In the Unlikely Event

But, of course, he knew. If Maeve and Heather knew my story—and they didn’t even have the slightest business knowing me—how could Mal not?

By the pained look on Father Doherty’s face, I realize he did not think this implication through.

“He didn’t mean…”

“I have to go.” I dart up, my throat itching with the ball of tears lodged inside it. No truer words have ever been spoken by me. I have to leave. Not just The Boar’s Head, but Tolka, too. I have to leave Ireland behind. Every green, rolling hill, charming, cobblestoned pathway, and red door is haunting me.

I have to listen to my mother, who’s been telling me, begging me, warning me about this place. Telling me to run away and never look back. Maybe I can get the marriage with Mal annulled. It hasn’t even been a week.

Mal. Mal, Mal, Mal.

A secret daughter.

The truth about my father.

The lying, deceiving, manipulative piece of—

“Wait!” Father Doherty rises to his feet, staggering forward, holding on to the edges of the table. He’s so frail that he groans involuntarily as he does. He puts his hand on his lower back, wheezing.

I stop, my shoulders sagging. “Do you need me to call you a cab?” I ask, my voice softening.

He shakes his head. “Please don’t be mad at him. He just did as he was told. He, like your mother, like myself, didn’t want the truth to consume you, to have your past dictate your future.”

With all due respect, Father Doherty sounds like a fortune cookie. I’m not going to accept this excuse.

“It’s not for him to decide what I should or shouldn’t know. Or for you. Or for her. For anyone.” I let out a feral yelp, throwing my hands in the air.

All heads in the pub snap toward me, and I turn my volume down a notch, leaning forward and whispering hotly, “No one ever appointed Mal to be my Prince Charming, and if he were such thing to me, he’d be doing a crappy job. I deserved to know. I came to him begging for answers. He lured me into his net and made me think it was of my own free will. I never would have…”

Slept with him had I been up to speed on what my father had done.

Let him hold me all night.

Fallen in love with him.

My relationship with Mal would have been completely different, had he told me the truth when I met him the first time.

Then something else occurs to me.

“Tell me, Father, did Tamsin celebrate her birthday recently?”

The glitter.

The cake Mal baked.

The present.

Father Doherty showing up at Ms. Patel’s newsagents unexpectedly, buying booze.

Of course, that’s another event I was shunned from because I’m the daughter of the devil—the devil whose only crime was trying to save me from my father.

“Yes.” He tucks his chin, staring at his shoes. “Her seventh.”

“I see.”

For the first time in my life, I can say this with certainty. I do see. And as precious as Tamsin is, I cannot afford to stick around and watch her grow.

“Are you going to need that cab?”

Even I flinch at the callousness of my voice. This man is pushing eighty-five. I have no business talking to him like this. He coils his fingers over the table, still unable to lift his gaze and meet mine.

“Oh, Rory. My dear Rory. Your mother didn’t tell you anything, did she? She never would.”

I purse my lips, staring down at my Toms, like a punished kid.

Please don’t light me on fire, God.

Father Doherty eyes my suitcase by the table, finds the courage to look at me, and speaks.

“Don’t go. Don’t leave for America. If you go, you will only lash out at Debbie, and she doesn’t deserve it. She loves you so much, Aurora. She always tried to protect you from everything surrounding Glen. I remember when she named you, she sent me a letter, explaining why she chose those names for you. Because she wanted you to have the fairytale, something perfect and uncomplicated. She never wanted all this mess to touch you.”

“Yet it did,” I seethe, feeling my teeth grind against one another.

He wipes his tears with the base of his thumb, sniffing.

“It most certainly caught up with me, and blew up in my face.”

Mal

The best (and perhaps only good) part of being from a small town is that people look out for you. Fifteen minutes after Rory stormed out, while I paced a hole in the floor trying to figure out my next move, I got a ring from my barman Dermot at The Boar’s Head, letting me know my grandfather was having a lively conversation with a young woman.

My woman.

I run to my car and drive like a rabid dog after snapping back to reality. I throw it in park without turning off the engine and look up to see her getting into a cab. The vehicle is an ugly, seventies Renault that coughs its way down the road. Rory is in such a rush to leave, she didn’t want to wait for a decent ride.