Page 129 of The Rebound
“We rarely stop these things,” she says. “It’s David and Goliath. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. And maybe we’ll get lucky. Maybe we’ll get some interest, but at the end of the day, he’s right. It’s a legal transaction. It’s not our land.”
“But itisour land,” I protest.
“Careful,” she says with a smile. “You’re starting to sound like me.”
“I’m learning that’s not really a bad thing.”
Her gaze softens at the almost-compliment. “We try, Abby. And we keep trying. We keep standing up for what we know is right and sometimes it works. We won’t go without a fight.”
I gaze out over the assembled crowd, more relaxed now that the man in the nice car has gone. There’s a buzz about the place, the younger kids starting to play in the water, the older ones sitting in the sand, making posters. A few photographers still linger, taking random shots of their beaming faces.
“You know,” I say. “This is kind of fun. Why didn’t you ask me to come to these things before?
“I asked you to come every weekend!” Louise exclaims.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did! I…” She trails off when she sees my grin. “You’re in a good mood.”
“All this people power. Maybe I’ll—” I break off as she wraps her arms around me, squeezing me so tight it almost hurts. “Ow.”
“Shut up.” A final squeeze and she lets me go. “I’m glad you’re here, Abby.”
And I don’t know whether she meanshereas in the protest orhereas in Ireland, but I like to think it’s a bit of both. “Anytime, sis.”
I clear my throat as my phone vibrates in my pocket. “That’s probably the president for you,” I say, and she smirks as I step away, clicking accept on the private number.
“Hello?”
“Is this Abby Reynolds?”
I still at the English accent in my ear. Cheerful and polite and what I’ve spent weeks wishing for.
“Speaking,” I say.
Louise’s smile fades at the formality of my tone.
“This is Yuusuf Davies. I’m calling from Stewarts. I’m sorry to catch you on the weekend.”
I turn my back on my sister, facing the dunes as we speak, though she doesn’t leave to give me privacy.
“We liked your … impressed with… willing to relocate…”
I pick up the words faintly as if I’m listening to a conversation between two other people but manage to make all the appropriate noises in all the right places.
When I finish I don’t move, standing there refreshing my phone for the email I asked for, so I would have written confirmation of what just happened.
It lands in my inbox as someone calls my name and I turn just in time to be swept into the arms of Luke. He lifts me until my boots leave the ground and I laugh as he instantly drops me back down, the front of my T-shirt covered in sand and seawater.
“Shit.” He laughs. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine, I don’t care.”
“Are you okay? You’ve gone really pale.”
“I’m cold.”
“Of course you are,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss me, once, twice, and a third lingering time.
