Rain and Revelation (13 page)

How many other lives had he destroyed besides Ma’s?

Chapter Twenty-Four

I wake up on the couch, covered with a blanket. There’s a note from Ryan propped against a full glass of water on the end table asking me to call him. Stretching, I suddenly recall the letters. I sit up and frantically look around. They’re heaped on the floor. Gathering them, I put them back into the envelope. When I tromp into the kitchen, the clock reads ten.

It became clear last night that I need to track down Linda. She’s the only person I can think of who might help me find answers. Grabbing my phone, I call the National Performing Arts Center. She’s not available, but I leave a voicemail message that I’m Annie Conroy’s daughter and would like to talk to her. I don’t tell her about Ma. Later I’m sitting at the table with a cup of tea and a bowl of fruit when my phone rings. Linda introduces herself.

Standing, I begin pacing. “Oh, thank you for calling back. You went to school with my mother, Annie, and—”

“How’s your mother? You were just a baby when I saw you.” Linda’s tone is professional, but kind.

“She tried to kill herself three months ago.”

“Oh, Lord! Is she…?”

“Alive, but not well. She’s actually in Dublin. At St. Patrick’s.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to her.”

“I’ve been trying to sort out why Ma would do this. It was so sudden. I was wondering if I could meet with you since you were such good friends with her.”

“I have no idea how I can help you. It’s been years since I’ve seen or talked to her.”

“I just think if I knew more about her past, then I might understand things. Maybe why she did it.” I can hear the desperation mounting in my voice. “I promise not to take too much of your time. I could meet you anywhere.”

There is a long pause. “Where are you now?”

“Westport.” I add quickly, “But I’m coming to Dublin soon.”

A breath exhales into the receiver. “If you can be here later today, then I could meet with you. If not, it’ll have to wait until I return from holiday.”

“That’s no problem. I can be there in four hours. Where should I meet you?”

“Come to the school. I’m getting things in order before I leave. Just ring my mobile when you arrive and I’ll meet you in front. Let me give you that number.”

There’s no time to waste. Dublin is more than three hours away without any stops. I shower quickly and gather the few things I have in Ryan’s flat, retrieve the crutches from the back seat of my car and prop them in the corner by the door, and begin the drive. The rolling hills ahead of me are brilliant green in the sun. I’ve been driving nearly fifteen minutes and am approaching Castlebar when it dawns on me that I haven’t called Ryan yet.

The receptionist at the clinic puts me on hold. When Ryan gets on the line, I tell him I’ve left for Dublin to see Ma’s friend Linda. He’s quiet at first. “I thought you were going to wait for the test results.”

“The hospital, when I gave my sample, said I could go directly to the testing facility in Dublin. That’s what I’ll do now.”

“What’s the rush?” Ryan asks.

“You know I need to figure things out, and Linda’s leaving on holiday tomorrow.”

“So see her when she comes back.”

“I can’t wait,” I tell him.

“Will it make any difference?”

My eyes fix on the car ahead of me. Its driver keeps putting on the brakes. “There’s so much you don’t know.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t. Not now. Maybe someday. But I’ve got to go. Bye, love.”

I don’t wait for Ryan’s reply. I just hang up and toss the phone onto the passenger seat and accelerate out of Castlebar, past the stone-walled pastures, under a cloudless sky.

It is early afternoon when I arrive in Dublin and find the National Performing Arts Center on Barrow Street. As I search for parking, I call Linda to let her know I’m here. People crowd the street littered with vendors peddling their wares, and the smell of pub food stirs my appetite. I stick a piece of gum into my mouth and walk the few streets to the school.

Standing at the door is a woman with ginger hair cut short. She smiles and introduces herself as Linda. She’s wearing a stylish straight-lined skirt that accentuates her trim figure. “I see you found the building just fine. Please come in. We’ll go to my studio.” After we walk a few meters, she stops and looks at my boot. “You okay?”

“Oh, fine. I broke my ankle running down Croagh Patrick. But every day it’s better.”

She smiles and adjusts her pace to mine. As we twist and turn down hallways, she makes small talk about the drive. Finally, she extends her hand to usher me into the spacious, bright room. There’s a desk and two chairs. “Here we are. Please have a seat.”

Each wall is painted a variant shade of blue. A different word is painted on each wall: Dream; Dare; Devote; Discipline. “What do you teach?” I ask.

“Voice.” Linda motions to a chair and sits in the other chair. She reaches for a plate on the desk. “Would you like a biscuit? A bottle of water?” After I take one of each, Linda sits back and crosses her well-toned legs.

“I appreciate you meeting me, especially as you get ready to leave on holiday.”

“I’ve been just sick thinking of poor Annie since you told me about her.” Linda shakes her head. Tied around her neck is a flowing, colorful scarf that matches her silk blouse. “Have you seen her?”

