TWENTY-THREE
When I was eight, my mother and father took me to the circus. I had insisted and despite my mom’s arguments that circuses were cruel to animals and the clowns were a twinge on the side of creepy, my father convinced her that it would be good for me to see the magic, the wonder of the Big Top. “It’ll have her imagination buzzing,” he said. My mother shook her head, but was quickly charmed by Joe’s swift embrace and long, lingering kiss.
Mom had been right. Though I did love the trapeze artists and the lions jumping in and out of circles of fire, the clowns frightened me. I had not liked their high pitched cackles or the loud honks of the horns hanging from their costumes. And the makeup reminded me of nights when I slipped into my mother’s office to sneak chapters of It by Stephen King. To me, the clowns were all Pennywise, waiting for the moment when my parents were distracted so they could yank me down into the Cavanagh sewers.
That night I had a nightmare. I don’t remember the details, but I’m sure the clowns featured highly. I screamed, sweat beading on my forehead, and in an instant my father was at my side, curling me against his chest and whispering in my ear in Gaelic, words I only half knew the meanings to but still comforting, nonetheless.
“It isn’t real, love, those wicked nightmares,” he said, seeming to know what had frightened me. “It’s all make believe, those clowns, aren’t they now?” I nodded against his chest, but still shook, clinging to his shirt like it was a lifeline.
Then he brushed away the sweat from my face, smoothed down my hair and smiled at me. “Shh, now, sweetheart. There’s a good girl.” And he began to sing.
As I went a walking one morning in May,
I met a young couple who fondly did stray,
And one was a young maid so sweet and so fair,
And the other was soldier and a brave grenadier.
Before he sang the refrain, I was asleep.
I stare at the door to the ICU. Joe’s surgery had been over for hours and no one had thought to call me. Of course, perhaps he hadn’t listed me as his next of kin. It’s likely he didn’t want to burden me.
The nurse’s expression is doubtful when I said I was his daughter. I produced my license and gave her Joe’s full name, his birthday, and she slipped inside to check with her staff on his condition. I’m sure Ava’s cocked eyebrow made the woman nervous. Ava was like a lioness with a Ph.D., and her confidence and imposing stature dared anyone to test her.
I’m pacing in front of the door watching to see when it will open and all I hear in my mind is Joe’s voice singing to me, trying to scare away the nightmares. I haven’t cried, but my eyes burn and I can’t get my hands to stop shaking. They won’t tell us anything and it’s starting to piss me off.
The door opens and the nurse pops her head out. “Ms. McShane?” I’m in front of her in one step. “You can go in for a few minutes, but we can’t allow more than two people to see him at the moment.” She looks to Ava with her lip curling. “And family only.”
“She’s family, trust me.”
When the nurse begins to argue, Ava waves her hand, dismissing my protest. “It’s alright, honey. You go see Joe. I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”
I follow the nurse as she leads me through the hushed ICU. There are curtains surrounding beds in sections, no more than ten. I hear the wheeze of oxygen tanks and the low beeps of monitors as they echo against the beige walls. It reminds me of the aftermath of the accident and my month-long stay in the hospital. My life went on inside these very walls. Ava and my friends buried my mother while I healed from the wreck that killed her. I have never hated a place more than I do this unit. And now my father is here, possibly dying, and I don’t stop the tears from falling when they collect between my lashes.
“He’s here,” the nurse says and nods toward a thin, paisley curtain. “He’s unconscious. You can go in and I’ll have the doctor give you an update as soon as he can.” I don’t bother to thank her. I’m too focused on the white blankets of the bed that I can see below the curtain, on that faint beep of Joe’s monitor. Is that rhythm normal? Is it too slow? I say a small prayer that Joe will survive this. I can’t lose him, too. Even with all that’s he’s done, Sayo was right—he’s all I have left.
I push open the curtain and my eyes instantly go to Joe’s face. He is affixed with all sorts of IVs and wires in his arms, a ventilator tube in his mouth. His chest is moving up and down, slow, but steady. His skin is pale and heavy tape holds the tube snug to his mouth, tamping down his ginger whiskers.
Movement to my right pulls my attention away from my father and my stomach drops. Declan’s head snaps up when he sees me, then his eyes move to my father as though he wants to make sure he isn’t awake.
“Declan? What are you—?”
He jumps out of his seat and ushers me past the curtain. I let him hold my elbow. I’m too confused by his presence here. I know that Joe and Declan have met up in town from time to time, accidentally bumped into each other after matches I was too stubborn to attend; Joe had mentioned that to me but those brief outings wouldn’t explain why he was at my father’s bedside now. Or why he clearly knew about Joe’s heart attack before I did.
“Autumn, please listen to me, love.” I pause for a beat, then nod, eager to hear what he has to say. “He’s going to be fine. He’s had a heart attack, but I was able to get him to the hospital in time. They did a surgery a few hours ago and I’m waiting for the doctor to give me an update.” He grabs my shoulders and rubs his hands up and down my arms. I can only stare at him, shocked.
