Chasing River
Page 51
But so is Ivy.
It’s almost two when I call it quits, stepping back to admire my own work. An obvious beginner’s effort—the lines sporadic and splotchy—but still . . . it’s my mark on Dublin for as long as it’s here. “I think I’m ready for sleep, Ivy,” I announce, peeling off the smock. My mind has worked itself in so many circles where River is concerned, it needs unconscious peace.
Our silent partner in crime left already, leaving a blue clown-like mask and his tag on the bottom right corner.
“I’m done, anyway.” With one last stroke, she caps her can and tosses it into a plastic bag.
I was so busy with my own thing that I wasn’t paying much attention to what she was doing. But now I see it in full. “Wow,” I murmur, taking in the woman’s face. Ivy’s used colors to shadow the contours of her features and strands of hair in a way that I didn’t know would be possible through a simple can of spray paint. “That’s amazing.” I commend her.
She looks over. “And that . . .”
I study my work next to hers, a mess of colors and indiscernible shapes, and I burst out laughing. “Looks like I’m taking my aggression out on the wall.”
She snorts. “Well, I definitely know you didn’t spray-paint Poppa’s Diner now. Even that was better than this.”
Simon’s car comes to a squeaking halt in its parking spot. I’m actually impressed with myself for making it to and from Ivy’s without crashing. And I owe that to River.
Having switched my phone back on, a message from Alex fills the screen, asking me how things are going. I’m hit with the sudden urge to call her and divulge my secret. Maybe she can help me make sense of everything I’m feeling right now. It’s only dinnertime over there, so there’s still plenty of time to connect with her tonight.
There’s also a text response from River:
Okay.
That’s all. Disappointment and hurt drag my body down as I unlock the front door and step into the house I fled from hours earlier. It’s exactly as I left it in my hurry. Turning the deadbolt behind me, I kick off my boots, grab a glass of water from the kitchen, and climb the stairs, hoping a night’s sleep will relieve me of the burn in my heart. This time last night, I was curled up in that bed with River, blissfully ignorant. Setting the glass and my phone down on the nightstand, I shed my dress and my bra, letting them fall to the ground in a heap that I don’t bother to hang, as I normally would, exchanging it for a thin cotton tank top for sleep.
I don’t see him there until I turn around.
Standing in the doorway, his hands tucked into his pockets, his eyes glued to me. Staring at me, his face—illuminated by the harsh streetlights that shine into the bedroom—easy to read. Apologetic, yes. But also filled with sadness, and frustration, and regret.
River’s here.
In my house, in the middle of the night.
Waiting for me.
At least ten heartbeats pass into the silence before I manage to speak.
“Is it true?”
He sighs, and hangs his head.
TWENTY-THREE
River
She knows.
I can feel her anger and her distrust radiating. The charade I’ve been starring in these past few days—the white knight, riding in to save her and sweep her off her feet—is effectively dead and buried.
She knows who I really am now, and she’ll never look at me that way again.
“Amber . . .”
Her eyes flicker to the bathroom. She’s planning to run from me. She could probably make it, too, though she’s not going to get anywhere beyond that, the bathroom on the second floor, her phone on the nightstand. I guess she could always open the window and scream until a neighbor calls the gardai.
“You left the door unlocked when you went out earlier,” I explain slowly, taking a step forward. “I was worried about you. I didn’t want anyone breaking in, so I waited for you.”
Her hard swallow cuts through the quiet room. “In my house. In the dark.”
“I didn’t know how you’d take to seeing lights on when you came home. So, yes, in the dark. I was in the living room when you came in, but you walked right past me.” For hours I sat there, staring out the front window for her car, for any other cars, wondering when she might finally return, my leg twitching with anticipation over how she might react to finding me in her house, despite my best intentions. It didn’t stop me from doing it, though.
When she finally did return, she moved past me in a blur, not noticing.
And I didn’t say a word.
She shudders.
“I know this doesn’t look good.”
She stands there, rigid, like a doe about to bolt from a hunter. “Where’s your car? It’s not parked out front.”
