Page 84 of Dangerously
“I love it, too.” Farrah sits down to the beautifully set table. There is everything and anything you could want spread out in front of us. Pancakes, waffles, French toast, pastries, donuts.
“You put Mrs. Shields to work, I see.”
“Oh, she’s not here anymore.”
“Oh no, what happened to her?”
“Too old, I guess.” Farrah shrugs.
“Mrs. Shields?” March asks.
“She was our old chef.” Farrah loads her plate up with croissants and fruit-filled pastries.
“Who’s the new cook?” I wonder aloud.
“Some French guy named Ludo. He’s kind of rude. But an awesome chef.” Farrah takes a huge, indulgent bite of her croissant. “So good,” she talks with her mouthful. If our mother were here, she would be appalled.
“Farrah?” I pour myself a cup of coffee as Declan balances Aisling on his knee. “Who told you we were coming?” I fish for details so we can keep this ruse going. March only made the phone call; we need to do the rest.
“Ling. My nanny. She said Dad called. Sucks they aren’t here to see you. And actually, it kind of sucks that I still need a nanny. I’m almost sixteen years old. I can take care of myself. But Mom insists I still need parental supervision,” she whines, mocking her in a high-pitched voice. I get way more enjoyment out of it than I should. But I really hate that bitch.
“She cares more about you than she ever did for me,” I scoff before realizing I let a little too much bitterness seep through that statement.
Farrah regards me with a strange look. I don’t really know what my parents told her about me. I don’t know if they hate me and convey that, or if they just let lying dogs lie and take my absence for what it is. Up until now, like this second, I never really cared. But I love Farrah, and even if I never see her after today, I want her to have good memories of me. At least one good memory. I don’t want to be tainted in her mind. “Where is Ling now?” I quickly change the subject.
“Probably tending to her garden in the conservatory. That’s where she usually is.” She licks the icing off her fingers from the pastry.
“I’ll have to go introduce myself.” I peer at March over the brim of the dainty coffee cup.
“Yeah, she’s cool. You’ll like her.” Farrah is completely clueless as she chomps away on her pastry. And I’m thankful for that. I had no idea what I was walking into coming here, and as far as I can tell, it’s as normal as normal can be. “So, Declan. What part of Ireland are you from?” Farrah sets her sights on him. I’m sure she’ll get to March eventually.
“Belfast, originally,” he indulges her as he feeds Aisling pieces of pancake.
“I love Belfast! We went to Ireland last summer. It was amazing. The people were so nice, and the countryside was beautiful.”
“You speak the truth.” He seems pleased with her account.
“Do you still have a lot of family there?” she continues with the questions.
“Some. Two older sisters and some aunts and uncles. When my mum died, they shipped me off to America so I wouldn’t get caught up in the paramilitary. A bunch of good that did me.” He makes light, but Farrah definitely doesn’t get it. March and I, on the other hand, know exactly what he’s talking about. Aisling begins to get fussy, crying and whining and pulling at Dax’s ears. “Someone needs a nap.”
“Oh.” Farrah stands. “I made up Fallon’s old room. You can put her down there.” She sounds so proud of herself. I feel bad she went through all the trouble. ’Cause you couldn’t pay me in a sack full of cut diamonds to step foot inside that bedroom.
“That’s sweet, Farrah, but a guest room will be fine.”
“You don't want to stay in your old room?”
“No, we’re good. March can have it if he wants it. It’s got a great view of the Sound.” I try and sell it.
“Lovely.” He’s not enthused about buying. He knows what went on in that room.
“It’s a really nice room.” Farrah is completely in the dark. And that’s exactly where I’m going to keep her.
“I’m sure it is, honey. I’ll be happy to sleep there,” he appeases her. I thank him with a sentimental look.
Aisling screams, and Declan shoots to his feet. “Okay.” He throws her in the air. “Sanity time. Pray she goes down fast.”
“You know that is not going to happen.” That child fights sleep like she’s slaying a dragon.
