Chapter Three
Arthur took her to the same coastal seafood shack he always did. They’d spent a bunch of time here when he’d been with her mom—either to celebrate when Saoirse had aced a test or won a game or a match, or when she was feeling like shit because she hadn’t made show choir or her latest haircut was horrific. There also happened to be an ice cream joint about half a mile down the beach which added to the appeal.
It was cool out and a little windy but they ordered their food and claimed a picnic table overlooking the water anyway. It wouldn’t take long to get their food, but it was long enough for Arthur to fold his neat, long-fingered hands on the rough wooden table.
“So, are we going to talk about what you’re doing here or do you want to wait until ice cream? Either one’s fine with me. But you know the rules. We’re gonna talk about it before you go to bed.”
“Doallthe rules still apply?”
Not that there had been a lot, but she’d had rules when they’d lived with Arthur. Her mom had rolled her eyes and tried to get Arthur to loosen up, but for all Saoirse’s huffing about it, she hadn’t really minded.
It had been nice to know what was expected of her instead of finding she’d crossed some line she didn’t know was there and getting in trouble for it. Or, as had been the case most of the time, no one caring what she did.
At Arthur’s, whoever was home for dinner sat down at the table at seven and they discussed their days. Her curfew had been ten on weeknights, midnight on weekends, and Arthur waited up so she hadn’t dared be late. Church on Sundays unless she was sick or they were away from home. And finally, if something was bothering her, she had until she went to bed to talk to one of them about it. She didn’t have to give all the details or be open to advice, she just had to give them a heads up. More often than not, she ended up spilling the beans and feeling better for it.
Arthur got that stern, pensive look on his face. “Well, you are twenty-five. But you’re also not here to say hi. So how about yes the rules apply but you can petition for an exception at any time and we’ll revisit in a couple of weeks.”
“You’re such an attorney,” she muttered into her bottle of birch beer.
“Guilty,” he said, and she snorted and rolled her eyes. Yep, classic Arthur.
She didn’t want to talk about it. There wasn’t much to say. Arthur would give her the same advice half a dozen people had already and she didn’t want to hear it.
Don’t get labeled a troublemaker, no one will want to work with you.
Talking about this will hurt you more than it will hurt him.
Keep your mouth shut. It isn’t fair and it isn’t right, but that’s how the world is.
Actually, if Arthur said those things to her, she’d hate him and she didn’t want to. So she’d skip a part of the story.
“I think I’m just burnt out,” she said, shrugging and then taking another swig of her birch beer. “You know what law school is like.”
“I know what it was like when dinosaurs roamed the earth. But law schools, like any other institution, don’t turn on a dime so I imagine it’s much the same. It’s a lot, and you were doing law review too.”
She nodded, pursing her lips hard in hopes that she wouldn’t cry. That was what she was most ashamed of. She’d worked so hard, achieved a major goal, and threw it all away because she couldn’t control herself. Couldn’t buck up and go on like nothing had happened. She’d let her feelings get the better of her and now here she was. Humiliating.
“Yeah. It was too much for me. I needed a break.”
Arthur stared at her across the picnic table that was so old the wood was grey. His green eyes made her feel like he could see inside of her, the jumbled mess there. Part of her wanted to beg him to reach in and clean it all up. Her throat got tight thinking about it.
But she was a grown ass woman and she could take care of her own mess. Even if she did desperately want to ask Arthur for help, for affection, and fuck all some guidance because she knew he’d give her whatever she asked for. But she couldn’t, she wouldn’t, and that’s all there was to it. So she plastered a smile on her face.
“I’ll take a week, get some breathing room, and then I’ll be out of your hair. I’m sorry my mom bothered you. Having some girl you’re not even related to crashing at your house to get her head on straight has got to be the last thing you want.”
“Hey,” he said, clinking the neck of his bottle against hers before taking a sip. “You’re welcome here anytime, you know that. Why would I have kept your room the way you left it if I didn’t want you to come back? You stay as long as you need to, or as long as you like. We haven’t had any quality time together in years, this’ll be nice. And it’ll make me cook more. So none of this getting out of my hair. You’re stuck with me for life, kiddo.”