“I parked it down the street because, again, I didn’t know how you’d take to seeing it.” I was afraid she’d call the gardai and speed past.
“You just stood there and watched me change.” This time her voice is softer, sounding almost embarrassed.
“I did,” I admit. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t say this, but you look beautiful tonight.” She had obviously made an effort for me. Until Duffy showed up, and ruined everything. I take another step. “I’m not going to hurt you, Amber.”
“Why are you here then?”
“I just want to talk. That’s all. I had to see you in person, explain everything.”
Her jaw clenches as the tears begin to well in her eyes. She’s fighting them. “Did you set the bomb in the park?”
“No. I would never do that. I swear. On my granddad’s grave.”
“But you know who did,” she whispers. “You lied to me, that first day in the bar. You weren’t just jogging in the park.”
That, I can’t deny. “It was for your safety. And mine. I figured it was best to leave you in the dark.”
“I don’t know how you could justify that with . . .” Her words trail off, her gaze flickering to the bed.
“I honestly didn’t think this,” I gesture between the two of us, “would happen. I mean, look at you.”
“I can’t believe I let it happen.” She hugs her arms over her body, hiding her chest. Her words—her regret—cutting into me.
We simply stare each at other from either side of the bed. I don’t know what to say, where to start. I don’t know exactly what she knows. I don’t know what she’s told Duffy.
Finally, she takes a deep breath. “Are you a part of the IRA?”
“No.” I make sure my eyes are level with hers.
“But you were?”
I hesitate. “Not in the way you think.”
She swallows hard again. “And you’ve been to prison.” She spits the word prison out like it’s toxic, just like I expected her to.
I never wanted her finding any of this out. I wanted to be better than this. “Yes.” I step forward, and she immediately takes steps away, until her back is against the wall.
“Amber, please trust me.”
“The IRA, River? I may be some stupid, ignorant tourist, but I know enough to know that they’re terrorists. You were a terrorist!” Her face twists up, as if she’s going to vomit.
It’s almost two when I call it quits, stepping back to admire my own work. An obvious beginner’s effort—the lines sporadic and splotchy—but still . . . it’s my mark on Dublin for as long as it’s here. “I think I’m ready for sleep, Ivy,” I announce, peeling off the smock. My mind has worked itself in so many circles where River is concerned, it needs unconscious peace.
Our silent partner in crime left already, leaving a blue clown-like mask and his tag on the bottom right corner.
“I’m done, anyway.” With one last stroke, she caps her can and tosses it into a plastic bag.
I was so busy with my own thing that I wasn’t paying much attention to what she was doing. But now I see it in full. “Wow,” I murmur, taking in the woman’s face. Ivy’s used colors to shadow the contours of her features and strands of hair in a way that I didn’t know would be possible through a simple can of spray paint. “That’s amazing.” I commend her.
She looks over. “And that . . .”
I study my work next to hers, a mess of colors and indiscernible shapes, and I burst out laughing. “Looks like I’m taking my aggression out on the wall.”
She snorts. “Well, I definitely know you didn’t spray-paint Poppa’s Diner now. Even that was better than this.”
Simon’s car comes to a squeaking halt in its parking spot. I’m actually impressed with myself for making it to and from Ivy’s without crashing. And I owe that to River.
Having switched my phone back on, a message from Alex fills the screen, asking me how things are going. I’m hit with the sudden urge to call her and divulge my secret. Maybe she can help me make sense of everything I’m feeling right now. It’s only dinnertime over there, so there’s still plenty of time to connect with her tonight.
There’s also a text response from River:
Okay.
That’s all. Disappointment and hurt drag my body down as I unlock the front door and step into the house I fled from hours earlier. It’s exactly as I left it in my hurry. Turning the deadbolt behind me, I kick off my boots, grab a glass of water from the kitchen, and climb the stairs, hoping a night’s sleep will relieve me of the burn in my heart. This time last night, I was curled up in that bed with River, blissfully ignorant. Setting the glass and my phone down on the nightstand, I shed my dress and my bra, letting them fall to the ground in a heap that I don’t bother to hang, as I normally would, exchanging it for a thin cotton tank top for sleep.
