Rain and Revelation (10 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Maeve’s face bears a crease from the pillow and her hair stands on end when she answers the door in a housecoat that could have been my grandma’s. “What the hell are you doing here?” She doesn’t open the door more than a crack even though the rain is assaulting my face.

“I’ve got nowhere else to go,” I say, pushing past her and hobbling to the kitchen. Hunter follows me into the warm B&B, dripping water onto the polished wood floor.

Maeve says, “He’ll not be staying.”

“I never said he was,” I say, and lower myself onto a chair at the kitchen table.

Hunter sets my car keys and bag on the table. “You’re sure you’ll be okay?” he asks.

I shrug and peel off my soaked jacket.

He leans down, kisses my cheek, and whispers, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He walks out the door to return to the place that he and Jake have been staying in down the street.

Maeve slams the door and returns to the kitchen. On the counter, laid out for breakfast, are stacked plates, cups, and saucers, and a platter of scones covered in plastic. Standing with her legs widely planted, and her arms resting on her belly, she says, “Are you going to tell me what is so bloody important that you had to come here at three in the feckin’ morning?”

“I can’t,” I say, rocking and hugging myself.

“You’re mental. Go to your granda’s. No one’s there. You and your boyfriend could have a grand time and not disturb the precious little sleep I’ll get.”

“I need to be here,” I say. “With you.”

“So I’m your new best friend? Saints be praised! Lucky me,” Maeve huffs over to the sink, fills the teakettle, and rummages for a hand towel in the drawer. She tosses it at me. “Here. Don’t drip on the floor. I just cleaned it.”

I wrap the towel around my hair. My wet clothes cling to my body. I get up and limp to the hall closet, where I’ve stashed an extra pair of trousers and a sweater, and go into the bathroom to change. When I come back, Maeve’s sitting at the table sipping tea. There’s a steaming cup at my place.

The tea is strong, smooth and sweet. It goes down easily.

Maeve stares at me. “So I’m to read your mind?”

I turn away from Maeve’s icy glare.

“Lovely. Well, then, let me give you some advice.” Maeve leans forward on her fleshy arms and says, “Quit feeling so bloody sorry for yourself. Whatever it is that has you here with me and not with people who actually give a shite, is not my concern.”

I start to say something but Maeve holds her hands up and stops me. “Deal with it. Whatever it is. Stop expecting someone else to do it for you.”

Maeve drains her tea and points her finger at me. “And stop thinking some dim-witted man will make it alright. They’re more bloody trouble than they’re worth.” She hoists herself up from the table and shuffles in her slippers to the living room, to the couch, which is her bed.

I sit at the table for hours and try to make sense of everything that has happened. But, I can’t. Nothing is as it has seemed. Anger swells. I want to pound the table and scream. It takes everything I have to hold it together. I don’t dare wake Maeve or the guests. For the first time, I have no home and no place to go. I’m alone. I feel powerless. Tears flow until there are no more.

The sky finally lightens although the sun is not shining. Upstairs, the guests’ feet clomp across the wooden floorboards. I hear Maeve stirring in the next room. I wait. When Maeve finally comes into the kitchen, she is dressed with her hair neatly combed. I stand up. She brushes past me and goes to the refrigerator.

I say, “I’ve decided to go to Dublin.” I drape my damp coat over my arm and sling my bag over my shoulder. “To try and help Ma.”

Maeve takes out a carton of eggs and starts cracking them into a bowl.

“I’m not coming back,” I say and stand up straighter.

Maeve turns to me. “Leave if you want. Stay if you want.” She reaches for the milk. “I don’t care. Just let me work.”

As I push the chair back to the table, it scrapes the linoleum. “Right. Well, thanks. You take care, too. What with those babies and Bobby.”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t mind me.” Maeve takes a deep breath, beats the eggs faster, and doesn’t look up as I walk out the door.

Outside, a fine mist tickles my face. The sun is trying to peek out. The hills, with their varying shades of green, glisten. I start the engine and drive down toward the cottages. My stomach knots when I see Da’s car parked along the street in front of Paddy’s pub.

When I reach the cottage that used to feel like home, I shower, dress, and start packing. My heart beats rapidly as I inventory what to take and what to leave behind.

Digging into the bottom of my topmost dresser drawer, I grab the money that I’ve stashed along with my bank card. Ma’s wedding ring is still on top of the dresser. I slip it onto my pinkie and haul out a suitcase from under my bed. It fills quickly as I toss in clothes, boots, trainers, socks and underwear. There’s not enough room to cram all my things in, so I go to the hall closet to get Ma’s large suitcase. It is hidden in back behind the heavy coats. I wheel it back to my room, flop it onto the bed, and open it.

The canvas suitcase looks new despite a layer of dust. It’s lined with compartments. One section bulges. Unzipping it, I find my soft-sided baby book. My fingers touch the pink satin cover. It smells like baby powder. I flip through the pages, brushing my fingertips over each page. Ma’s perfect writing meticulously details my early years. In an envelope are locks of wispy red hair and baby teeth.

