My Life in Shambles(6)

I’m thinking despite all of that, shit still fell apart.

Playing it safe gets you nowhere and being afraid won’t save you.

I’m thinking that I don’t even know who I really am.

But maybe it’s time I find out.

Suddenly, I throw back my covers and get out of bed, ignoring my phone which is buzzing with more texts, and I head down the hall to my sisters’ rooms.

I go right to Sandra’s room, throw open the door to see her crumpled in a heap in her bed, and say, “I’m going with you to Ireland.”

“What?” she asks, confused and half-asleep.

Then I close her door and make my way down to the kitchen where I can hear Angie and Tabby puttering about.

“What are you doing up so early?” Angie asks, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Even Mom and Dad aren’t up yet.”

“I’m going with you to Ireland,” I tell her.

She blinks at me in surprise. “You are? What happened?”

“I just got laid off,” I tell her.

“What?” Sandra says, appearing behind me, trying to tie her bedhead back.

“Are you serious?” Angie asks.

I nod. “Just happened. Almost everyone has been laid off. The CEO and Editor-in-chief resigned because of it.”

“Holy shit,” Angie says. “That’s huge! You guys were such a big site.”

“They want to concentrate on video more. Goodbye to the written word.”

“I am so sorry,” Sandra says, giving me a hug from behind. “You are having the worst luck.”

“The worst,” Tabby repeats, chewing on the end of her toast.

“And so now I’m coming with you guys. Don’t you dare retract your invitation.”

“Of course not!” Angie exclaims and brings out her phone. “Hold on, let me see if there are any seats on our flight. With any luck you can sit with us.”

“Aren’t you flying first class?” I ask, eyeing Sandra. With Angie’s settlement and Sandra’s TV money, the two of them never have to worry about finances.

“We’ll figure something out,” Sandra says. “But yay, you’re coming!”

“Are you sure?” Angie asks, raising a suspicious brow. “You’re not going to get cold feet and back out at the last minute? Because once you get this ticket, you can’t get a refund.”

“I’m going,” I tell her with as much determination as I can muster, even if I do feel the fear starting to creep in again and those little voices asking me if it’s a good idea. “I’m going, I’m going, I’m going,” I repeat, like a mantra.

I’m going.





3





Padraig





Dublin, Ireland





“You have to come home,” my grandmother says. Her words seem to echo, bouncing around in my head with no safe place to land. “He’s gotten worse.” She pauses, her voice cracking. “It’s much worse than we thought.”

My grandmother is the strongest woman I know. Ninety years old and still going for walks every day to the beach and back, still checking in guests to the Shambles Bed and Breakfast, still putting you in your place with her razor-sharp tongue. I’ve never heard her voice be anything but steady.

Until now. That crack splits me right open.

My father is dying.

I know that’s what she’s saying.

“Padraig,” she repeats. “Where are ye?”

I clear my throat. The brain fog has returned along with the rise in my blood pressure, making it harder to think. “I’m at home. In Dublin.”

“Then ye need to come here as soon as ye can,” she says, her voice back to being stern and commanding. “He needs ye.”

I almost laugh at that. My father has never needed me.

“I’ve got a few doctor’s appointments still,” I lie. I do have one, in fact. I should be heading to the hospital right now, but I need to buy myself some time. “I can come up the day after tomorrow.”

She sighs, and even in her sigh I hear the change from frustration to concern, as if she just remembered the whole reason I’m available right now and not playing rugby is because I’ve been out with a concussion for the last six weeks. “How are ye doing? How’s the head?”

“The head is fine,” I tell her. Aside from the brain fog and some bouts of vertigo I’m getting from time to time, I’m feeling better. What I’m hoping for today is for the doctor to tell me I can get back to the game. The team hasn’t been the same without me and I haven’t been the same without the game.

“That was a nasty tumble ye took,” she says. “I worry about you more and more.”

“Please, Nana, you know I’m not who ye should be worrying about right now.”

Another sigh. “Okay. Come up in a few days. Just … be prepared to stay awhile. Please. For me. For your father. We both need you around, and since you’re not playing yet, ye ought to stay here in Shambles as long as ye can.”

I swallow hard, already dreading what’s to come. “Okay.”

“Happy New Year, Padraig.”