Page 48 of What Love Can Do
Maybe he shouldn’t have left the bed-and-breakfast in the fashion that he had. Maybe he should have stayed to work it out, done a better job of listening to Lilly, but he knew—just knew—that had he listened to her with a more open heart, he would have stayed, endangering his heart and complicating their lives even further. It was hard—hard as bloody hell—to walk away from those sapphire eyes on the verge of tears. Over the last two weeks, they had anchored themselves into his psyche, to the point that every morning, upon waking up, her eyes were the first thing he’d think about, her smile second, and the way she made him feel a close third.
Now all he could think about was how much she’d hurt him in the kitchen when she’d failed to stand by him. Not a good sign for times to come.
Soon, Lilly would be a superstar, appearing on that pastry chef bloke’s show, kicking ass and taking no prisoners, making a name for herself in Miami and beyond. Soon, she wouldn’t need him for anything, because after all, he had nothing to offer her. It was only a matter of seconds before the richest, most handsome fellows would spot her and come knocking on her door. A woman who looked the way she did, laughed the way she did, and could bake like a champion?
He wouldn’t stand a chance. And why should he?
How could he expect a woman like Lilly to pin her hopes on him when he couldn’t even make up his mind about what he wanted to do next in his life?
So what did he want to do, for fuck’s sake?
Whether or not he was with Lilly, and for now it was best to assume he wouldn’t be, what did he want to do with his life? Right here and right now, what called to him? But also, what could he see himself doing ten years down the road and still be happy? What did he want to do? If he could do anything in the world?
He wanted to run a restaurant.
That was the simple truth. Otherwise, he never would have entertained the idea of taking Mulligan’s Tavern off Paul Brennan’s hands. Granted, he could open a restaurant anywhere. Didn’t have to be here.
But he wanted it to be here.
It didn’t matter that he hadn’t even seen anything else of America. Green Valley just felt right.
The way being with Lilly had felt right? a voice in his mind sneered.
Yes, like that. He wasn’t sure whether that would be enough in the end to make things work between them, but right now, he could begin the process of tending to the other things in his life, and hope that as a result, what to do about him and Lilly would become more clear.
With a renewed sense of purpose and confidence, Quinn sat up. The first thing he was going to do was deal with the obvious anger he’d been feeling toward his mam. She’d always said family was king, but she’d failed to tell her sons they had relatives in America. And yes, ultimately her loyalty was to her husband and children, but to simply give up on the rest of her family after only one apparent attempt to reach out to them (though granted, it had been an attempt that had been devastatingly rejected) made no sense. He hadn’t realized that’s how he felt, not until he’d been railing to Con, but obviously part of him couldn’t understand why his mam had done what she’d done, and maybe the only way he’d ever be able to understand was by facing his mother’s past head on.
He’d start by finally visiting the house she’d grown up in, something he’d hesitated doing in case his grandfather still lived there. But he couldn’t wait any longer. If he happened to see his grandfather today, so be it.
Reaching for the old journal on the nightstand and not finding it there, he realized, in his heated argument with Lilly, that he must have packed it away deep in his suitcase. He’d look for it later. Didn’t need it for reference anyway—he’d already memorized the address after so many times reading it. By now, he could find it with his eyes closed.
Driving several miles out to Forestville Road, the palms of Quinn’s hands began to sweat. What would he find when he reached his destination? All his life, he’d imagined his mother as a child in some faraway, dream-like house, something out of his imagination rather than a real place. Since she’d provided little context, he’d always filled in the blanks, imagining her living in a cottage out in a green meadow somewhere, like the houses in fairytales about little kids who visited witches’ homes and got thrown into ovens. A quaint home made of cobblestone and brick with flowers in the flowerbeds and a smiling mother who baked cookies every night.
What he found when he turned the corner, rumbled down the gravel driveway, and cut the engine at a safe distance from the main gates wasn’t too far off from that description. 739 E. Sunflower Road. A large, two-story yellow house sat there on a sprawling spread of green acreage of vineyards. On the front lawn of the property was a huge oak tree, and hanging from it, a tire swing. There were brightly-colored flowers, but not in flowerbeds, instead lining the house in a neat, clipped row of bushes. It was a thousand times nicer than the house he and his brothers had grown up in.
“So, this is it, Mam?” he whispered in the silence of the rental car.
This was where his mam had grown up.
Same house she’d lived in during secondary school, same home she’d lived in when she graduated and began college, when she dated Ken Parker, same house she came home to after meeting Grant O’Neill. Quinn could just imagine a young Maggie bursting through the door, excitement in her flushed cheeks, running to her room and closing the door quietly to prop open her journal and write about the charming, funny man she had met at Mulligan’s. There was something comforting about putting a face to a question mark, replacing a cardboard cutout brain image with reality.
Mam grew up here. That’s where she learned to walk, ate her meals, slept, and dreamed up all her crazy future ideas. That’s where my life began too, in a way.
Damn, his mam had grown up with some fine threads, fine house, and fine money. She’d left it all behind for a man.
No. That wasn’t right.
She’d done it for…
“Love,” he said. “You did it for love, right, Mam?”
Only the whooshing of trees in the autumn breeze answered him. He closed his eyes and imagined her answering, “Yes. Family is king. But love…love is everything.”
“You didn’t know how to fight for both,” he whispered. “Your family in Dublin and your family here.”
Just like Lilly hadn’t known how to fight for Quinn in that kitchen without irreparably hurting her relationship with her mam. For a few seconds, she’d frozen. And Quinn had crucified her for it.
He’d lashed out at her for faltering, even though Quinn himself had told her love was complicated. They’d wanted to believe their love would magically cure the problems they faced, but love was messier than that when a person loved many. When different types of family were involved.