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No. There was no longer a place in her mind
for this favorite dish, one that was assembled without effort and
very little cost.

Not in her world. Not ever again.

“Is something wrong with
your
quiche
?”

Sarah looked up, her mouth smiling before
she engaged eye contact—something she had started to do more and
more since she’d been home. Her girlfriend, Debbie, sat across from
her and frowned.

Debbie looked exactly as she had the last
time Sarah had seen her—a steak dinner out with both husbands just
before Sarah and David had flown to Ireland for a much-needed
vacation. Her nails had been recently gelled, the lines in her
forehead recently smoothed, her blonde hair recently
highlighted.

She must think I look very
different,
Sarah thought. She had gotten
out of the habit of looking in mirrors while living in Ireland.
Involuntarily, Sarah’s hand reached up to touch her hair. She’d
pulled it back in a rubber band but there was no question of it
having any kind of style. She’d bought some makeup at the mall last
week but kept forgetting to wear it.

“No, I guess I’m not as hungry as I
thought.”

“I want to put together a little welcome
home party for you,” Debbie said. “Will you be up for that?
Everybody knows you’re back and they’re all dying to see you.”

Sarah nodded, being careful to keep her
smile nailed in place. “Yeah, no, I don’t think so, Debbie,” she
said. “Thank you.”

Debbie reached across the table to touch
Sarah’s hand. “Is it because of David?” she asked earnestly.

Well, it’s true that
nothing puts a damper on a party like somebody being dead,
Sarah thought, forcing herself not to extricate
her hand from beneath her friend’s touch.

“Partly,” she said. “But I just thought I’d
get back in touch with everyone in my own time.”

“Of course. It’s just that everyone so wants
to see you.”

Sarah didn’t answer. She
eased her hand away on the pretense of making another try with
her
quiche
.

She found it somewhat surprising that
Debbie—and Sarah’s parents, too—hadn’t asked for many details about
what her life had been like in Ireland. Sarah assumed it might be
too difficult to imagine it hadn’t been so bad if they had evidence
to counter it.

What they don’t know, they don’t have to
deal with.

That was fine with Sarah. She didn’t want to
talk about Balinagh, or Mike or Fiona, or where David’s grave was,
or what happened during her two months in the UK last year. No,
their instincts were definitely sound as far as not asking her too
many questions, she decided.

If they think I’m awkward to be around now,
just imagine if I were to tell them about how seven months ago we
took a young, fit and healthy twenty-five year old, put a rope
around his neck while he screamed and wept and then…

“Dessert, Sarah?”

The waitress had materialized at their table
with a tall blackboard she was settling onto an easel. On the board
were dozens of different kinds of desserts. A subhead touted the
fact each was made on the premises every day.

How is that
possible?
Sarah wondered as she craned her
neck to look past the waitress in the direction of the
kitchen.

“Sarah?”

She looked back at Debbie who was staring at
her now with a worried expression.

“I’m so sorry,” Sarah said.

“That’s okay. Do you—”

“I need to go.” She scraped back her chair
and grabbed for her purse. “I’m sorry, Debbie. I can’t do
this.”

Without stopping to see the horrified look
she knew she would find on her friend’s face, Sarah pushed past the
chalkboard easel and ran out of the restaurant into the blinding
sunshine of the parking lot. She hurried to her car, slipped inside
and blinked at the bright light. She had very few memories of it
being sunny in Ireland. Whether that was because she wasn’t paying
attention or because the sun rarely came out, she wasn’t sure.

She put her hands on the steering wheel and
stared ahead at the strip mall parking lot, watching people come
and go, carrying dry cleaning, entering and leaving the little
French restaurant, standing in line holding boxes at the postal
store.

She and John had been home for two weeks
now. While he still stayed in his room playing video games, after
the first week of doing all the responsible things she knew she had
to do, Sarah spent this last week holed up in her room. Sometimes
she watched the TV that was in there. Sometimes she read or took
long blistering hot baths. But always, she wept. Silently,
intensely, hopelessly.

