Page 39 of Broken Blood Ties

The man disappears into the guard shed and I overhear him speaking to someone. I busy myself studying the ivy climbing the deep red brick of the house, and before I have time to admire the fanlights over the doors, the man is walking back toward me.

“You’re clear to enter,” he says, and my mind wanders thinking how Aoife’s childhood is with all of this security. I suppose a man of his success and business acumen would have reason to protect his assets. But it doesn’t assuage the uneasy feeling I get when the gate opens.

There was a time I used to jump gates like these. Meant to keep people out, it can backfire and make those sequestered behind them feel trapped.

I shiver, unsure of whether it’s from my memories or the chill of the cold air. Then, flats scuffing against the driveway, I scurry to the front door.

Two evergreen shrubs in planters flank each side of the entrance, clipped to perfection. In front of me stands a dark green paneled door. The bronze lion’s head knocker is fierce while staring me down, the eyes narrowed and intense. Luckily, there’s an upgraded doorbell to my right, and I press it instead.

The faint chime of the bell rings just behind the walls of the home, and not a few seconds later, the door swings open with Aoife’s nanny answering.

But … whoa. She looks awful.

I blink. “Uh. Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you. I noticed Aoife’s packet still in the main office, and I just …”

She sniffs, drawing her plush cream robe together and fixing the tie around her waist. My gaze lingers on her face. She looks to be in her mid-fifties, but her complexion is paler than a ghost. Mostly I interact with her in quick passing during pickup and drop-off, but typically she’s put together in a Mary Poppins type of way.

Dark circles line underneath her red and glassy eyes, and her eyelids seem to droop, barely able to stay open after each slow blink. Her unkempt hair is pulled back, the silver streaks frizzy around her sweaty forehead.

She nods at me. “I’m so sorry. I meant to come by to get Aoife’s work but decided it was best to stay put.” She coughs, then leans against the doorframe for support, like the mere action of coughing exhausted her. She tries to muster a smile, but it falls short and comes across as weary and strained.

I’m so stupid. What was I thinking bugging this family whenclearlythey aren’t well.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, Miss …” Crap, do I know her last name?

“Allie. It’s just Allie,” she wheezes out. She extends her hand, intent on formally introducing herself, but quickly slicks it down the front of her robe like she’s thought better of the idea.

My thoughts wander to Aoife. Is she this sick, too? Is Kieran home?

“I’m sorry, Allie. I just wanted to drop off the work for Aoife,” I reiterate. “I know she can get worried about missing school.”

Allie’s lips twitch. “She does. Thank you so much for dropping this off for her.” She lets out another cough, but this time she hacks up a lung. By the time her coughing fit is over, she’s braced herself with the door.

“Is Mr. O’Donnell here? It’s terrible you and Aoife are this sick.”

She shakes her head. “Mr. O’Donnell is out of town on business.”

She shivers, and I’ve already overstayed my welcome. I nod and hold out the pink folder for Allie to take.

“Miss Smith?” Aoife’s raw and raspy voice croaks behind Allie, and when the nanny steps back some, my heart nearly shatters.

Aoife’s little face is gaunt and also pale. Her normally vibrant blue eyes are dull, and oh so tired looking. She’s dressed in a long-sleeve mermaid nightgown, her feet bare and curling on what must be the cold hardwood floor.

Friday she was engaged and her normal bubbly self, so they must’ve come down with something over the weekend.

I look between the two of them, both sick with fever and cough. I hate the thought of Aoife sick without her father while her poor nanny is also exhausted and barely holding on.

At least when I was little and sick, my sister took care of me. My mother usually avoided being around me in fear of coming in contact with the germs herself, but my nanny and sister never failed me. So I offer something that I hope will cheer Aoife up.

“Listen, Aoife. When you get better, I can show you some of the fun projects we did today. I took some pictures on my phone. I could send them to your nanny, or you can see them when you’re back at school, okay?”

“Aw … Can I see them now?” Aoife attempts to ask, excited, but it comes out in almost a whisper.

I glance toward Allie, ready to read the ire in her expression for bringing this up, perhaps annoyance, but she just looks out of it. She nods and moves to the side. I think she’s inviting me in, but I hesitate.

“Please. Come on in.” Allie opens the door even farther, and I follow her inside the O’Donnell home.

It’s wrong on so many levels, but I’ve never been a rule follower. Aoife wants to see the pictures, and I have a strong pull from somewhere deep inside me to make sure her spirits are lifted.

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