Just as I’m closing the book, Ma’s passport falls out, along with a wad of money bound by a rubber band. I have no idea how much is there, but it’s a lot. I open the passport. It’s long expired. Ma looks at the camera blankly with her small, expressionless eyes. Her thin lips form a straight line as her black, flat hair frames her narrow face.

I put the baby book, passport, and money back into the compartment. As I do, my hand brushes across a plastic bag tucked deep into the corner. I see strands of dark hair inside it. I have to look closely to see them. Not my hair. It’s too dark. And it’s too red to be Ma’s hair. A strong wind rattles the windows. Looking up, I see the clouds rolling in. I fold the bag back up and tuck it into the compartment.

I finish packing my things and go down the hall to my parents’ room to see if there’s anything I should take to Ma.

Da’s clothes are strewn all over the floor. I open Ma’s closet. Her clothes are on metal hangers and grouped by color. They barely fill the small closet. I touch a sweater with frayed edges that Ma wore most days. It’s the color of ash. I hold it to my nose, inhaling deeply. Her scent lingers. It’s the perfume I gave her. My throat tightens, and I can’t swallow. I consider taking the sweater with me, but don’t. I leave all her things behind except for the ring and the items I found in her suitcase.

After loading the car, I stand outside the cottage looking toward Clew Bay. Gathering clouds block the sun. Looking out at the restless water, I hold my thick hair back from the wind and inhale the salty air. Even though I’ve longed for more, I never saw myself leaving this way.

I never saw myself without a home. I never saw myself without a family.

Getting into the car, I drive the short distance to the school I left two years ago. Mrs. McCune, the receptionist, peers over her thick eyeglasses and greets me as I come through the office door. “Good day, Eliza.” She puts down a stack of papers and rests her twisted, arthritic hands on them. “Ah, the leg is still bothering you, I see.”

“It’s better,” I say.

“And your ma?” Mrs. McCune folds her hands as in prayer and says, “Shame she’s locked away like that.”

I cringe. “It’s a hospital, not a prison.” My tone is sharp and cold. I lean over the counter. “I need some information. Ma went to school with a girl named Linda. I want to know her last name and where she is. If you know.”

Mrs. McCune’s blue-veined hand fondles the thin, loose skin on her face. “The only Linda that I know who might have been in your ma’s year was Linda Gallagan. Went off to London to study music, I think.”

“That sounds right,” I say.

“Let me check.” Mrs. McCune peers at the computer screen. “I think she got married, though. Linda’s parents moved to Limerick years ago, and I lost touch. I don’t recall Linda’s new name. My memory’s not what it used to be.”

I shift my weight. My ankle is starting to throb and burn.

Finally she looks up. “Ah, here it is. Linda Gallagan. Married Ian Graham.” She looks back at the screen, her pointy nose just inches away. “She lives in Dublin and works at the National Performing Arts School. Aye, she did do well.” Mrs. McCune shakes her head. “She and your ma were the oddest pair.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, dear. Your ma never did much, did she? A fine mother, yes. Don’t take this wrong, but with the means and so little drive, I always felt badly for your grandparents. Such a shame that she didn’t do more with her life. And now…”

A forced smile creeps across my face. “You’ve been your typical helpful self. Thank you.”

Mrs. McCune flutters her spindly arms. “Of course, dear. Tell your mother everyone at the women’s circle at church is praying for her.”

I say I’ll do that even though I know I won’t.

Chapter Twenty

Driving toward the center of town, I see Fiona strutting down the street in her skinny jeans and snug sweater. She’s looking down at her phone. When I pull up beside her, she jumps and nearly collides with the steel kegs lining the path.

A smile spreads across Fiona’s face when I get out of my car, but then she pouts and crosses her arms over her full cleavage. “I have to hear about you and Hunter from him?”

“There’s not been much to say.”

Fiona smirks. “That’s not true. You’ve been spending a lot of time together. Well done!”

“He’s nice.” I kick aside a piece of rubbish. “He’s been a friend these past few days.”

“A
very
good friend from what I hear.”

“He’s been better than some.” My tone is harsher than I intend but don’t regret.

“Now don’t go biting my head off again. Since you’ve been off the drink, you’ve been a puss face. You need some craic.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I might have things going on in my life?” Fiona tilts her head up at me with a puzzled expression. I say, “No, you’ve been too busy with Jake to give a rat’s ass about me.”

Fiona puts her hands on her narrow hips. “All you do is sit around and mope.”

I square my shoulders and take a deep breath. “Well, I’m not now. I’m off.”

“Off? But, you and Hunter…”

“He’s nice and helped me a lot. But, he’s going back to the States.”

