she would take the rosary down and run the smooth wood beads between her fingers while she tried to sleep in the back of the van and pretend like everything was going to work out just fine.
She supposed it had worked out so far.
Something in the engine squealed its protest as Morgan started the van and she waited a few minutes until the motor chugged to life. She knew that she would probably look at more reliable transportation, but this van had been the first home she could call her own and Morgan was reluctant to part with it.
The day played through her mind as her van lumbered down the road leading out of the village and along the cliffs that jutted so proudly from the sea. Aislinn was right, it was a beautiful day for a drive. The warm light from the sun kissed the jagged edges of the cliffs and the sea gleamed a bright turquoise that begged for people to swim in it.
Morgan had learned long ago not to be fooled by the whimsy of the water. It was still too early in the season for a true swim, though she loved watching tourists squeal in shock when they jumped in this time of year.
She nibbled at her bottom lip as the events of the day caught up with her. After a session with Baird, she always felt a little emotionally depleted, as though a wound that was healing kept reopening. Though Morgan knew it was part of the process, it often left her on edge for the rest of the day. The situation with Patrick had just topped off the emotional upheaval that she could handle for the day.
So what was she doing driving out to see Fiona? Morgan shook her head at herself. Maybe she was just a glutton for punishment.
Or maybe she just had nowhere else to turn.
A weathered sign tucked in a low stone wall indicated the turn for Fiona's lane and Morgan took it, bumping slowly up a gravel road as she approached a pretty gray cottage. Cheerful flowers were tucked in window boxes even though it was a bit early in the spring for them. It spoke of home and welcoming.
Her eyes trained on the cottage, Morgan turned off the engine, and pulled the key from the ignition, tucking it in her sun visor. She stared at the front door as she got out of the van and stood there, not knowing what to do. On a sigh, Morgan turned and for the first time, she saw the view.
It was like a punch to the gut. So raw, so stunning, that Morgan could understand the need for isolation. And yet, she'd never be lonely here. There was so much to see. Acres of green meadows rolled away from the cottage before falling off the edge of steep cliffs that thrust arrogantly into the sky. It was as though she stood at the edge of the world, and anything and everything was possible.
Mist clouded her eyes and Morgan pinched herself, surprised to find that tears were welling up. A bark startled her and she turned as sixty pounds of fur and slobber bounded around the corner and skidded to a halt in front of her feet.
"Oh, aren't you just a darling?" Morgan choked out, swiping the backs of her hands against her eyes. Helpless not to, she crouched and wrapped her arms around the dog. When he stayed still and turned to lick her face, something cracked inside Morgan.
Tears poured from her as she pressed her face into his soft fur, hugging the dog as though her life depended on it. Morgan didn't know what she was crying for. It was as though everything had come to a head in her life, both good and bad, and she had no idea how to handle people's expectations of her. Or even her own expectations of her. A part of Morgan was tempted to hop in her van and move on, living the life of a transient, never having to form bonds or deal with messy emotional entanglements.
"Thanks, buddy," Morgan whispered to the dog as he continued to swipe his rough tongue across her cheeks, cleaning her tears.
"Ronan's a good shoulder to cry on."
Morgan's shoulders tensed at the voice and straightening she turned to see Fiona leaning against the cottage. The old woman wore an oversized men's
She supposed it had worked out so far.
Something in the engine squealed its protest as Morgan started the van and she waited a few minutes until the motor chugged to life. She knew that she would probably look at more reliable transportation, but this van had been the first home she could call her own and Morgan was reluctant to part with it.
The day played through her mind as her van lumbered down the road leading out of the village and along the cliffs that jutted so proudly from the sea. Aislinn was right, it was a beautiful day for a drive. The warm light from the sun kissed the jagged edges of the cliffs and the sea gleamed a bright turquoise that begged for people to swim in it.
Morgan had learned long ago not to be fooled by the whimsy of the water. It was still too early in the season for a true swim, though she loved watching tourists squeal in shock when they jumped in this time of year.
She nibbled at her bottom lip as the events of the day caught up with her. After a session with Baird, she always felt a little emotionally depleted, as though a wound that was healing kept reopening. Though Morgan knew it was part of the process, it often left her on edge for the rest of the day. The situation with Patrick had just topped off the emotional upheaval that she could handle for the day.
So what was she doing driving out to see Fiona? Morgan shook her head at herself. Maybe she was just a glutton for punishment.
Or maybe she just had nowhere else to turn.
A weathered sign tucked in a low stone wall indicated the turn for Fiona's lane and Morgan took it, bumping slowly up a gravel road as she approached a pretty gray cottage. Cheerful flowers were tucked in window boxes even though it was a bit early in the spring for them. It spoke of home and welcoming.
Her eyes trained on the cottage, Morgan turned off the engine, and pulled the key from the ignition, tucking it in her sun visor. She stared at the front door as she got out of the van and stood there, not knowing what to do. On a sigh, Morgan turned and for the first time, she saw the view.
It was like a punch to the gut. So raw, so stunning, that Morgan could understand the need for isolation. And yet, she'd never be lonely here. There was so much to see. Acres of green meadows rolled away from the cottage before falling off the edge of steep cliffs that thrust arrogantly into the sky. It was as though she stood at the edge of the world, and anything and everything was possible.
Mist clouded her eyes and Morgan pinched herself, surprised to find that tears were welling up. A bark startled her and she turned as sixty pounds of fur and slobber bounded around the corner and skidded to a halt in front of her feet.
"Oh, aren't you just a darling?" Morgan choked out, swiping the backs of her hands against her eyes. Helpless not to, she crouched and wrapped her arms around the dog. When he stayed still and turned to lick her face, something cracked inside Morgan.
Tears poured from her as she pressed her face into his soft fur, hugging the dog as though her life depended on it. Morgan didn't know what she was crying for. It was as though everything had come to a head in her life, both good and bad, and she had no idea how to handle people's expectations of her. Or even her own expectations of her. A part of Morgan was tempted to hop in her van and move on, living the life of a transient, never having to form bonds or deal with messy emotional entanglements.
"Thanks, buddy," Morgan whispered to the dog as he continued to swipe his rough tongue across her cheeks, cleaning her tears.
"Ronan's a good shoulder to cry on."
Morgan's shoulders tensed at the voice and straightening she turned to see Fiona leaning against the cottage. The old woman wore an oversized men's
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