| |
JUST AS SHAUNA'S TYPED instructions had predicted, Saturday brought a continual flood of customers into the village for horse-drawn sleigh rides, cocoa and hot chestnuts sold in booths along the main thoroughfare, and caroling along the narrow, historic streets of the little village. All of the shops along Main were bustling, from what Eve could see when she had a spare moment to peer out the windows.
But as festive as her customers were, she couldn't get past the deep sadness that weighed on her heart. Devlin hadn't deserved her outburst last night. It never served any purpose to unburden her grief on others who could do nothing at all to change the past.
He had only been thoughtful, despite his own physical suffering, and she'd been an absolute witch. She wistfully glanced toward his closed bedroom door, but she hadn't seen him since breakfast and then he'd just taken a plate and hobbled back to his room to eat alone.
With a sigh, she pasted a smile on her face and turned back to her customers.
What's done is done, her mom had always said. You can't take back your words. You can only ask for forgiveness.
As a teenager she'd resented those words, but as an adult she knew they were true.
At least she'd done one kind thing...she'd talked to Shauna this morning, and her friend had agreed to hire Claire Fitzgerald, the woman who had stopped in with her son yesterday. She'd be starting the end of December, just part-time on a trial basis, but at least it was a new beginning.
Just before closing time, a man in a bulky jacket shouldered his way past the other customers on his way to the back of the store. Glancing over his shoulder, he disappeared behind a floor-to-ceiling stack of bookshelves.
Eve smiled at the woman in front of her, counted back her change, than handed over her purchases. "Thank you, and have a Merry Christmas."
The next person in line, a lanky teenager with windblown russet hair splaying out from under knitted cap and a serious case of acne, pushed a book across the counter. "This one."
Eve looked over his shoulder, her uneasiness growing. The burly guy who had hurried to the back of the store hadn't looked like someone who'd be buying from the needlework and cookbook section—though she supposed it could be a gift. The extensive mystery and suspense titles were in the opposite corner. "Could you excuse me for just a moment? I'll be right back."
The teen fidgeted. "I—I need to get back to me mum—can't you hurry?"
"I'll be right back." She hurried through the browsing customers, but when she reached the back of the store the guy was nowhere to be found. Surprised, she checked the other stacks, then turned for the register.
The teen had slipped behind the front counter—she could see just the top of his cap. "Hey, you!" She shouted, grabbing for the cell phone she kept in her pocket.
She hit numeral nine—now the emergency speed dial for Ireland's 999—as she hurried through the customers filling the store.
The teen was just darting for the front door when she reached the cash register—its cash drawer open and empty. Apparently loaded with cash and on the run, the kid inexplicably folded over at the waist and dropped to floor in a heap, gasping for breath.
She stared.
There stood Devlin in the doorway, leaning on one crutch. He pulled the other one from beneath the thief, and winked at her. "I guess these things come in handy."
A milling crowd began to form on the sidewalk outside the store, trying to gawk at the teenager.
From between them the burly man reappeared and grabbed Devlin's shoulder. "What are you doing with that poor boy," he barked. "Big guy like you attacking an innocent kid. Did you see this, folks? This is my son, and I'm filing charges against this brute."
The crowd grew, pressing in from all sides and effectively cutting off his escape, and in a swift motion Devlin twisted the man's arm up behind the middle of his back. "Just in case you decide to leave, buddy."
Devlin looked over the man's shoulder and motioned to someone out on the sidewalk. Seconds later, two Gardai—not the ones who had just been here on Wednesday—muscled through the onlookers.
"These two guys were working together," Devlin said. "This fat guy provided distraction, then the kid emptied the till. I wouldn't be surprised if they've hit other businesses in the area."
With the thieves handcuffed and stowed in the Gardai patrol car outside, the officers came back in to fill out their reports. She watched Devlin in wonder as he deftly handled their questions.
Fifteen minutes later it was all over.
"Wow. That was unexpected." Eve surveyed Devlin from head to toe. "Are you all right?"
He did the man-shrug thing again, dismissing the entire incident.
"I mean, really. You were awfully nimble when you got that guy's arm behind his back. But if he'd caught you off balance it wouldn't have been pretty. Just imagine two broken ankles."
"I'd rather not."
"I didn’t even see you leave your room this afternoon, though I guess I was pretty busy at the register. But if you hadn't been in the right place at the right moment, the thieves might never have been caught. Thank you, for stepping in."