“No. She hasn’t wanted to see me. Not yet.”

“It’s been years since I’ve talked to her. Until I saw you, I didn’t feel that much older. Where does time fly?”

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” I take a bite of the biscuit. It crunches in my mouth.

“So your mother talked about me?” Linda’s eyes are expectant.

“Actually, no. I saw your name in a school yearbook. When I asked Da about you, he told me you and Ma were friends.”

“Friends since we were wee girls.” Her freckled face has only a few lines around her glossed lips.

“What was she like then?”

“Oh, shy. Insecure. She didn’t make friends easily. Sometimes she got jealous, especially when I started dating. It’s funny, really, that she married before I did. I could have more easily been the one to get pregnant, not her.” She points her finger at me like a teacher reprimanding a student. “Not that I was easy, mind you.” Linda sighs and grabs a biscuit, but doesn’t take a bite. “Annie was always protective of me. Afraid I wouldn’t get my homework done. Afraid I’d stay out too late drinking.”

“She’s like that—or was—with me, too,” I say.

“She’s your mother.” Linda smiles. “I’ll never forget seeing you right after you were born. Annie looked so happy. She wouldn’t let me hold you. She clung to you and wouldn’t put you in your crib even when you fell asleep. I was at university, and she never once asked how it was going. All she could talk about was you. I heard every detail of your birth. Your eating and sleeping schedule. Your bodily functions.” Linda picks off a piece of lint and tosses it to the floor. “That was the last time we saw each other or talked. We just lost touch.”

I put down my biscuit. “Did she talk to you about my da?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, who was my da?”

“Heavens! It’s Seamus. Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered if it might’ve been Paddy or someone else.”

“Your mother thought Paddy was an eejit. Cocky. Self absorbed. And he was. But he was also charming. Even I fell under his spell for a time.” Linda brushes aside a wisp of her short hair that had fallen in her round face. “That drove Annie mad.”

“Did he seem to like her?”

“He didn’t think much of her. She’d follow me around. Sometimes I’d convince her to go out with us, but she’d sit back and sulk.”

“I thought maybe she and Paddy, you know, got together.”

Linda raises her finely tweezed eyebrows and shakes her head. “No, I’m pretty sure that never happened. When I left to go to university in London, I told Paddy and some others to keep an eye out for Annie and ask her to go out. Paddy said he would. The next thing I hear, she’s married Seamus. My parents told me. Not Annie.” She purses her lips. “That hurt. I called, and she told me about being with Seamus a couple of times and getting pregnant. It was…unexpected.”

“Why’s that?”

Linda sips her water. A breeze from an open window ruffles her hair.

I say, “Please. I really need to make sense of why she tried to kill herself.”

Linda’s eyes meet mine. She nods and says, “I didn’t see her getting together with any of our mates. Your mother didn’t trust people easily, especially men.”

“Ma never said anything about her childhood,” I say, realizing I’d never thought to ask her about it either.

“She didn’t tell many people.” Linda unwinds the scarf around her neck. “Let me tell you. Your grandmother’s straight from Satan’s womb.” Her tone is harsh. I stare at her with my mouth open, unsure what to say. I’ve never heard my grandma described this way. “Oh, yes, she is. Have you seen your mother’s feet?”

Ma always wore ratty brown slippers in the house and boots whenever she went outside. “No, now that I think of it, I haven’t.”

The melancholy sound from a cello drifts down the hall. A door squeaks shut, and only the muffled sound of the strings lingers.

“Well, I did once. They were completely scarred. When I asked Annie about them, she came up with some flimsy reason why they looked like that. But, eventually, she told me.”

Linda reaches for a pack of cigarettes under a stack of papers and tries to extract one. It’s empty. She tosses the wrapper toward the bin. It misses. The ashtray on the edge of her desk is full of butts. She picks up one that is half used and turns it over in her fingers.

“Your grandmother made her pick the switches. She told me that she had to pick the right branch. Not too short. Then remove the leaves. If she took too long picking it—or if she chose one that was too old and brittle—the beating lasted longer. It was for anything she felt Annie did wrong. Not cleaning the grout completely with the toothbrush and bleach. Eating her crisps too loudly.” She lights the cigarette. “Annie said she used to scream, and your grandmother would stuff a dirty sock in her mouth.” She inhales deeply and then blows the smoke through gritted teeth. “Lovely God-fearing woman, my arse.”

“Did she tell Granda? Anyone?”

Linda shakes her head. “She really did have problems trusting people.”

I mutter, “Mr. Walters knew that.”

Linda stamps out the cigarette. “He tried to get me alone once, and I told him in no uncertain terms to stay the hell away from me. Told his wife, too. I warned Annie, but she said he was nice, and that I misunderstood him.” Linda flips her head back and her face contorts. “Like hell I did.”