“Declan, why are you here?”
“I’ve been trying to tell you since last night. Joe’s—”
“Mr. Fraser?” the doctor says, interrupting whatever it was that Declan might have said. He nods and instantly I get angry. He’s my father, dammit, but my anger dissipates when I notice the stern line of the doctor’s lips. He stares at me for a second, but then focuses his attention on Declan. “His surgery went well. We were able replace the arteries and the veins worked perfectly since the stent wasn’t an option. The blockage was nearly one hundred percent as we suspected, but he’s strong and in otherwise satisfactory health. I feel confident he’ll make a full recovery.”
I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “How long will he be out?” I ask. I just want my dad. I want to talk to him. I want to tell him I don’t care about the past, I don’t care about his reasons for leaving. I just want him awake.
The doctor’s eyes narrow. “And you are?”
“I’m his daughter, Autumn. Autumn McShane.”
“Ah, well, as I told your brother here,” he nods to Declan, “just after the surgery—”
“Stepbrother,” Declan corrects and I don’t hear anything after that. The doctor continues to speak, jabbering about recovery and monitoring, but I can only step back, step away from Declan and the worry on his face, the low slump of his shoulders. He reaches for me and I jerk my hand back so quickly that I overturn a tray of medical equipment.
“Wh…what did you say?”
Declan rushes toward me and I feel sick. Bile rises in my throat and the taste in my mouth is sour. His fingers on my arm burn. I push him away and the doctor instantly begins to reprimand me. Everyone’s talking. The doctor orders the nurses to escort me out, Declan argues back at all of them, “She’s his daughter…” but I can only focus on Declan’s confession. “Stepbrother.”
I can’t breathe. I can’t make my hands stop shaking. Someone touches me, I don’t know who, I don’t care who and I jerk away again and turn, trying to make the handle on the door work. I need air. I need to be away from Declan, from Joe, from everything.
I manage to open the door and run down the hallway. The click of my heels sounds like the crack of a whip against the tile floor. I know he’s behind me. I hear his Chucks squeaking to catch up to me, but I ignore them, ignore everything but Ava’s face at the end of the hallway.
“What, honey? Is it bad?”
I can’t answer her. My fingers dig into her arms and I rest against her shoulder. “Please, Ava, take me home. I want to go home.” I stare at her feeling desperate. “Please.”
“Of course, sugar. Of course.”
Declan catches up to us and I can’t look at him. I turn my head onto Ava’s shoulder when he touches my arm.
“Autumn, please. You have to let me explain.”
“Don’t touch me. For God’s sake, don’t touch me.”
Sayo won’t let me drink. She says it won’t help. I called her a meddling bitch and she pushed me down on her couch. That was three hours ago. I wouldn’t let her call Layla and Mollie over. I didn’t want an audience. Instead of alcohol, I have decided to become drunk on carbs. What I really want to do is bake something, but Sayo refuses to let me anywhere near her kitchen. She does, however, have an ample supply of devil’s food cookies.
It doesn’t help.
The pain in my chest has not lessened. Declan and Joe. The pair of them. All this time, all these months he knew who I was. He knew that Joe is my father and he never told me. God, he told me he loved me. How can you profess to love someone and keep something like this from them?
“It makes sense now,” Sayo says as though she is able to sort out what I’m thinking.
“What does?”
“All that time he stayed away from you? You said you thought you saw Joe on your date with Declan. I bet the next day is when Joe told him who he was to you. That’s when he said he couldn’t see you anymore.” I nod, but don’t look at Sayo. “He was trying to protect you.”
My gaze shifts to her. I know I’m glaring, I know I’m acting like a complete bitch, but I really don’t want to hear this.
“I’m just saying.”
“I know what you’re saying, Sayo. And I don’t care.”
“Autumn, I’m sure that Declan—” she stops talking when I jump up from the couch and gather my bag. I am out of the door and down her steps before she stops me. “Where are you going?”
I stare at my feet and pull her hand off my arm. “I don’t need this right now, Sayo. I’m going home. I’m going to take a sleeping pill and I’m going to bed.”
“Autumn, you shouldn’t be alone.”
I start walking. “Maybe not, but that’s what I am.” I look over my shoulder at her. “Alone.”
People are staring at me as I walk down the sidewalk. Little kids pull on their mother’s arm and point at me. Old men step toward me, as though they want to offer me a handkerchief. I ignore them all. I’m sure my face is swollen. I’m sure it’s bright pink. I likely have cookie crumbs all over my jacket, on my mouth. I can’t be bothered to care. I put one foot in front of the other, watch every crack in the sidewalk, every sprig of weed, every tuft of grass between each fracture until I find myself in front of my building. I don’t look up at the pair of worn, black Chucks resting on the steps in front of my building. Somehow, I knew he’d be here. It’s why I asked Ava to bring me to Sayo’s first. I knew he’d follow me.
