In the Unlikely Event
I’m sorry, little one. So terribly much.
Kathleen was wrong all along.
It isn’t a boy.
It’s a girl, and she looks just like both of us.
All I can think when I look at her is not all the things I gained, or all the things I lost in the past year.
But how all of them are connected to Rory.
How she ruined everything.
And how badly I want to ruin her.
Present
Rory
“May I help you?” the little girl asks from the doorway, her voice honey sweet and soft. She has the most glorious hair. Deep brown, but not quite as dark as her father’s.
Her. Father’s.
See also: My husband.
See also: The man who hid the truth about his daughter from me.
That was one of the first things I asked him when we met in New York again, when he threw his marriage to Kathleen in my face.
“Children?”
“No.”
He didn’t even hesitate. The answer was flat, like the void behind his pretty eyes. But there’s no way this kid is anyone else’s. She is a perfect blend of Kathleen and Mal. Suddenly, I’m hit with the awful, complicated truth. He kept this secret from me, even after he married me. His true family was something he never planned to share. He didn’t trust me enough to tell me he was a father. He thought I’d leave him if I found out, if he ever did care enough about us to want me to stay.
I wouldn’t leave a single father. But I sure as hell would dump a compulsive, dirty liar.
All the times he disappeared. The birthday party. The glitter. The tiny, fake diamond earring tucked between grass blades in the backyard. The rush to head back to Tolka when we were in Greece. All because of his baby girl.
A mixture of anger, frustration, and overwhelming protectiveness toward this kid, who never knew her mother, swirls in my stomach. And guilt. So much guilt, for a reason I cannot pinpoint right now.
I offer her a little wave.
Say something. Anything. You are probably freaking her out.
“Um, hi?”
Not that, you idiot.
“You look like a princess.” She giggles, covering her little mouth.
How old is she? I’m guessing seven at most. Maybe six. Jesus, this cuts it close to the entire napkin ordeal. Is it possible she was conceived that soon after I left?
“That’s because I am.” I plant my fists on my waist.
“You are?” Her eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets.
“Well, kind of. My name is Aurora Belle. I came here because I heard there’s another princess living in this village—a prettier one I must meet. Guess I found her.” A lopsided grin appears on my face.
She chuckles with delight, cupping one of her cheeks to hide her blush. My heart squeezes in my chest. Her smile is dimpled. Neither Mal nor Kathleen had dimples. They were probably given to her by the almighty, to remind her she should smile despite her circumstances.
“You came to the wrong address. I’m no princess; I’m just Tamsin.”
Tamsin.
“Tamsin! Yes! That’s the girl I was looking for.” I produce my planner from my backpack, opening to a random page and nodding vehemently. “Yup. There you are. Princess Tamsin of Tolka. Everybody is talking about you back in our kingdom. They say you are the sweetest, kindest princess in all of Ireland.”
If she could burst glitter right now, she would. She jumps up and down, clapping her hands, and that’s when I realize what she is wearing: cowboy boots, a little leather jacket like her daddy’s, and a pink dress. Her sense of style is all over the place. I like that so much about her. And I hate her dad so much right now for not giving me enough credit to know I could easily love her.
“Would you like to come in?” she asks, taking a step aside.
“Why don’t you call your grandfather and ask him if I can?” I smile nervously, tucking the planner back into my backpack.
“Grandpa-great is not here yet. He comes shortly before teatime, which means in just a bit. Grandma’s here. Would you like me to call her?”
“Oh, that’s not necessary. I’ll come ba…”
“Nana!” Tamsin’s mouth opens to the shape of an egg, producing a shriek that could cause the earth to move. “Na-naaaaa!”
Before I find a good hole in the ground to swallow me into the next dimension, a woman appears at the door. She looks nothing like Mal—not even a little—which makes me suspect the worst. My suspicions turn out to be correct when she opens her mouth.
“Aurora, you said?” She wipes her hands on a paper towel, as if sullied by my presence.
She looks old enough to be my mother—not quite Father Doherty’s age. Ireland is not exactly full of priests who live in sin with women who look like they want to burn me alive, so I’m guessing this is Kathleen’s mother, who lives with Father Doherty and Mal’s mother.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m here to see Father Doherty.”
“Tamsin.” She pats the little girl’s chubby cheek with one hand, her eyes still zeroing in on me. “Go get your room tidy before supper.”
“But I want to stay with Princess Au…”
“Off you go,” she quips, and Tamsin scurries away into a house that looks newly refurbished, extremely spacious, and plush. Nothing like Mal’s modest crib.
The woman throws a warning finger in my face. “I knew you would eventually come back. We don’t have your money. Everything you see here Malachy paid for. Your drunken sod of a father wasn’t half as rich as he made his harem of flings believe.”
Whoa. I can see where Kathleen got her cut-a-bitch streak. Kathleen’s mother could teach mobsters a thing or two about tough talk.
“I’m not here because of Glen. I’m here on a work assignment. You don’t have to believe me, but it’s the truth. And while I’m here, I’d appreciate exchanging a few words with Father Doherty.”
I leave my marriage to Mal out because I still feel like an outsider, a pariah, an interloper in this village. And also because she lost her daughter. Grief is a fiend. It takes over swiftly, then makes you do and say things your normal self would not even think about.
“Whatever the reason you’re here, I’m telling you to leave. My granddaughter was never supposed to meet you. That was the deal we had with Mal. He promised us. It’s bad enough you’re probably warming his bed—”
“Well, I’m not looking for Mal. I’m looking for Father Doherty. Please tell him to meet me at The Boar’s Head in two hours. If you do, I promise I will never bother you and your granddaughter ever again.”
Knowing that the message will be passed, that Kathleen’s mother would never give up a chance to see me gone, I turn on my heel and leave.
Mal
There’s no good way to offhandedly mention to your wife that, by the way, you have a seven-year-old daughter, and oops, her mother was her dead half-sister who absolutely loathed her. Oh, and just for the record, you are ninety-nine percent sure Tamsin (the daughter—see? already getting ahead of myself) was conceived when you were drunk off your arse and raped.
Yet Mam’s surprise visit, paired with the fact that Rory is understandably starting to lose patience with me, plus that little, nagging thing called my conscience, means I’m going to tell her tonight.