By the time school ended, my argument with Lizzie had festered and stewed inside of me to the point where I was feeling terrible about the whole thing.
I hated fighting with her, and lately that’s all we seemed to be doing. I wasn’t a naturally argumentative person, and while Lizzie could fight with a pillowcase, she never used to project her fury on me.
All of that was changing, and I could feel the shift.
I didn’t like it.
Not one bit.
It almost felt like we were traveling down a broken track line with only one destination in sight.
Destruction.
Every day, we seemed to wallpaper over one crack in our friendship only to end up exposing another.
The worst part of it all was the fact that she continued to shut me out, making it impossible to help. I knew she was confiding in Shannon – well, as much as Lizzie confided in anyone – and it hurt me to know that I was on the outside of her inner circle. It hurt because I was trying to do the right thing by two people I loved and was being castigated for it.
I had the same helpless feeling in the pit of my stomach that I had last year with Shannon. Just like back then, I could sense the trouble, I could feel it in my bones, but instead of jumping into action, I froze.
I was still freezing.
Making the conscious decision to not let another one of my friends down, I snuck off from Tommen as soon as the last bell of the day signaled, making the two-mile walk to a street I rarely visited anymore.
I chose to walk to the Youngs’ house because asking Gerard to drive me over just seemed wrong, given all that had happened between their families.
Knowing that Lizzie was with Shannon at the manor meant that this was my best opportunity to … well, to basically betray her.
She’d hate me for it, of course she would, but my need to be liked wasn’t a good enough reason to not intervene in this instance.
This is bad.
This is a mistake.
Turn back.
Oh god, what was I doing?
I had hockey after school on Wednesdays.
I loved hockey.
I didn’t skip.
But this was more important.
She was more important to me.
When I rounded the familiar stone-pillared entrance that surrounded the Youngs’ impressive property, I felt a pang of sadness hit me square in the chest. I didn’t enjoy coming here anymore, not since Caoimhe passed away.
The house was sad, the people residing here reminded me of ghosts, and I wasn’t nearly masochistic enough to spend any deal of time here.
Knocking on the door, I waited with bated breath for someone to answer it.
When the door finally swung inwards, and I was greeted by Lizzie’s mam, Catherine, I felt my heart crack in my chest. She looked so weathered, like the last few years had aged her rapidly.
“Hello, Claire.” She offered me a small smile that didn’t meet the haunted look in her eyes. “Lizzie’s not home from school yet.”
“Oh, yeah, I know, Mrs. Young,” I replied, offering her a bright smile, while my palms sweated profusely. “Liz is at the Kavanaghs’ house with Shan.” Clearing my throat, I wiped my hands against the fabric of my skirt. “I was actually hoping to see you.”
Surprise filled her blue eyes. “Me?”
“Yes.” Panic filled me at a rapid rate, causing me to stretch my smile out further, feeling the pressure in my lungs before I uttered a single word. “Can I come inside, please?”
“You can,” she answered warily, swinging the door inwards. “Is everything alright?”
“Oh, everything’s fine,” I hurried to say, feeling a desperate urge to soothe the worry lines on her face, as I followed her into the house in which I had spent so much of my childhood.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” Lizzie’s mam said as she led us into the kitchen. “Take a seat.”
“Yeah,” I replied, slipping off my coat. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much.”
“No need to explain, Claire,” she said softly, moving to fill the kettle. “Tea?”
“Yes, please.”
“Two sugars?”
I beamed. “You remembered.”
She smiled over her shoulder. “How’s that brother of yours keeping?” Turning off the tap, she walked over to the counter, kettle in hand, and switched it on. “He’s a good one, that boy. He was such a rock to this family after Caoimhe’s passing.” She shook her head sadly. “Such a pity he doesn’t come around anymore.”
“Hugh’s grand,” I replied, taking a seat at the familiar kitchen table. The one I had carved my initials into the underside of when I was six. “He’s doing his Leaving Cert this year.”
“My God,” she whispered, more to herself than me. “The years are just slipping away, aren’t they?”
“They sure are,” I replied, feeling sad.
“Still playing the rugby?”
“He sure is,” I replied. “Still living and breathing it.”
“I meant to thank your mother for the beautiful wreath she laid for Caoimhe’s anniversary,” Mrs. Young said, returning to the table with two mugs of tea. “I must have lost track of time.”
“Oh, it was no trouble,” I hurried to say, accepting the mug she held out to me. “She lays one every year. On her birthday and at Christmas, too.” Taking a small sip from my mug, I mulled over my next sentence before finally saying, “You know, I’m sure Mam would love to see you again.”
Mrs. Young smiled politely but didn’t respond, just like I knew she wouldn’t. “It’s been a really long time since you caught up, right?” I pushed in as gentle a tone as I could muster.
Six years, to be precise.
Since her daughter passed away and lines were drawn in the sand.
“My door is always open for your mother,” Mrs. Young replied. Meaning that she had no intention of coming anywhere near our house because of who our neighbors were. “I’m so glad you called,” she continued, reaching across the table to pat my hand. “You’re like a breath of fresh air, Claire Biggs.”
She wouldn’t think that once she knew the true intent of my impromptu visit. “Is Mr. Young home soon?” I asked, shifting in discomfort when I locked eyes on the family portrait hanging on the wall of the kitchen. The one that contained two smiling sisters with their casually smiling parents. Oh God. “It’s just what I wanted to talk to you about should probably include Lizzie’s dad, too.”
Mrs. Young stared at me for a long moment, confusion etched on her face. “Didn’t Lizzie tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“We’ve separated.”
I gaped at her. “You’ve what?”
“Lizzie’s father moved out last Easter.”
“He did?” My mouth dropped, right along with my heart. “Mike moved out?”
“He’s in Tipperary since March,” Mrs. Young explained, pausing to take a sip from her mug. “Took a job in Thurles. He comes down every few weeks to visit Liz.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”
“Yeah,” I whispered. Me, too.
“So, I’m afraid I’ll have to do,” she added gently. “Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about, pet?”
“It’s Lizzie,” I forced myself to say, wishing like hell I had taken the coward’s way out.
“What about her?”
Aw crackers.
“Claire?”
Blowing out a pained breath, I forced myself to look her mother in the eye when I said, “I think Lizzie is cutting again.”