"It was no problem. Those guys deserved to get caught."
"And while you’re here, I really want to apologize for last night. There was no reason for me to be rude."
He reached out and brushed a strand of long hair away from her face. "I can't imagine how tough it was to lose two people so close to you, in such a terrible way."
"The accident—from start to finish—used to run through my head constantly. It was like an endless flashback loop that never had a happy ending.. It’s gotten a little better lately, but I still can't escape the guilt and the grief. How could I, when nothing will ever change? DeeDee and Josh are dead. And I was the one behind the wheel."
"The one thing I hated to hear after my Dad died was 'time heals all wounds.' It seemed callous, it seemed perfunctory, and it seemed like a throw-away line that people recited yet it didn't mean anything." He shook his head slowly, probably remembering those dark days. "But the odd thing was that all those people were right. It does take a lot of time. And prayer, and the strong support of family and friends. The first two years are really tough. But then, bit by bit, it will get better. I promise."
"Except if you could've prevented it."
"So you really think that's true?"
"Of course it is—no matter what anyone said."
"You deny the possibility that it was simply a tragic, unavoidable accident."
"I—I should have been able to avoid it, yes."
"Have you ever gone back to look at the intersection?"
Startled, she shook her head. "I don't ever want to go back there."
"Would you be willing to look at it via Google Earth?
"Why? And bring back horrible memories?"
"What if it could make them go away?"
"I—" she sighed and let her shoulders slump in defeat. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because..." he thought for a moment, searching for the right words. "Because you seem so wounded. And because you deserve to be happy."
He pulled his cell phone from his back pocket. Tapped the Google Earth App. "I Googled your name and followed a few rabbit trails to find the location of the accident. It wasn't that hard, as there were several newspaper reports online, plus the obituaries."
She drew in a shaky breath. "What's the point of all this?"
"It happened around dusk or a bit later, correct?"
She nodded.
"So...." he tapped the screen and eventually reached a view of the intersection. "The other driver was in an older pickup and didn't have his lights on yet. Your vehicle had the lights that are always on for greater safety—so the other driver should have been able to see you."
"I guess."
He zeroed in the intersection, then moved his fingertips on the screen to make the view pivot. "So what do you see?"
"Trees and scrubby undergrowth on the northeast and northwest corners. Gold lines of something on the southeast and southwest."
"This was late September, so those lines would be..."
"Corn?"
"Exactly. So we have tall crops, trees and underbrush obscuring the views in every direction. The other car was running without its headlights. What would be the chances that you could see the approach of a car from either side?" he slid his fingertips slightly and brought the view closer to street level. "And, according to the reports, the other driver was coming from the west, which has a definite slope down toward a creek about a quarter-mile back. So he was coming up a hill that hid his approach as well. Did no one ever tell you all of this?"
"My dad said there was a formal report about the accident, but that the cover had a note saying there was graphic material inside. Photos. Descriptions. I was so devastated I never wanted to read it. I knew reading the details would be horrible. And photos?" She closed her eyes. "Never."
"But now do you see? This collision was not your fault. The sightlines were poor for both of you. He didn't have lights. He was coming up to the intersection on a fairly steep incline and at a high rate of speed. So as sad as it was—and is—to lose a fiancé and your sister, you can't blame yourself. If anyone should take the blame it would be the other driver."
"It's too late for that. He committed suicide a few weeks later. He'd been our minister's son, and was in my sister's graduating class." Eve rested a hand on Devlin's forearm. “Dad always said I wasn't at fault, but I never believed him. I thought he was just trying to make me feel better. So thank you for showing me this. It can’t change the grief, but I think it will help with the guilt.”
CHAPTER TEN
The next two weeks passed in a blur of activity—busy days at the shop, and then outings with Devlin throughout Western Ireland—limited only by his bulky plaster cast and crutches—on Sundays and Mondays when the shop was closed.
The latest snowfall had melted away and the temps were hovering in the balmy range, so they began taking Walter for long evening walks through the village to see the Christmas light displays on some of the houses. Sometimes they left Walter at home and went out for fish and chips at the local pubs, but mostly they stayed at the bookshop and had their meals there, while talking about cameras and travel and all things Irish.
But never about the future...which loomed beyond January 28th. When Eve would have her final day at the shop, head for Dublin for a week, then fly back to the States.