I don’t acknowledge him. God, I can’t even look at him. He’s behind me when I enter the lobby. That’s something he does. Follows me when I don’t want him to. The brass number on my door pinches in my forehead when I lean against it. I shouldn’t have paused. Shouldn’t have hesitated even for a second, but Declan’s presence keeps me frozen in front of my door. He stands too close. The heat of his body hits against my back, through my wool peacoat. I pray he doesn’t touch me. My next thought is I wish that he would.
My quick inhale doesn’t calm me; when I speak, my voice comes out in an uneven rasp. “I don’t want you here. I don’t want you in my apartment. I can’t—” I curse the useless tears that burn my eyes.
He slumps against the wall at my side. His gaze sears on my face, makes the tears come harder, faster. “I wanted to tell you. So many times.”
“You took my father from me.” He stands up straight, defensive, and finally, with the brim of anger swelling, steeling me, I can look at him. “I was a kid. He was my world and he left me, he left us to be with you and your mom. Is that how it happened?”
Declan’s chin shakes. “I didn’t even know Joe had a family until the day after our date. He never spoke of his life here. My mum was dying and Joe came in and took care of everything. He made sure I was fed, that I spent time with her, that I kept up with my studies, that I cleaned my teeth. He did it all and when she died—” He pauses, rests his back against the wall, closes his eyes. “When she died he told me I would come to live with him here.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. There was a phone call late one night and then he was gone for a week. When he came back, he just…stayed.” He watches me, but I won’t meet his eyes. Instead I stare at his neck, then the cleft beneath it until the memory of our night together makes my stomach drop and I rest my forehead back against the door. “He saw us that night, on our date, and the next morning I got home, had a wash, and he’s sitting there at the table drinking whiskey at nine in the morning. I’d never seen him like that. It scared me. Then he tells me you were the reason he wanted me to play for Cavanagh. Says ‘she’s my daughter, Deco, mind yourself with her.’”
“He told you to stay away from me?”
“No. But I knew if you’d found out…the way you did, you’d be angry. I…I was scared that you’d hate me. I had to step away, at least until Joe told you the truth.” He steps closer, but I have to move my head away from him. “And then Tucker saw your dad that day in front of your building. He remembered meeting Joe when he came to Ireland to recruit me. He put two and two together, threatened to tell you if I didn’t stay away from you. I—I didn’t want you finding out from him. And Joe…I begged him to tell you, Autumn, a million bleeding times I begged him. He just couldn’t. He wanted to, but he was scared, said you were hurting, that I was hurting you, that you were confused and he didn’t want to add to your pain.”
Joe had warned me. I remember that clearly. The night we watched Firefly. He’d told me he had confessions to make, but then there was my birthday, mom’s headstone…the time was never right. I know I shouldn’t hate Declan. He was a kid when Joe entered his life, but I can’t help it. I feel like my guts are being ripped apart. I put my key into the handle, but don’t turn it.
“I have to go,” I say quickly, eager to put space between us. Declan jerks up straight, but I am able to slam the door in his face before he can sneak inside. I turn the deadbolt and he instantly starts pounding on the door.
“Autumn, let me in. You can’t just leave things as they are. Autumn!” He pounds harder and I can do nothing but slide to the floor, my keys clanking to the hardwood, my back pressed against the door. Declan yells, his voice is panicked, scared. “Please, Autumn, I’m begging you.” He pounds three more times, my back moves with each rack of his fist. When he yells again, his voice is lower as though he’s dropped to his knees. “Autumn! Don’t do this. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry! Please. Please, I love you. I can’t breathe for how much I love you.”
He’s crying now and I feel powerless, heartless. My anger is like a drug, like an elixir searing into my soul, warming me, compelling me. But there is also pain. It settles in my chest, a newborn loss, a tender sore festering with each pound that Declan makes against my door. He’s making so much noise I’m afraid the neighbors will call the police. “Declan, go away. Leave me alone.” A sob wrenches from my throat. “I…I don’t want you.”
When he speaks, his voice is low, breaking between his tears. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. I can’t lose you. I love you.”
I want to tell him I love him too. I knew it earlier today. I knew that’s what this was, this mad thing between us. But he never told me the truth. He made love to me without telling me. “I…I don’t love you, Declan. It’s over.”
“You don’t mean that. You…you can’t. It’s not over.” His fist connects with the door again and I can hear the raw anger in his voice. “It’s not over!”
In the distance, I hear the creak of a door. The jarring voice of my neighbor, Ms. Thompson, breaks past the intermittent sound of Declan’s pounding fist. “If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police, just so you know. Why don’t you leave Autumn alone and go on home?”
The door shuts and I hear nothing but silence, then, Declan’s labored breath. I imagine his face pressed against the wood, that his hand hovers near my head. “I never wanted this. I only…I only wanted you.”
And then, the only thing I hear is the sound of my own sobs, the empty wracking of my own tears in the lonely echoes of my apartment.