Cillian
Padraig’s Room
Padraig Connelly aged a lot in the last thirteen years. Wrinkles and frown lines ravage his features.
But I think it’s regret that has taken the greatest toll on him.
He attempts to sit up a little straighter when he sees me walk in. “Cillian O’Sullivan,” he says by way of greeting.
I drag a chair over to his bedside and straddle it. “Bet you didn’t think you’d see me again.”
“No,” he admits. “I didn’t. And I certainly didn’t expect to feel relieved when I did.”
“Wow,” I remark without betraying my feelings, “I’m almost touched.”
His eyes grow careful as he senses the underlying frigidity in my tone. “I should thank you,” he says. “For saving my girl.”
“She wouldn’t have needed saving if you’d taken care of her.”
He tenses immediately.
I probably should go easy on him. But I can’t quell the rage I feel thinking about all those years that Saoirse had to suffer through while he stood silently by and watched.
“I… I know what I did,” he says at last. “I know I failed her.”
“Tell me—did you really not know the kind of man Tristan was?” I probe. “Or did you just not give a fuck?”
His eyes go wide.
But it’s not defensiveness I’m seeing. It’s regret. Shame. Sadness.
He draws in a long, rattling breath. “Deep down, I suppose I did know,” he says, hanging his head. “I just… justified things.”
“How?”
Padraig lifts his eyes to mine. They’re glassy with emotion, and I can tell it’s genuine. He’s not putting on a show for my benefit.
He means this.
“I was worried about her future. I thought Tristan was strong enough, connected enough to keep her safe.”
“I could have kept her safe,” I snap before I can rein in my temper.
Padraig eyes me wearily. “I heard about the two of you secondhand,” he mumbles. “How was I to know what had happened?”
“You could have asked your daughter, no?”
“I tried once,” he admits. “She refused to say a word about you. She snapped her mouth shut and stayed silent for days. I decided it was better not to mention you at all.”
“And what about afterwards?” I ask. “When bruises started popping up on her arms and neck? What then?”
Padraig flinches. “She gave me explanations. I believed them.”
“Because it was convenient.”
“Yes.”
The way he owns up to everything surprises me. I’d pegged him for a coward from the very beginning. And cowards blame the rest of the world for their mistakes while shirking their own responsibility.