“Not for awhile.” Fiona’s tone is shrill. “He said last night after he dropped you off that he was going to extend his ticket. To spend more time with you.” Fiona touches my arm. “He
really
likes you. I can tell.”

I say, “There’s nothing here for me. I need to leave.” I hug my bag closer.

Fiona glances at the two suitcases lying on the back seat of my car next to the crutches. She says softly, “But you’ll be back, yeah?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

Fiona holds her arms out like a child. She feels small and fragile, like a bird I might crush.

“I know you. You’ll be back.” Fiona’s voice cracks. “This is your home.”

I pull away. Looking into Fiona’s makeup-smeared face, I say, “It was.” I smile weakly, then turn to leave. The wind blowing off Clew Bay carries the scent of spring.

Fiona starts to say something, but I get into my car and shut the door. The windows are up. It takes everything I have not to dissolve into a puddle of tears.

All I want to do is leave. No more goodbyes. I’m grateful Da and Paddy aren’t outside. There’s so much to say, and yet I have no words. Not now.

The only person I really need to see before I leave is pedaling his bicycle toward home.

Mr. Walters is lifting Johnny out of the basket when I pull up. He looks surprised to see me as I walk toward him. Looking at my boot, he says, “Well, you’ve come a long way.”

I ignore Johnny jumping on my trousers and say, “I’d like to talk to you, if you have time.”

He waves me in. “Time is all I have.”

I follow Mr. Walters up the path toward the door. Inside, the curtains remain shut. There’s a light on over the sink. Mr. Walters walks to the stove, grabs the kettle and fills it with water. Then he opens a cupboard. It is bare except for some canned goods and seasonings. He stands there awhile before saying, “I’ve nothing to offer you except tea.”

“I just want answers. The truth. Then I’ll be on my way.”

He pulls aside the curtain of the window above the sink. The sky is darkening. Then he turns his craggy face toward me. “The truth isn’t always better.”

“Yes, it is.” My voice is strong. I pull out a chair and sit down. “I want to know why Ma married Da. I want to know who my father is.” I fix my eyes on him.

His shoulders droop as he lowers himself into a chair. He sighs. “I told you that we couldn’t marry. Divorce was never an option.” He folds his gnarled hands. “It wasn’t then, nor is it now.” Mr. Walters picks at his tobacco-stained fingernail. I wait. Then he says, “When Annie found out she was pregnant, Seamus offered to marry her.” The kettle starts whistling. As Mr. Walters gets up to make tea, he says, “It was perfect for all of us.”

I persist. “You told me you’ve known Da since he was a boy and that you probably know him better than most people. What did you mean by that?”

Mr. Walters sets the cups of tea down on the table. His milky eyes lock with mine. I maintain my gaze. He looks down as he lights his cigar. He says, “Let’s just say I always knew he and Paddy had a
special
relationship. They were altar boys together. Inseparable from Father and then from each other in school.” His words linger like the smoke lofting toward the ceiling. “To this day, in fact.”

“I don’t get it. Why would Ma marry him?”

“Seamus found Annie in a very difficult situation and helped make it right. It was convenient. For both of them. He could be the doting husband and father and no one needed to know his secret. She had someone who could marry her.”

“Did Ma know? About Da?”

“Not at first. Later. Though she didn’t want much to do with me by then. Or anyone.”

“Did she tell you about that night in the pasture? About what happened? I mean, who…”

“She only told me that she was drinking with Seamus and Paddy. She got sick and Paddy offered to walk her home. She said she didn’t recall what happened between her and Paddy. The next thing she remembered, she was waking up in the pasture and Seamus was there.”

“Wait—
Paddy
? He could be my father?”

“Hell if I know. She said she and Seamus
got close
around this time
.
”

The cigar smoke whirls, then evaporates. Its familiar scent lingers between us.

Mr. Walters gets up, his back hunched, and carries his cup to the counter. The smell of soggy cereal and sour milk waft from the sink. He gazes out the window. Drops of rain start spattering the pane.

Keeping his back to me, Mr. Walters says, “Annie isn’t the girl I knew. Not anymore. She changed.” He turns and looks at me with moist eyes. “She didn’t understand how I couldn’t leave my wife. Until she had a daughter.”

Rain starts drumming the roof. Slow. Steady. Mr. Walters’s voice is soft as he says, “Don’t you want to ask me? Don’t you want to know if I’m your father?”

Despite wondering, his words send shivers down my spine. Outside, the wind churns.

Mr. Walters’s chest heaves. “I thought I was for years, but now I wonder if Annie even knows. Maybe she did it on purpose? Sleep with all of us and tell none of us. She was going to have the baby. That’s all that mattered to her.” His lined eyes close. “In the end, it was always just you that mattered.”

Rain slams the window. Mr. Walters goes over to the stand near the door and grabs an umbrella and rests it beside the door. “You’re going to need this. Take it when you let yourself out.” Then he whistles for Johnny, shuffles down the hall and shuts the door.