Breakaway by Deirdre Martin

Erin.
    At first he thought himself wrong: this pale woman with long, lustrous black hair was far too thin to be Erin. But he’d know that slow, graceful pace anywhere. Without thinking, he called out her name. The woman quickened her pace. It was Erin for sure, trying to get the hell away from him.
    He realized that now, but at the time, the thought never entered his head that she might not want to talk to him. He was too overwhelmed by the sight of her to create the simpleequation: Erin + quickening pace = Go chase yourself, Rory Brady.
    He jogged across the street to talk with her. The coldness in her once animated green eyes took him aback. Never had he seen such a look of pure hatred on Erin O’Brien’s face. Just as disconcerting was the thinness. She’d never been overweight, but she’d never been all sharp angles that’d poke a man to death, either. She’d been soft and smooth-skinned, a carefree look on her face except when it came to her smothering parents or Sandra and the ball bag she’d married. Standing before him now, Erin’s sweetness was well under wraps. Things had changed.
    The minute he spotted her, he knew he’d bail on the walking tour. The chorus of voices that had initially caught his attention now sounded to him like a drone of bees he wouldn’t be able to swat away.
    Erin’s frostiness hurt, but as he’d told himself, it was just their first encounter. He had the whole summer to make things right.

5

    “Erin, I need to speak to you, love.”
    Erin hung her head in defeat at the sound of her mother’s voice outside her bedroom door. It was close to midnight, which meant she wasn’t here to discuss B and B business. Erin closed her laptop. She’d been reading about abstract expressionism. She particularly liked Jackson Pollock, those huge canvases with splashes of paint that looked chaotic but really weren’t. As soon as she left Ballycraig, one of the places she wanted to visit was MOMA, to see one of these magnificent canvases in person.
    “Erin!”
    “I just need a minute.” It was wearying, the way her mother still spoke to her as if she were a recalcitrant child who needed to be told twice she was wanted.
    She opened the door just a crack, slipping through and locking it behind her before her mother could peep inside. Her mother hated the whole business with the lock. Weren’t they family? What on earth could she be hiding?
My future,
Erin thought.
    “What’s up, Ma?” Erin’s mood quickly turned to worry when she saw the distressed look on her mother’s face.
    She pressed Erin’s shoulder. “Let’s talk in the kitchen.”
    Erin followed her mother downstairs.
    “Here, have a seat.”
    Erin sat, thinking to herself that if the kitchen gleamed any brighter, she’d be blinded. Her mother had always been a bit fanatical about keeping the kitchen pristine. A stray pea left in the sink didn’t stand a chance.
    Her mother pulled up a chair beside her, her expression grave.
    “Ma, what’s going on? Is it Da? Did something happen? Brian?”
    “No, no, no, it’s nothing like that.”
    “Then what?”
    “This isn’t easy for me,” her mother began, massaging the back of her neck.
    Erin’s heart punched. “Are you sick?”
    “No.”
    “Ma.”
    “Look, your da and I realize you’re entitled to your privacy,” her mother said with a grimace. “But we’re not stupid. The locked door, you clacking away at that computer all hours.” Her eyes grew watery. “We figured it all out.”
    Erin was confused. “Figured what out?”
    “That you’re looking at online dating sites.”
    Erin heaved a sigh of relief. Her mother could have a wild imagination when forced to fill in the blanks. For a brief moment, Erin was convinced her mother was going to accuse her of looking at online porn.
    “I am.”
    Her mother blinked. “I don’t understand. Why on earth would you do that?”
    “Maybe I’d like to meet someone.”
    “If you’re only looking at fellas online,