The image of a young man, eager to impress his father and failing, prevents a smile from forming on my face over Faith’s confession. Instead of making me sad, it makes me livid. It makes me wonder where some parents, mine included, get off on being so shitty.

“Shane got older and the fighting started. He started driving to Kildare on his day off, working with a racing trainer. Took every bit of his pay to afford it.” Faith shrugs. “My father demanded he quit. He threatened to kick Shane out so many times…one morning we woke up and he was just…gone.”

“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. Part of me understands Shane’s actions completely. He broke up with his family before they could break up with him. It’s something I might do in the same situation. To save myself the pain from the final blow of being kicked out.

“God, part of me envies Shane,” Faith continues. “He wanted to race. Always did. So he went out and bloody did it. I never had the guts to stand up to him. When I leave the inn, I still hear my da in the back of my head telling me to get back to work.”

“But you do it anyway.” My voice feels rusty, so I clear my throat. “You’re the girl who conned me into going to O’Kelly’s. You brought me to see the street performers in the park. Those are the two best days I’ve ever had. You did that for me. I never would have done it on my own.” As I say the words, I realize they’re true.

She stares, wide-eyed. “Really?”

I suddenly feel the need to convince her how irrepressible her spirit is, even if she can’t see it for herself. It’s important to me that when I leave this room, she looks less defeated than when I arrived. It’s a lofty goal since my usual advice would be to rub some dirt on it. “Yeah, Faith. Really.” I fidget with the drawstring of my hoodie. “You’re the bravest of all. You’re the one who stuck. The one who busts her ass making this place run. And you do it with a smile on your face. I could never do that. I would have ran.”

Her lower lip starts to tremble and I check the urge to back through the door. “Thank you, Willa.” She stands and in two steps, she’s thrown her arms around me. Slowly, I put my arms around her, too. “You’re wrong, though. You like to think you’d run, but you wouldn’t. You’re a sticker, same as me.”

I look at the ceiling to prevent the damnable moisture in my eyes from leaking out. I need to get out of here, so I can find something to take my mind off what she’s telling me. With one final, awkward pat of her back, I pull away. “All right, well…”

She laughs, and I feel a flash of triumph. I’ve managed to repair some of the damage and its way more rewarding than I would have expected. “Go on, Willa. You’re off the hook for tonight.”

“Good night, Faith.”

I turn and walk out of her bedroom into the darkness. Right into Shane.

Chapter Fifteen

Shane and I are standing toe to toe at the bottom of the staircase. For the life of me, I can’t read his expression. It’s like a mixture of grief and gratitude, so palpable I’m momentarily frozen. It clues me in that he overheard most of what his sister and I talked about, but I don’t want to take the time to analyze that just yet. After the scene with Faith, I’ve reached my emotional quota for the night. I give myself an internal shake and bypass him, heading up the stairs. I need to get to my room. Just need to breathe a little.

Of course, he follows me, our boots stomping on the hollow-sounding staircase. I don’t know what’s going to happen when we reach my room, but I know it’s probably not a good idea having him there when I’m in such desperate need for an outlet. My nerve endings snap with each punctuated step behind me, everything I’ve been feeling all day bubbling to the surface, ready to spill over.

I flip the light switch and walk inside, not bothering to close the door. Shane walks in and does it for me. I drag my messenger bag over my head and drop it on the bed. My jacket comes next. I’m actually surprised when I don’t feel Shane come up behind me right away. In fact, when I don’t feel him, I realize how badly I need him to touch me. A moment ago, he looked as lost as me and I thought he’d been following me, hoping to block everything else out for a while.

Instead, I turn around and find him staring at the walls of my room, a stunned look on his face. With a frown, I follow his line of vision. Photographs everywhere. I forgot that I’d hung them last night, when I couldn’t sleep. It’s a habit of mine, hanging my pictures and falling asleep with strangers surrounding me, their expressive faces reminding me what’s possible in the world. It’s a comfort I’d been missing since arriving in Dublin, so I’d gone yesterday afternoon and gotten a few rolls of film developed. I’d been so anxious to leave this morning, I hadn’t bothered taking them down.

As Shane circles the room, pausing to look at each shot, I struggle not to ask what he thinks. It’s something I never have to ask. I’m usually secure in the knowledge that I take good photographs, but he’s been silent so long I’m beginning to worry. He lingers at one picture longer than the others, featuring a young girl with a unicorn painted on her cheek, laughing in delight at the buskers she’d been watching perform on stage. It’s one of my favorites, too. There’s no reservation or self-awareness on her face, just pure joy. She’s laughing like no one is watching, a feat I seriously envy.

I bury the panic when he comes across the picture of him. The one I took the first afternoon we met, when he was leaning up against the inn as my cab arrived, looking like a thundercloud ready to storm. Somehow I know it will be among the shots I submit to Shutterclick Magazine to define my trip to Dublin. He has defined it, no matter how hard I fought against him. He’s reshaped the whole experience from what it might have been.

Shane stares at the shot of himself a moment, then looks back at me. Since I don’t think he’s asking about the use of light and shadow, I only return his look. I took that photograph because I couldn’t help it, the same way I can’t help what’s going on between us. In no way am I capable of voicing either thought.

“You photograph people,” Shane finally says. I choose to ignore the hint of disappointment in his voice, the one telling me he wanted an explanation as to why his picture is hanging in front of my bed. “I don’t know what I expected. Flowers…landscapes and the like, I suppose. Why people?”