"Jaysus, no. He'd kill me if he knew I was here. But I had to try, because he's been spendin' time with that scanger, Courtney. She wants him to marry her, and I'm scared to bloody death he might eventually do it just to punish himself."
My stomach knotted. "Courtney told me he was already planning to marry her. That day I left his apartment, she came by and told me they were still involved, and he was going to marry her when he was done ruining me." I swallowed. The memory of that moment still brought bile to my throat. Eileen let out a small, high-pitched laugh, lacking any humor.
"The only one who had plans at that point regardin' marriage was Courtney herself. She lied to ya, Lydia. I don't know the particulars of Brogan and Courtney's relationship, but I do know he doesn't love her, and he never has. Her ex-husband's been released from prison and she's playin' the safety card as a way of stayin' close to Brogan. She has some strange hold on him, aye, but if he marries her, he will spend the rest of his days miserable, which is about what he's aimin' for, I do believe."
I wasn't sure if that was any of my business. I wasn't even sure I shouldn't hope for just that. And yet, the thought of it made me feel sick and desperate all the same. "But Eileen, he doesn't love me either. I'm nothing but a princess in his eyes," I said. "A mo chree, that's what he calls me. And maybe he's only ever wanted to knock me off my imagined throne." I stared unseeing behind Eileen, then moved my eyes back to her worried expression. "I saw him a couple weeks ago at a restaurant. Did Fionn tell you? That night, he looked at me as if I was nothing to him, as if he'd never known me at all."
"Aye, he's scared of ya. He's scared he's gona beg ya to forgive him, and that ya might. And he's scared that ya might not. He's all knotted up, and he bloody hates himself. I've seen it before, Lydia. He was only seventeen then, but I remember it well." She eyed me with meaning, reaching across the table and laying her small hand on top of mine, giving it a squeeze. "I'm havin' Brogan to dinner at my place on Saturday. Please come, Lydia. Please. Just think on it. I won't lie to ya. He won't make it easy for ya. But I'm askin' ya, no I'm beggin' ya to try. Even if ya decide ya don't want to be with him again, if ya can only find it in your heart to forgive him and to help him forgive himself. Please."
I shook my head. "Dinner? Oh no, no, I can't, Eileen."
She gave my hand another squeeze before she pulled away. "Please," she repeated as she stood up. "Seven o'clock. And Lydia, mo chroí doesn't mean princess. It means my heart. When he's callin' ya mo chroí, he's callin' ya his beloved, the very thing that keeps him alive."
I sucked in a sudden, sharp breath as she smiled gently at me and walked toward the door. "Eileen," I called out and she paused. "What does, iss bra lum too mean?" I'd spoken the sounds slowly, hoping she'd understand.
Eileen tilted her head, pausing for a moment. "It means I love you," she said. She gave me one small, fleeting smile before she left, closing the door of the coffee shop behind her.
Please. I love you. Please. I love you. That's what he'd said that night in the police station, the day I'd screamed at him and told him I'd never forgive him. Please, he'd begged me. I love you. And I'd turned away. Again.
Mo chroí. My heart.
I sat there for a long time, not drinking my tea, a lump clogging my throat as I simply stared at the wall.
**********
"What are you going to do?" Daisy asked, her eyes wide.
"I don't know, Daisy," I said, pacing across the plush carpet of her bedroom. She'd been getting ready for bed when I'd gotten home and I'd come straight to her room, needing to talk. "And anyway, why did you give Eileen the name of the shop I work at?"
She poured lotion from a small bottle on her bedside table and began rubbing it into one elbow. The soothing scent of lavender met my nose. "She seemed so distraught, Lydia."
I stopped pacing momentarily. "And I'm not distraught? I haven't been distraught for three months now?"
She changed elbows. "I thought maybe . . . well, perhaps you could help each other with your . . . distraughtedness."
"That's not a word," I snapped.
"Distraughtegy?"
I thinned my lips, noting her teasing expression.
"Distress. And this isn't funny. Not in the least." I folded my arms and continued pacing.
Daisy capped the lotion bottle, stood, and came over to me, halting my pacing by putting her hands on my upper arms. "Lydia," she said, "in these last three months, you've become like a sister to me. I like to think we've helped each other through our distress. But . . . I'm getting better, and you're . . . not. And I think it's because in my case, there are no loose ends, nothing to work through, but with Brogan, well, I think there might be. And I think you know that, too. I think it's eating you alive. And until you at least figure out how you feel about him and talk to him, it's going to continue to eat you alive."
I stared at her, wanting to reject her words, but knowing I couldn't. And now tonight, after talking to Eileen, I had so many doubts, so many unanswered questions I'd thought needed no explanation, could have no explanation. But what if . . . what if they could? I'd seen him in that restaurant and despite everything, my heart had still called out to him. My instinct had been to run into his arms and heal the terrible, heart-wrenching ache inside me—not grief over my brother's death, for that was healing on its own. The ache I still felt inside was the loss of . . . him. Either I was a complete and utter idiot, an explanation that wasn't completely off the table, or . . . or I still loved him, because my heart knew he was a good man who had made some bad choices, even if those bad choices had led at least partially to this terrible situation we were in now.