I don’t see him there until I turn around.
Standing in the doorway, his hands tucked into his pockets, his eyes glued to me. Staring at me, his face—illuminated by the harsh streetlights that shine into the bedroom—easy to read. Apologetic, yes. But also filled with sadness, and frustration, and regret.
River’s here.
In my house, in the middle of the night.
Waiting for me.
At least ten heartbeats pass into the silence before I manage to speak.
“Is it true?”
He sighs, and hangs his head.
TWENTY-THREE
River
She knows.
I can feel her anger and her distrust radiating. The charade I’ve been starring in these past few days—the white knight, riding in to save her and sweep her off her feet—is effectively dead and buried.
She knows who I really am now, and she’ll never look at me that way again.
“Amber . . .”
Her eyes flicker to the bathroom. She’s planning to run from me. She could probably make it, too, though she’s not going to get anywhere beyond that, the bathroom on the second floor, her phone on the nightstand. I guess she could always open the window and scream until a neighbor calls the gardai.
“You left the door unlocked when you went out earlier,” I explain slowly, taking a step forward. “I was worried about you. I didn’t want anyone breaking in, so I waited for you.”
Her hard swallow cuts through the quiet room. “In my house. In the dark.”
“I didn’t know how you’d take to seeing lights on when you came home. So, yes, in the dark. I was in the living room when you came in, but you walked right past me.” For hours I sat there, staring out the front window for her car, for any other cars, wondering when she might finally return, my leg twitching with anticipation over how she might react to finding me in her house, despite my best intentions. It didn’t stop me from doing it, though.
When she finally did return, she moved past me in a blur, not noticing.
And I didn’t say a word.
She shudders.
“I know this doesn’t look good.”
She stands there, rigid, like a doe about to bolt from a hunter. “Where’s your car? It’s not parked out front.”
“I parked it down the street because, again, I didn’t know how you’d take to seeing it.” I was afraid she’d call the gardai and speed past.
“You just stood there and watched me change.” This time her voice is softer, sounding almost embarrassed.
“I did,” I admit. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t say this, but you look beautiful tonight.” She had obviously made an effort for me. Until Duffy showed up, and ruined everything. I take another step. “I’m not going to hurt you, Amber.”
“Why are you here then?”
“I just want to talk. That’s all. I had to see you in person, explain everything.”
Her jaw clenches as the tears begin to well in her eyes. She’s fighting them. “Did you set the bomb in the park?”
“No. I would never do that. I swear. On my granddad’s grave.”
“But you know who did,” she whispers. “You lied to me, that first day in the bar. You weren’t just jogging in the park.”
That, I can’t deny. “It was for your safety. And mine. I figured it was best to leave you in the dark.”
“I don’t know how you could justify that with . . .” Her words trail off, her gaze flickering to the bed.
“I honestly didn’t think this,” I gesture between the two of us, “would happen. I mean, look at you.”
“I can’t believe I let it happen.” She hugs her arms over her body, hiding her chest. Her words—her regret—cutting into me.
We simply stare each at other from either side of the bed. I don’t know what to say, where to start. I don’t know exactly what she knows. I don’t know what she’s told Duffy.
Finally, she takes a deep breath. “Are you a part of the IRA?”
“No.” I make sure my eyes are level with hers.
“But you were?”
I hesitate. “Not in the way you think.”
She swallows hard again. “And you’ve been to prison.” She spits the word prison out like it’s toxic, just like I expected her to.
I never wanted her finding any of this out. I wanted to be better than this. “Yes.” I step forward, and she immediately takes steps away, until her back is against the wall.
“Amber, please trust me.”
“The IRA, River? I may be some stupid, ignorant tourist, but I know enough to know that they’re terrorists. You were a terrorist!” Her face twists up, as if she’s going to vomit.
