Excerpt from Saoirse by Charleen Hurtubise, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Leah on the Rocks.

Daithí on the Threshold.

She breathes him in as she works.

Every happiness that is hers is right here, in this corner of the world. The slowness of the day, the blue sky rising tall above the house—a house Daithí has built for her and their two girls—Eloise, their baby, will sleep here, in the shade, windows open to the sea air. Her older sister, Leah, builds a fairy castle on the rock beside the sea wall, draping seaweed for a bed; shells become the characters of her invented world. She stops now to wave to her mother pulling into the driveway.

Saoirse plans to go immediately to her studio; she will make larger sketches of this scene, of this man, and then she will turn to the canvas already drying on the easel—the girls barefoot amongst the rock pools. He will find her here—Mind your sister, he will say to Leah. He will come in and close the door, she won't need much coaxing away from the easel where she is painting them into this corner of the world. The two of them, imposters in a country that reminds them, at many turns, they do not belong. But here—they are four now. They are one.

Daithí unfolds his body in the doorway, crosses his arms. And as he does it dawns on her—he is still home. He is home when he should long be at work, he should have Leah dropped at school by now—that was the plan while she took Eloise for her appointment. But here is Leah, in her uniform playing at the rock, here he is in the doorway, waiting for her return. She is unwinding the window, opening the door. A recognition passes through her. She feels the warmth leaving her body. He knows.

"What?" she asks. "What is it?" She tries to keep the panic from her voice. It puzzles her, then, when he smiles, in spite of this strange look in his eyes.

"Tell me!" she demands. She wants to rush to him, shake him, make him quickly say the thing she has dreaded hearing all these many years.

His voice is low, almost a whisper.

"Your man rang this morning."

She feels the blood draining from her face.

"I told him you weren't home. He left a message." He comes across the gravel to her, takes her forearms in hands so large and comforting they could hardly belong to a human. It is then he sees the fear on her face.

"No, love. It's all right. There's nothing to worry about," he reassures her, caressing her, trying to unseat the panic. "It's good news. Hey. Look at me." He takes her face in his hands. "You've won a prize. That's it. That's all."

Panic gives way to relief. She is rattled by her own sloppiness. If she is not careful, she will give herself away. She moves out of his grasp so he will not feel her shake, busying herself with lifting the groceries from the boot.

Daithí opens the door and unbuckles a still-sleeping Eloise, lifting her out of her car seat. She shifts and settles onto his shoulder, he smells the back of her neck, gives the folds of fat a soft kiss. He watches Saoirse, puzzled by her reaction.

"It's good, babe," he says. "It's all good."

"Okay," she says flatly. "You should get Leah to school."

"That'll wait. She's happy for you. Come inside," he says gently. "I'll make a cup of tea. I've the details written down—"

"Give me a minute." Her Midwestern accent comes through in full force, the American accent is not something she can turn on or off. She finds, when she is happiest, she has the song of the language, fragments of someone who has lived in this part of the world forever. Now, she hears the syllables fall dead and flat, and fearful.

"I've to put these away." She nods toward the shopping bags, the handles cutting into her palm. She can't afford any further attention brought to this exhibition. She turns to the sea, breathing, convincing her body it is not time to flee.

When she turns around, he is watching her, raising a question with the twist of a brow, a shake of his head. She knows he will ask questions later, but for now, for the children, he will play this out, and she will play along, too, feigning delight when he gives her the details of this latest prize she has won.

Excerpted from Saoirse by Charleen Hurtubise. Copyright © 2026 by Charleen Hurtubise. Excerpted by permission of Celadon. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.