I’ve made a terrible mistake.

This outing with Debbie had been set up by
Sarah’s mother and she’d only obliged because it was clear to
anyone with eyes that Sarah was hell-bent upon descending into a
lengthy and nonproductive depression. Not unlike what John was
doing.

She bent her forehead to the steering wheel.
She had figured out days ago that a depression was just about the
only thing that was going to prevent her from thinking about what
was happening back in Ireland. She had happily made the self-pact
to sink into despair if the alternative was to obsessively wonder
what was happening with Mike and Fi and Dec and the camp. It was
madness to think Caitlin would let Fiona and Declan live in peace.
Or Mike. She tried to envision them all packed up on a big horse
cart—not unlike the Okies of the Dust Bowl—and leaving the area for
the coast where Mike could fish and help support them all.

Would Declan agree to leave his family?
Would the other gypsies come too?

Sarah shook her head. Could
she really just force herself to believe that it would all turn out
well for them? That Caitlin
wouldn’t
catch Fiona alone one
night…or that Mike
wouldn’t
one day tire of forbidding himself the succor and
love of a willing woman?

And what about Siobhan? Who was going to put
up with her bullshit and help her with the laundry?

Sarah covered her head with her arms and did
what she had done every day since she’d arrived back home— wept
without restraint or hope until all her tears were gone and she
could only croak in agony. And then when things got as bad as they
could get, when she knew she couldn’t possibly feel any worse, that
was when she called to mind her memory’s best snap-shot image of
Papin laughing or winking at her—full of life and energy and
hope.

And then, and only then, did Sarah feel
sufficiently punished for having taken John so far away from
home.

That night, after a quiet dinner of roast
pork loin and scalloped potatoes, John excused himself and
retreated to his bedroom. Sarah watched him go without comment.

“Well, at least he hasn’t asked to start
taking his meals in there,” her father said.

“Or decided he won’t eat at all,” her mother
said as they all heard the bedroom door close firmly.

“I’ll help you clear the table in a minute,”
Sarah said, tossing her napkin down and standing up. “I just need a
word with him.”

“Now, don’t be too hard on the boy,” her
father said, reaching for another piece of meat. “He’ll snap out of
it as soon as football season starts. Trust me.”

Sarah tapped lightly on John’s door and then
slipped inside without waiting for permission to enter. He was
lying on the bed, earphones on that were attached to his iPod, an
on-demand video playing mutely on his laptop. It occurred to her
that he’d missed a great deal as far as technological advances
while he was gone.

But he hadn’t missed a beat in
reconnecting.

She went to his bed and sat down. He didn’t
look at her. She reached over and gently pulled one earphone bud
out of his left ear. He frowned but didn’t stop her.

“John.”

When he turned to her, she realized his eyes
were red. He wrestled his own demons in this room every day and
every night.

“I made a mistake.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry for not realizing sooner.”

“Even though everyone told you.”

“Especially
because everyone told me.”

“It’s okay, Mom.” He reached for the ear bud
she still held.

“Not this time it isn’t,” she said, handing
it to him. “Although I appreciate your forgiveness.”

He popped the earphone back in and turned
his attention to the laptop screen.

“We’re going home,” she said without
thinking.

His head never turned but his eyes flicked
in her direction.

“Home
where
?” he asked.

It was right. As soon as she had said the
words out loud, she knew it was right.

“You know where.”

She watched his eyes light up. He sat up
straight, the first unprovoked movement he’d displayed since they
returned. “Are you sure? What about college?”

“You’ve got plenty of time for that. I’ll
homeschool you.” The thoughts came faster and faster. Why hadn’t
she thought of this before? “We’ll bring the books back with us
that we’ll need. You might not be ready to take your MCATs, but
you’ll at least get into college.”

