Wild Irish Roots (The Mystic Cove Series) by Tricia O'Malley Page A

bedroom behind her.
    She looked blindly around at the piles of clothes, remnants of her happy dreams earlier in the day. Laughing bitterly at herself, Margaret kicked at a pile of clothes before going into the bathroom. Pulling the shower curtain open, she pulled the handle down and stepped directly into the cold stream, dress and all. As the cold water washed over her, Margaret swallowed her sobs, struggling to build her walls back up. Over and over, she tried to contain her hurt, but sobs continued to break through her resolve. Leaning against the wall, she allowed the spray to cover her.
    Pulling her soggy dress over her head, Margaret grabbed the soap and suddenly wanting to wash the pain away, she scrubbed her skin vigorously. Her hand stopped as she touched between her legs and felt a sensitivity there that she had never felt before. Remembering the perfectness of that moment, Margaret sobbed even harder. Her dreams had been ripped from her in a matter of moments.
    Shutting off the water, Margaret wrapped her hair in a towel before stuffing her arms into her bathrobe. She trudged into her bedroom and stopped at the plate of scones and hot tea that stood by her bed. A note sat propped against the teapot.
    This, too, shall pass.
    Suddenly furious, Margaret reached down and ripped the card up.
    Turning off the light, Margaret crawled into bed, and stared blankly at the rafters above her.
    One day, she'd get out of here. One day soon, she thought before exhaustion claimed her with a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Twelve
    ––––––––
    T he following days passed in a blur of gray. Margaret all but refused to talk to Fiona, restricting their conversations to the briefest of words. Several times she caught Fiona looking at her worriedly.
    Margaret found herself closing up, more than ever. Her usually sunny demeanor with her customers was replaced with sullen, brief sentences. Even Sarah began to look at her with worry in her eyes.
    "Is everything okay, Margaret?" Sarah finally asked one day.
    "Fine," Margaret said and brushed past Sarah to fill the tray of salt shakers.
    "Well, it just seems like you are upset," Sarah ventured and Margaret turned to meet her eyes.
    "I said that I am fine," Margaret said stonily and Sarah shrugged her shoulders and left her alone.
    Alone. That was all she wanted, to be alone. She didn't need Fiona's prying questions or her customers' questioning glances. Margaret knew that she was a wreck. But, so what if she didn't always want to put a happy face on? For once in her life, Margaret settled in for a good long sulk.
    Her entire life had shifted in a matter of days, Margaret shouted in her head. She wished that she could confide in someone. Anyone. But what would she say? Oh, hey, my mom can heal with her hands and I lost my virginity by an enchanted water that lit up...scaring the crap out of myself and what I thought was my future husband. It's cool though, no biggie, Margaret thought.
    What she needed was to get out, Margaret thought.
    Her mind strayed to the letter that she had placed in the mail two days ago. It was addressed to her older cousin who lived in Boston. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for her to start over there.
    "I'm leaving. Do you need help?" Sarah asked timidly and Margaret waved her away. She didn't want help, only privacy.
    Craning her neck, she waited until she saw Sarah walk past the front window. Walking into the back room, Margaret plopped into the chair by the desk and reached for the phone. She pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket and dialed the number on it.
    "Shannon Airport, how may I direct your call?"
    "Um, I'd like to see how much a flight to Boston is. Oh, and what the schedule is," Margaret said meekly.
    "That's reservations. Hold, please," the tinny voice echoed back at her.
    Margaret held the phone impatiently, her pencil poised on the paper.
    "Reservations."
    "Yes, how much is the flight to Boston from Shannon?"
    "Round-trip or one