How the Light Gets In (Cracks Duet #2)(40)

“Really good, actually. He’s still in Galway. I bought him a house down there.”

“You did? That’s great.”

“He likes having his own space. He’s even started seeing a woman named Bridget. He calls her his friend, but I know better.”

“That sly dog,” I said with a laugh.

“I’m just happy he’s happy.” Dylan glanced at me for a second. “What about your mam? Do you see her much?”

I pursed my lips and let out a sigh. “Nope. I’m pretty sure that’s a dead relationship. I know they say you only get one set of parents, or one single parent in my case, but sometimes you just have to accept that they aren’t worth the heartache.” I paused to look out the window, not saying anything for a minute. “I guess I got a little colder after Sam died. I decided I wasn’t going to waste my time and energy on people who didn’t deserve it anymore. It was probably the only good thing that came of his death.”

Dylan frowned and went quiet in that way he always did whenever I mentioned Sam.

He cleared his throat, his voice solemn when he said, “Do you ever wonder where he’d be now if he was still with us?”

I swallowed and fiddled with the sleeve of my jacket. “I like to hope he would’ve come here with me.”

“He’d have loved New York.” Dylan smiled fondly.

“I know,” I said, my own smile sad. “I just have to think he’s in a better place now, looking down on us all and judging our life choices. Well, maybe not yours, because you obviously make great ones, but he’d definitely have a lot to say about mine.”

Dylan shook his head and stared at the road. I felt like he wanted to say something, but was holding back. I reached out to touch his arm.

“What is it?”

He exhaled and glanced at me, eyes skimming my forehead and nose, my lips. “It frustrates me how down you are on yourself.”

“It’s just the truth. I mean, I’ve never done anything meaningful. Not like you.”

Dylan flexed his hand where it rested on the steering wheel. When he spoke, his voice was tense. “How is anything I’ve done more meaningful than you caring for your grandmother? Putting your own happiness aside for the sake of her health?”

“I never saw it as putting my own happiness aside. It was just something I was meant to do,” I said quietly.

Dylan glanced at me, then reached for my hand and gave it a brief squeeze. “Every year around this time, I’ve thought about flying to Ireland and finally convincing you to come back with me, but I never did. You know why?”

I shook my head.

“Because I knew despite my own selfish need to be with you, you were living a worthwhile life. You were doing something that made a world of difference for one person, and that was enough.” Wow. That’s how he saw me?

His words made me emotional. “I guess.”

“So please, don’t compare us like I’m this big success and you’re a failure, because it’s simply not true. Who you are as a human is its own success.”

My throat was tight as I stared at my lap. It was ridiculous, but I wanted to cry. It just felt so nice to have someone tell me that. To let me know I was doing okay. That I didn’t need to achieve particular things, I just needed to do what felt right for me.

It was almost lunch when we arrived at the farm. Dylan pulled up to a large brick house where Frank stood on the porch. Unlike the suit he wore the other night at the gala, now he wore jeans, a green shirt, and a ball cap covered his grey hair.

He brought us inside and fed us tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches before giving us our tour. My heart filled with longing when I saw his workers in the fields.

That could be me, I thought to myself.

It was the first time I realised that my head told me not to garden, but deep at the back of my heart, there was a place that still yearned to sink my fingers into soil, plant seeds that would transform into something pretty and bright.

That place grew bigger each day, and it was all because of Dylan.

“Do you mind if we take a little walk around before we head back?” Dylan asked when we came to the end of our tour.

“Not at all,” Frank replied, then looked to me. “And Evelyn, if you ever need a job you know where to find me.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind.”

Frank shook his head. “I’d be lucky to have you. I could see your passion for growing while we walked through the flower beds. It’s not something people can fake.”

He left us and a warmth seized my chest at his words. Was it so clear to see my old love for gardening?

Dylan took my hand and we walked in quiet for a little while, until we reached a small storehouse, where pretty winter jasmine vines crawled up a trellis.

“I love this colour yellow,” I said, admiring the flowers as I bent to take a sniff.

“I use these in E.V. you know,” Dylan said, reaching out to touch the petals.

“Oh, and what else?” I asked, unable to help my curiosity.

His expression grew amused. “I keep forgetting you’ve never smelled it.”

“Is that funny?”

He didn’t answer, and instead listed the ingredients. “E.V. is mostly made up of jasmine, echinacea and wildflower top notes, angelica root for the middle note and anise hyssop for the base.”