He launched himself into her arms, wires and
earphones springing free as he wrapped his arms around her and
hugged her tight. The feeling of connection after so many months of
distance was so profound that Sarah laughed out loud. When she
pulled back to see her boy’s face—his eyes alive for the first time
in weeks— mixed with his elation she saw hope and trust.

That he should still believe in me after all
I’ve put him through…

“I’m just sorry it took me so long to figure
it out,” she whispered, hugging him close.

A tap on the bedroom door made both of them
turn. Her mother stood in the opening, beaming broadly at the two
of them. “Oh, I’m so happy to see smiles again!” she said, clapping
her hands together. “Can I count two more then for rice
pudding?”

Sarah looked at John who grinned.
“Absolutely, Grandma,” he said. “You can count us both in.”

The next morning, for the first time since
she arrived back in the States, Sarah awoke to a purpose and a full
slate of errands—each more pressing and vital than the one before.
While she was looking over her to-do list at breakfast, her mother
placed a tall stack of blueberry pancakes in front of her.

“I know you said not to, but I made them for
John this morning so if you don’t want them, you can—”

“No, they’re great, Mom. Thanks,” Sarah
said, pulling the plate closer to her.

Her mother hesitated and then sat down at
the table. She slid a small pitcher of warmed maple syrup across
the table to Sarah. “John’s already up and gone,” she said.

Sarah slathered the stack of pancakes with
butter and then poured the syrup over the top. “Oh?”

“Which shocked me,” her mother said, picking
up her coffee mug. “I mean, since the child hasn’t left his room in
nearly three weeks.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“His friend, Luke, came by with his mother.
They picked him up.”

“That’s nice. I’m glad he’s seeing some of
his old friends.”

“That’s what I thought, too. He’s really a
changed boy since…well, ever since you went into his room last
night.”

Sarah raised her eyes to her mother’s, which
were quickly filling with tears.

“Mom…”

“What are you thinking of doing, Sarah?”

“I never should have left, Mom.”

“That’s ridiculous. This is your home.”

“Not anymore it isn’t.” Sarah put down her
fork, the pancakes untasted, and reached out for her mother’s hand.
“I didn’t want to upset you, Mom. Maybe you can pretend we live in
Seattle or something and we’re just here for our annual visit.”

“Seattle.”

“I’m sorry, Mom. But this isn’t home for us
anymore. We have a life we’ve built back there. I was so focused
on…on getting John here and back on track that I didn’t think of
anything else. I’ve caused a lot of people a lot of pain because of
it.”

“You’d rather go back and live in a tent
with no electricity than here.”

“Yes, but honestly I think I can bring a few
things back with me to make it better this time. That’s my plan,
anyway.”

“Eat your pancakes, dear. They’re getting
cold.”

“Mom, are you okay?”

“Yes, of course. When were you thinking of
leaving, may I ask?”

“I…I guess there’s no real hurry, but
probably in the next few weeks.”

“Well, then I guess we’ll just have to enjoy
the two of you as much as we can in the meantime.” Sarah watched
her mother hold her emotions firmly into place. She stood with her
coffee mug and walked into the kitchen without another word.

Sarah drove down the residential street
feeling the familiarity kick in as her body automatically braked
and accelerated to take her to Debbie’s comfortable Craftsman-style
home in the gated community.

She’d even remembered the gate code.

When she parked her parents’ SUV in Debbie’s
driveway, she noticed that Rick’s Honda was in the garage and that
surprised her since normally he’d be at work.

Debbie answered the door as if she’d been
watching Sarah drive up and was waiting for her. “Sarah!” she said
in unconvincing surprise.

“Hey, Debbie, I am so sorry about yesterday.
I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”

“Not at all. Come in. I was just putting the
coffee on.”

Sarah entered the home and stepped over a
large dog toy in the foyer. She had always envied Debbie’s home
over the older split level that she and David owned. She tried to
remember if she’d ever visited unannounced before. The place
looked…unlived in.