about his parents go. I couldn’t allow it to ruin my trip to Killybog.

Declan handed me a glass of mulled wine, which warmed me even more. I slipped off my green cardigan and draped it over the back of a chair, next to an orange cat. The animal wore a knitted reindeer stocking cap with a pom-pom on the end, its ears sticking through two slits next to the antlers.

Zoe turned on music and sang along to “Mele Kalikimaka.” She wrapped silver garland around her neck for a lei and hula danced to the Hawaiian Christmas carol. She swayed her hips against Declan’s until he joined in dancing. He appeared so comfortable with his family. Not like it’d been eight months since he’d been home. Was it the whiskey and mulled wine?

“This song was in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation,” Zoe said. “Have you seen it?”

“Every year,” I said. “It’s my favorite.”

“It’s Declan’s fave also.”

Declan nodded. “Brilliant movie.”

My phone rang. Mom. The call failed. She was probably checking to make sure I was tucked in safely at the B & B. No way was I telling her I was staying with Declan. I hadn’t mentioned our relationship for fear she’d slip up and say something to Rachel. I wasn’t sure how she’d react to me dating. I hadn’t given her the entire scoop on Andy, knowing she’d make it her mission to find me an appropriate young man. The same way she’d been trying to find me an appropriate job since I’d lost mine, sending me applications and submitting my résumé without my knowledge. However, if she wanted input on the holiday party, I couldn’t leave her hanging.

I excused myself to step outside to return her call. A set of French doors led into a sunroom with a red-cushioned wicker couch and chairs. A pair of yellow wellies with an orange beak painted on the toes and googly eyes stood by the door. Zoe’s, no doubt. I told myself they were ducks and not the rancid bird that had caused my mortifying mishap. I stuffed my feet and pants legs inside them.

I walked outside, the brisk air cooling my wine-flushed cheeks. The front-lawn decorations lit the sky over the backyard. I stepped from the wooden deck, and my feet sank into the cushioned grass. A moo echoed in the distance. A gray cat nosing around a shed spotted me and let out a meek meow.

“What’s wrong, baby?” I cooed.

I slowly approached the animal. A vicious bark shattered the silence. The cat’s back arched, its fur puffing out. I about peed my pants. The barking continued from behind the shed. The cat shot across the yard toward a field. I raced for the house. I flew through the back door, slamming it shut while glancing over my shoulder for a ferocious dog. Heart pounding, I turned and ran smack into Declan, splaying my hands across his chest, his heart thumping against my palms. Our gazes locked. Realizing everyone had joined us, Declan stepped back and I lowered my hands.

“I didn’t know”—I sucked in a shaky breath—“you have a dog.”

“Don’t have a dog, merely his bark.” Jane glared at her husband. “Colin’s alarm on the fuel shed.” She gave him a swat to the chest. “Nearly gave the poor girl a heart attack, ya did. You were supposed to adjust the sensors.”

“Sorry ’bout that,” Colin said. “When you go out to the loo, steer clear of the shed.”

They had an outhouse?

“He’s only messin’ with ya,” Declan said.

“Turn that bloody thing off,” Jane commanded over the barking.

“Ya won’t be saying that once I perfect it and we’re making millions selling the yokes.” Colin marched outside to deactivate the alarm.

“Worried about theft with the recession and cost of fuel so high,” Jane said.

“It doesn’t keep the neighborhood cat burglars away,” I said. “I just gave some cat a heart attack.”

“It’s motion and time sensored. Only goes off at night if a person approaches it. Used to go off every time a bunny hopped by until the neighbor threatened to take his hurling stick to it. I’m going to take one to it. Come inside, luv, and we’ll get you some mulled wine and cookies.”

I sent a text telling Mom I’d call when I had better cell service. And when my voice wasn’t trembling with fear. I returned to the living room and gulped down a mulled wine. The orange cat was curled up on my sweater, sound asleep, undisturbed by the alarm.

“I can’t believe your cat allows you to dress him up.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Quigley is totally mad. He growls if we try to take the cap off. My granny, auntie, and I make them to sell at craft markets. It’s crazy what people spend on their pets. The extra quid is brill until I graduate in May and open my own decorating shop.”

“My mom once tried to put an elf hat on our cat Izzy and ended up in the emergency room with a wicked bite Christmas Eve.”

“Zoe ended up in the A and E Christmas Eve after cutting the roof of her mouth on a cookie,” Declan said.

“Wasn’t my fault. You could stab someone with Auntie Fiona’s candy cane sugar cookies. Of course, Mum didn’t tell her that her cookie put me in the A and E and made up some mad story that I had a paper cut in my mouth. I’d have to be totally daft to do such a thing.”

“I wouldn’t be ripping on Auntie Fiona’s baking.” Declan smirked.

“What? I’m a brilliant baker.”

“Like the time you couldn’t get gingerbread cookie dough rolled out, so you stuck it in a loaf pan, thinking you’d make ginger bread?”

I smiled. “I can totally relate.” I shared my broiled banana bread story.

We all laughed.

Thankfully, Declan didn’t bring up my goose curry incident.

“Did Declan ever mention that he fancies dolls?”

Declan rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t this story ever get old?”

Zoe grinned. “Nope. One Christmas he got up early and unwrapped every bloody present under the tree, including mine. Took a fancy to my Barbie doll and wouldn’t give her up. I cried for two days until the stores reopened and Santy brought me another.”

Declan shrugged, palms up. “I was eight. I thought she was hot.”

I tried to convince myself that Declan hadn’t wanted me to meet his family for fear of all the embarrassing stories they’d disclose.

His dad finished weighting down the scrawny tree branches with lights, and we began decorating. Zoe held up a glass ball ornament. Santa had an orange suit, Rudolph a pink nose. “Declan painted these one year for our mum and dad. He’s quite talented—just a wee color blind.”

“I was avant-garde,” he said. “Like Picasso.”

He’d stopped painting after his muse, Shauna, died. I’d discovered that the hard way in Paris, sticking my foot in my mouth as usual. I certainly wasn’t going to ask if he’d done the painting on the wall.

After we finished decorating, I helped Zoe stack empty ornament boxes by the stairs to be carried up to storage. Something slid around inside one. I removed a snowman ornament.

“We missed one,” I said.

Zoe snatched the ornament from my hand, her gaze darting to her parents and Declan chatting in the living room. She tossed it back in the box. “We don’t put that one up. It’s dated the year…she died.”

It was dated three years ago, so I knew who she was.

Apparently saying Shauna’s name was taboo.

Declan’s family wasn’t going to give me insight into Shauna, or help him heal, if they didn’t even dare utter her name out loud. Declan wasn’t the only one who needed to heal.

I glanced up at the empty nail on the wall. A sadness hung over the house that all the festive Christmas lights and cheery decorations couldn’t hide.

Supposedly, a picture was worth a thousand words, yet so was the absence of one.