Breakaway by Deirdre Martin Read Free Book Online Page A

trades, room and board included. She was flooded with applicants. Her plan was to meet with applicants in Crosshaven, at a small caf there well known for its delicious bacon sandwiches. She’d bring her laptop with her and get some studying done in between interviews.
    Erin dragged the upright shopping cart behind her. She hated the damn thing, with its squeaky wheel. She reminded herself she should be grateful. At least she didn’t have to drag her clothes to the launderette like Sandra.
    It was a cloudless day, the sky a blue tarp stretching over the world’s head.
Now what color would you call that, Miss Art History Major? Powder blue. No, sky blue.
There was an infinitesimal difference between the two. But it was important, when it came to art, to describe things as accurately as possible, especially if one day you wanted to become a docent or a curator. Color choices could be a clue to the artist’s mind. Somehow, Erin had known that before she evenstarted working toward the degree. Many a time she and Rory would be out and she’d point at the pink streaks at sunset and—
    Rory.
    The bastard.
    She tried her best to hide it from Sandra, but the news he was back in Ballycraig had shaken her. Reaching into her bag of clichés, she picked “out of sight, out of mind.” Except it wasn’t true. News of his return opened the door in her head called Rory, which was supposedly snapped shut for good. Now all sorts of emotions were loosed. She felt confused and overwhelmed.
    Thankfully the bus stop wasn’t far from the B and B. All she had to do was go down the High Street, turn right two blocks, and she’d be back at her own personal prison.
    She said her hellos to Grace Finnegan, who was standing outside the grocer’s, smoking a fag, and to Sandra’s daughter Lucy, sitting on one of the benches outside of the pub with her “boyfriend.” “He’s got a face on him that would drive rats from a barn,” Sandra had said, and it was true. Lucy looked mortified that Erin said hi to her. The only thing worse than being greeted by your mother was being greeted by your mother’s best friend.
    A small group of people were coming slowly toward her. Erin frowned. The PJ Leary Walking Tour. Knowing there wouldn’t be enough room on the sidewalk for her and the loony devotees, Erin crossed the street, giving the group a quick once-over: a hip, young Asian man and woman dressed all in black. A middle-aged German couple dressed in matching hats. A pack of young, swarthy guys smoking. The usual group of avid Americans. At the rear was a handsome man who looked just like Rory.
    Couldn’t be, she told herself, even though she knew damn well he was in town. Erin ducked her head, continuing to check out the group surreptitiously. Shoot. It was him, all right.
    Erin hastened her pace. Seeing him was like seeing a ghost:it jolted her, cheated her of breath.
Three more blocks,
she thought desperately, beginning to feel shaky.
Just three—
    “Erin?”
    She kept moving. If she stopped, she was affirming his question. But if she kept moving, there was a chance he’d think he’d just called out to someone who merely resembled her.
    “Erin!”
    Now he was jogging across the street. What was she supposed to do? Drop the grocery cart and run like hell? She was a deep-feeling person, but she was not a lunatic, at least not anymore. Appropriate cliché here: “time to face the music.”
    Erin halted, her right hand still gripping the shopping cart tightly, then she turned to him. An invisible fortress, impervious to pain, sprung up around her. If he stepped too close, he’d be massacred. She hadn’t a hint of makeup on and her hair was pulled back with a scrunchie. Her jeans hung off her now because of the year she could barely gag down food, thanks to him. He looked shocked. He deserved to look shocked. He’d created the woman in front of him.
    He was just about to open his mouth when the tour guide called out to him. “Mr. Brady?