Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 126485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“She didn’t want my help, and I wasn’t the one who fled from here.”
I sighed. “I’m not here to discuss Mum.”
“Why are you here, then?”
“Imogen,” I said, not in the mood for chitchat. “She disappeared three months ago, a few weeks after arriving in New York.”
Gulliver shook his head with a sigh. “That’s what I suspected.”
The wind picked up, and I shivered. “Can I spend a few nights with you while I search for her?”
Gulliver seemed torn. He scanned me from head to toe. What he was looking for, I wasn’t sure. I’d expected him to be more welcoming despite his arguments with Mum. Maybe I was too naïve. “Your sister is too much like your mother. I’m not surprised that she got herself in trouble.”
I watched him expectantly. “Can I stay?”
Gulliver finally stepped back and opened the door. I stepped inside the narrow corridor, the floor boards creaking under my feet. The house wasn’t big, a two-bedroom place with a cozy kitchen and a small living room. Gulliver led me to the second bedroom, which also served as a library. Every wall except for the bed nook was covered with floor-to-ceiling book shelves in a dark wood. Most of the tomes referenced religion or church history, and the scent of old paper and dust hung heavily in the room.
“You can stay here as long as you don’t bring trouble to my doorstep.”
How could I possibly cause more trouble than his connection to the mob?
“I won’t. As soon as I find Imogen, I’ll return to Dublin and you can have your home to yourself again.”
“Maybe Imogen doesn’t want to be found. She fled responsibility and her sins, but sin always finds you no matter where you run.”
I dropped my backpack onto the bed. “I don’t know what kind of sins you’re referring to. I hope you’re not talking about Finn, because he isn’t sin.”
Gulliver regarded me closely. “Your sister followed in your mother’s footsteps, becoming pregnant at only sixteen. I see you managed to spare yourself the same fate. I hope you’re waiting for marriage.”
I gritted my teeth against a scathing comeback. How would he know if I had a child back home in Dublin too? As if he could see “sin” in a person’s face. Ridiculous. Yet Gulliver was still a priest, and I’d been raised to respect members of the church. He’d probably dance of joy if I admitted to still being a virgin. “I’m not better than Mum or Imogen, because they aren’t bad for having sex before marriage or having a child at young age.”
The word sex obviously made Gulliver feel uncomfortable as he averted his eyes from me. “You must be hungry. Come into the kitchen. I have some leftover pumpkin soup for you.”
I was hungry so I followed him silently. Once I was seated on the wooden bench with a steaming bowl of soup in front of me, I continued my argument, “You shouldn’t condemn Mum and Imogen. They didn’t hurt anyone. They created life and acted out of love.”
“More likely lust,” Gulliver corrected as he sank down across from me with a Guinness. He took a sip and leaned back, still watching me as if he was trying to spot sin deep within me.
“Can I have a Guinness as well?” I asked, nodding at the can.
“Drinking age is twenty-one here.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ve been drinking beer since sixteen, Uncle. I won’t get drunk from a can of Guinness.”
“While you’re under my roof, you abide by my rules, Aislinn. If you can’t do it, then you can look for another place to stay.”
“And what are your rules?”
“No men, no alcohol, no parties.”
“That’s fine with me,” I said. There wasn’t time for parties, and now that Patrick had broken my heart, I had no interest in men either. And the occasional after-work Guinness hardly counted as alcohol. “I’ll spend all my time looking for Imogen.” I narrowed my eyes thoughtfully as I ate another spoonful of the bland soup. It lacked seasoning, and the slice of white bread stuck to the roof of my mouth. A pinch of salt, maybe some nutmeg and cinnamon, a bit of acid for the soup, and a trash bin for the bread would do the trick. If I found some time, I’d bake a soda bread. “Has Imogen approached you while she’s been in here?”
“She appeared on my doorstep just like you did, looking as if she had every intention to work the streets.”
“She’s a model,” I said sharply. “So she was here, but she didn’t stay with you?” Imogen had never mentioned talking to Gulliver, so I just assumed she hadn’t tried to see him. Our few phone calls the first couple of days after she had arrived in the States had been very short and lacking information.