Page 16 of Blood in the Water
Bridget had always assumed she’d outlast them, that somehow she and her parents and Owen would still be living in their little house with the iron porch railing and the squeaky screen door when everyone else from the old neighborhood had been driven away.
The future looked murkier lately, the picture out of focus. She wasn’t sure she could see Owen in it, wasn’t sure she could make out the faded wallpaper in the upstairs hall or the cracked ceiling in her bedroom. She wasn’t even sure she could see Nolan, not with the secret that still sat between them.
“I take it you haven’t told him?” Rachel asked, as if reading her mind.
Bridget had been hoping to avoid the topic of Nolan, had succeeded so far by focusing the conversation on Rachel’s job, her new boss who tried to take credit for her ideas, and the two guys she had in her current dating rotation.
It was never going to last. Rachel was too tuned in to Bridget’s moods.
“There hasn’t been a good time, what with the former IRA taking up residence in the neighborhood and my brother planning his own death,” Bridget said.
“Bridge…” Rachel looped her arm through Bridget’s. “I’m sorry. Has Owen said anything else about the place in Switzerland?”
“He hasn’t said anything at all. He probably doesn’t even know my mom found the brochure for Dignitas.”
“Should you talk to him about it?” Rachel asked.
“Probably.” Bridget sighed. “I’m just not sure I have the bandwidth, you know?”
Rachel squeezed her arm before letting go. “You have a lot on your plate. Maybe it would be good to free up some space.”
Bridget looked at her. “Meaning?”
“Let’s think about the things that are eating at you: the shit show going on with Seamus, the secret you’re keeping from Nolan, the secret your brother thinks he’s keeping from you, the case you’re working at BRIC.”
Bridget took a drink of her beer. “Geez, I feel so much better now.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “I’m saying you should offload the things you have control over. You can’t do anything about the situation with Seamus right now. You can’t do more than you’re already doing for Jorge Ramirez. But you can talk to Owen, and if you’re not ready to talk to Owen, you can definitely talk to Nolan. Wouldn’t it feel good to have the thing with his mom out in the open?”
“I’m not sure I’m ready.”
Bridget could tell herself she had nothing to be ashamed of, that taking care of her dying brother had been more important than anything else, that anyone would understand why she’d done what she’d done, but none of the intellectual justification removed the stain of shame that had followed her around since the day she deposited Moira Adam’s check.
She thought of Nolan, of the way he looked at her like she was the sun and the moon, like she could do no wrong in his eyes, the way he touched her like she was rare and precious. Once she’d told him the truth, there would be no taking it back. It would color the way he saw her, even ifonly subconsciously, and the fallout with his mother would be real and lasting. Nolan would blame her: for being deceptive, for putting her desire for a “suitable” daughter-in-law above Nolan’s feelings, for meddling in his life and taking advantage of Bridget’s situation.
Most of all, he would hate that she’d used her money as a weapon against someone like Bridget. That wasn’t Nolan. He didn’t think he was better than anyone else because his father had left him a trust fund. He didn’t think his money entitled him to manipulate people for his own gain.
He’d always respected the people in his grandparents’ old neighborhood. It was something that had surprised Bridget when she first met him — the way he laughed at his privilege and wealth, the way he’d admired the people of Southie who worked simple jobs and led simple lives and lived in simple homes. Bridget hadn’t known his father — Torin Burke had died when Nolan was a kid — but she had always wondered if he’d been able to see the soft spot Nolan had for his grandparents and their neighborhood, the neighborhood Torin had grown up in, if that was why he’d allowed Nolan to spend so much time in Southie when he was young.
She wondered if Moira had seen it too, if that’s why she’d tried to limit Nolan’s time in the neighborhood by stuffing his schedule full of sailing lessons and lacrosse and Latin tutors, if she’d been trying to make him like her when Nolan would never, ever be like his mother.
“It’ll be worse if he finds out on his own.”
The words came from Rachel, and Bridget looked over, half surprised to find her still sitting there, to find that they were both still at The Chipp.
“I know.”
The truth of it soured the beer in her stomach. Herrelationship with Nolan had blossomed since he’d come to work for Seamus, since she’d given into her feelings for him. There was no need for the questions people usually asked themselves when they were dating. Is it serious? Will it last?
It was serious. It would last.
Unless she fucked it up.
Nolan hadn’t mentioned Moira this time around, but it was only a matter of time. They weren’t close, but she was his mother. Bridget couldn’t avoid her forever if she planned to be with him.
She had to tell him. And she had to do it before he found out on his own.
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