“Headfirst, I’d say,” Michael replied.
Laughing at Michael’s honesty, Edwige felt comfortable enough to explain her actions more fully.
“I had come to loathe myself and my life, Michael. It was a new and ... all-consuming feeling,” she confessed. “I felt as if I needed to be punished, and so I cast your father in the role of my jailer.”
“Did my father keep you here by force?” Michael asked.
“No,” Edwige replied firmly. “I possess that other very human characteristic of free will.”
Surprisingly, Michael was relieved to know that Edwige’s seclusion was self-induced and not a result of Vaughan’s machinations. Maybe Brania had been right: His father really wasn’t that bad after all. Reading his expression, Edwige concurred. “Vaughan is far from perfect,” she said, “but when given the opportunity, he proves himself to be a very good man.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Michael replied. “And I’m glad to see that you really look happy to be here.”
Edwige didn’t hesitate in her response. “I am.” She also didn’t hesitate to get to the real reason for Michael’s visit, now that the air had been cleared.
“You’re here to speak to me about Ronan, aren’t you?” Edwige asked, knowing full well the answer.
“How did you know that?”
Relaxing into the couch, Edwige smiled. “Despite my reconnection with your father, the strongest connection that we share is our love for Ronan.”
Michael surprised himself by blushing. When was the truth going to stop making him act like a little boy? Ah well, maybe that was the secret to love; it kept everyone eternally youthful.
“So tell me,” Edwige said. “What could my son possibly have done that would bring you here to the so-called lion’s den?”
Taking a deep breath, Michael wasn’t really sure how to begin. When he found the words, he realized he needed to whisper so his father didn’t overhear. “It’s really about Ronan and Saoirse,” Michael started, his words causing Edwige to sit upright. “Morgandy’s back.”
As Michael explained the situation and what had just transpired a few blocks away, the color drained from Edwige’s face. Her green blouse began to work against her complexion, creating a dull pallor in her cheeks. When Michael stopped talking, Edwige had one simple request. “Keep him away from my children.”
“I plan to,” Michael replied. “But I’m not sure if I can do it alone. Morgandy has David on his side.
I may need some help.”
Edwige understood the question; she hoped Michael would understand the response. “For right now my children are better off without me.”
“That isn’t true! They need you, Ciaran needs you, and so do I,” Michael implored. “We all wish you could just see that so you wouldn’t feel so alone.”
“But she isn’t alone,” Vaughan corrected. Silently he had entered the living room, curious as to what his son and his ... well, whatever label he bestowed upon Edwige—girlfriend, lover, eternal life partner—were talking about or simply because he got bored sitting by himself. When he placed his hand on Edwige’s shoulder, she didn’t flinch at his touch, but she didn’t melt into him, either, the way Michael and Ronan did. She simply remained sitting in the exact same position as if Vaughan wasn’t touching her, as if he was somewhere far, far away. “She has me,” Vaughan said.
In spite of Edwige’s protestations to the contrary, this was a very odd relationship. Even if Michael could have stayed all night to talk through the pros and cons with them, he knew he still wouldn’t understand it. He had other things to do anyway.
“I should get going,” he announced, getting up, but not moving toward the door.
“I hope you’ll come again, son,” Vaughan said, not making a move either. “You know the door is always open for you.” His next remark proved that, if he wasn’t entirely fatherly, at least he was honest. “And perhaps next time you’ll want to spend some time chatting with your old man.”
It was time for Michael to be just as straightforward. “When I feel like chatting, Dad, you’ll be the first to know.”
Before Michael could exit on his own, Edwige spoke. “Let me walk you to the door.” She grabbed Michael gently by the elbow, fully aware that Vaughan was scrutinizing her actions. At the door she positioned herself so Vaughan could only see her from the back, and when she spoke, she barely made a sound. “You did the right thing telling me about Morgandy. Thank you.”
He didn’t know if he moved first or if it was Edwige, but suddenly they were hugging. And he was speaking just as softly in her ear, his eyes deliberately avoiding his father’s gaze. “We’re going to feed.”
Edwige knew she was being offered an invitation, but it, unfortunately, was one that she couldn’t accept. “And may it be glorious.”
Sitting on the shore of Inishtrahull Island, his arms wrapped around Ronan’s still wet body, Michael realized Edwige was wrong—their feeding had been more than glorious; it had been the most passionate yet. He supposed it was simply that after the evening they had had, they needed to reclaim their love for each other, acknowledge it, explore it, taste it more deeply than ever before. Smiling before he spoke, Michael was happy this relationship thing was starting to feel completely natural.
Things that might have been difficult to express a few months ago were getting easier to share. “I stopped by my father’s apartment to speak with your mother,” Michael confessed. “I thought she should know about Morgandy.”
Not a flicker of disapproval appeared on Ronan’s face, only delight. “Crikey, Michael, you really are trying to be the ideal husband, aren’t you?”
Holding Ronan closer, inhaling deeply the heat and the ocean that clung to Ronan’s body, Michael wasn’t sure what he meant. “You have to stop speaking in that literary code of yours, Ro.”
Turning to face Michael, Ronan explained himself. “Your relationship with your dad is still pretty baltic, and yet you went there because of me. Thank you.”
Now that was about as direct as Michael could hope for. “You’re welcome.”
Michael wasn’t the only one who was hopeful. Far off in the distance, Edwige was watching her son and his boyfriend and cried, quietly but joyfully, as she watched the easy way they held each other.
She prayed that their love would last for eternity and that they would never experience the kind of pain she had endured when Saxon was taken from her. She didn’t want any of her children to know such inconsolable grief. But she also knew that if it was meant to be, there was absolutely nothing she would be able to do to prevent it.
chapter 20
A new year, a new term, same old practice.
The minute school resumed after the holiday break, Blakeley started drilling the swim team like they were preparing for the Olympics. Swim Team Nationals was a prestigious event, but no matter many how many races Double A students won, no one was going to end up on a box of Wheaties or with a million-dollar endorsement deal. Bragging rights and a keen looking trophy were about all they could hope for, yet Blakeley refused to ease up. Standing on the side of the pool, Ciaran was catching his breath in between heats talking to Ronan who was putting on a pretty good show of looking equally exhausted.
His chest heaving, Ciaran wiped his forehead, not knowing how much of it was water and how much was sweat. “I still can’t believe Mum didn’t want to spend the holidays with you.”
Ronan was bent over, his hands pressed into his knees, watching the water drip off his nose onto the gym floor. “It’s her life, mate,” he replied. “If she’d rather spend Christmas and ring in the New Year with Michael’s father instead of her own children, well, that’s her own bloody problem.”
Ciaran knew Ronan’s offhanded comment was only an attempt to hide his true feelings. No matter what he said, his brother was upset and hurt by their mother’s actions. Ciaran, however, was used to being ignored by Edwige and had developed a much thicker skin as well as a self-serving philosophy.
“I’ve resigned myself to the fact that for all intents and purposes I’m an orphan,” he said, fully expecting the