This morning Eve had taken him back to the orthopedist for removal of his cast and the fitting of a lighter, removable walking cast, and he'd received a stern warning about still using the crutches and not bearing weight on his fractured leg for at least four more weeks.
Devlin immediately interpreted those orders as ditch the crutches, use a cane, and just be careful.
"It's hard to believe Christmas is just seven days away," she murmured over a cup of cinnamon spice tea and Millionaire Caramel Bars when they got back from the hospital. "Where will you go—off to your grandma's house in Cork? Or your mother's house? I'm not even sure where that is."
"I'm often too far away to even think about coming back for Christmas, which is fine with me." He gave a short laugh. "So it goes without saying that I'd rather spend the holiday right here. Gran and Mum don't get on well, so Shauna and I have always had to choose between their Christmas celebrations. Either place, there'll be a raucous houseful of relatives and friends. I don't think I'd even be missed."
"I used to enjoy the holidays—-all the baking, the decorating..." Eve said with a wistful sigh. She finished the last bite of her chocolate, caramel and shortbread confection and eyed the other three bars left on the serving plate. "But since the accident everyone has been so overly solicitous—tiptoeing around me, taking care to not say the wrong thing. Darting worried glances at each other, apparently concerned that I might have a total meltdown. The tension is palpable. I don't think I was ever as fragile as they think, but at least I know they care."
"You're more lucky than you realize. Some people would give anything to have family like that." He reached across the table and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "You'd be welcome to join my family, but we've got a Christmas tree and all the sparkly lights right here."
"I wouldn't think of intruding on strangers, or keeping you from your family," Eve protested. "You should be with them. I'll be perfectly fine alone."
"You'll be missing your loved ones, though."
"Actually, I think I'm giving them a well-deserved break." She chuckled. "They'll probably be happy to relax this year without me there...and then maybe next year they'll be beyond all of that tippy-toeing around."
He gave her a slow, heart-stopping grin that deepened the laughlines at the corners of his eyes. "So it's settled then. We'll skip the craziness with my relatives, and have a much more peaceful Christmas here. I know Walter and Maybelline will be thrilled."
~*~
EVE UNLOCKED THE FRONT door of the bookshop and flipped the sign in the window to OPEN, then went to sit on the tall stool behind the front counter.
The parrot and dog might be happy to be staying home for Christmas, but Eve wasn't so sure about herself.
Two weeks ago she and Devlin had resolved to simply be friends. No long-term commitments, no expectations. And definitely, no hanky panky that either would regret.
It had been a perfect plan.
But with every passing day, her resolve had been melting. And how could it not? Just the sound of his lilting Irish voice and his dry wit made her smile. His wicked grin made her laugh. His intelligence and analytical approach to discussions on everything from the Middle East to the plight of the honeybees warmed her librarian's heart.
And despite the pain and inconvenience of his fractures, he'd remained unrelentingly pleasant and positive, as helpful as he could manage. He was proving to be a great asset at the bookshop as well, where more and more customers had spread the word about his presence, and sent friends and relatives for autographed copies of his books. Eve had already needed to order four more cases of his books and now those were nearly gone. She knew all too well that, for a self-professed loner, none of this was easy.
During a phone call last night, Shauna had shrieked with joy at the news and ordered Eve to give him a huge kiss for her.
That was one favor Eve couldn't risk.
Sure, he dropped his arm over her shoulder or around her waist when they were out walking. Just for stability, now that he only used a cane. Or maybe he held her hand...or gave her a random hug. Part and parcel of simple companionship and nothing beyond.
But a kiss. That was something more.
Something she knew all too well, because that kiss he'd given her after the strawberry shortcake had felt like burning embers of fireworks rocketing through her. It had tingled her toes and warmed her heart and made her long for much, much more, which she hadn't thought even possible after losing Josh. In fact, a traitorous thought had stubbornly wrapped itself around her heart and just wouldn't go away—had she ever felt that way with her fiancé? Not even close.
Forgive me, she whispered, wishing Josh could hear her. I'm so, so sorry.
Worse, she knew she was falling for man who couldn't be more wrong for her, but couldn't stop those feelings any more than she could stop the tide. And she suspected Devlin felt the same way. Would it be so wrong just to enjoy her last six weeks here? Let her emotions run free and bring some joy back into her life?
The front door opened and a pair of customers ushered in a fresh burst of crisp, December air. All smiles, they approached the front desk. "Is this the place we can meet that author and buy his autographed books? They'd be such lovely gifts to send back to the States!"