She pulled out her phone. She looked at Lorcan’s number, then at the old man’s—she had never saved it. She put the phone away.
She had no answer. But that night, on her narrow bed in Stoneybatter, with the swifts screaming past the window, she didn’t sleep. She lay awake, tasting the salt of the sea air that had followed them up from the coast. 4 seasons dublin
“Winter is not the enemy,” he said, handing her a paper cup of chai that steamed in the cold. “Winter is the soil resting. You cannot plant in frozen ground. You wait. You tend the roots you cannot see.” She pulled out her phone
By June, the thaw was dangerous. Aisling had begun to hope, and hope in Dublin summer is a reckless thing—the sky stays blue until nearly eleven, tricking you into believing the dark has been defeated forever. She had no answer