“Did she tell you about a relationship with him?”

“Not in so many words, but I knew.” She pushes the ashtray away and doesn’t look at me. “She stopped talking to me about him. In a way—and I feel bad about this—I was relieved that she had someone else to talk to. She didn’t hang on me as much.”

“Do you think
he
could be my father?” I ask.

She turns toward me and shakes her head. “Seamus is your father. I never heard any differently. And he’s a decent guy. A bit dull compared to Paddy, but kind and very loyal.”

“What do you know about their relationship? Da and Paddy’s?”

“What’s to know? Mates for a long time. They played rugby. Inseparable, really. I have no idea if they are still friends or not. Are they?”

“Yes, quite.”

Linda glances at her watch. “Eliza, I’m sorry, but my husband is waiting for me, so I have to go now.” She straightens her skirt. “I wish I could have been more helpful.”

My ankle’s stiff when I get up and set my foot down. I limp somewhat as we walk down the hallway. When we reach the front door, a group of girls darts past us into the school. Linda returns their waves. After I mutter thanks for taking time to talk to me, Linda embraces me. Her silk scarf brushes my cheek. “Please tell Annie I say hello and would love to see her.” As she releases me, she says, “Take care of her.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

I can’t believe that Grandma, who made my First Communion dress, abused Ma.

People pass by, engaged in conversation. Avoiding their faces, I look down, trying with every fiber of my body to hold it together as I walk the few streets to the car. My hands shake as I dig for my keys in the bottom of my bag. Inside the car, I pound the wheel and hunch over.

After I finally calm down, I call the hospital and ask for Ma. Again I’m told she refuses calls and visitors. I beg the clerk to let me talk to the doctor. After waiting for what seems an eternity, I’m told Dr. Kilkenny is unavailable. She will see me tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.

After three months of waiting, it’s something.

A hotel nearby looks dodgy, but it’s cheap and will do for tonight. I buy fish and chips wrapped in newspaper and retreat to my small room with peeling paint and stained carpet. I call Ryan. It goes straight into voicemail. Lying on the lumpy mattress, I pull up the thin blanket that reeks of cigarettes. Flipping through the channels on the clunky television, I think about Ma and her miserable childhood. About everything.

Eventually, I drift into a restless sleep.

The next morning I easily find St. Patrick’s University Hospital on St. James Street. A prominent plaque recognizes Jonathan Swift as the founder more than 250 years ago. The receptionist directs me to Dr. Kilkenny’s office. There, a woman with grey-sprinkled hair held back with a pair of slides, gets up and walks around her desk to greet me. Dressed in dark trousers and a tasteful sweater, she extends her hand. “Mary Kilkenny. It’s nice to finally meet you. Your mother’s a delightful woman.”

I stand there awkwardly. “I never heard anyone describe her like that.”

“How would you describe her?” Dr. Kilkenny points to a small, round table near the window and motions for me to sit down.

I sit on the edge of the high-backed chair. “I dunno. It’s just, she never did anything. Just cooked and cleaned. Looked out the window.” Dr. Kilkenny settles in the other chair, smoothes her sweater, and folds her hands on her lap. I look expectantly at her and say, “So is she better?”

“Improving. She especially likes the group sessions and interacting with some of the other residents.”

I lean in. “When can I see her?”

Dr. Kilkenny’s eyelids droop, hooding her wide-set eyes that are magnified under her thick, round glasses. “Dear, I know you made the long drive to see her. But she has chosen to separate from family while she tries to get well. I know that’s hard to understand.”

“But she let Da visit.” My voice sounds whinier than I intend.

“Yes. She needed to talk to him about some things.”

I stare at a vase full of flowers in the middle of the table. A few chrysanthemum petals have dropped onto the polished surface. I look out the window into a courtyard where people are clustered on benches beneath a grey sky. Swallowing hard, I say, “But
I
need to see her. There are things
I
need to talk to her about.” I try hard not to, but I cry.

“Of course you do.” Dr. Kilkenny reaches for a box of tissues, takes one out, and hands it to me. Her voice softens. “What I have to do, though, is make sure that it’s the right thing for your mother.” She touches my arm gently. “Dear, she’s really making progress, and I don’t want to set her back.”

I wipe my eyes. “How could seeing
me
set her back?”

Dr. Kilkenny gathers the fallen petals from the table and holds them in her hand. “It’s normal to feel anger and hurt. It’s hard for your mother to face you because she didn’t want to hurt you.”

Outside, in the hall, a child starts wailing. I turn and look out the door into the hallway. A toddler has flung himself onto the floor. A man reaches down and picks up the flailing boy, catches my eye, and mouths, “Sorry.” Dr. Kilkenny gets up and closes the door, which muffles the retreating cries. I grab another tissue and blow my nose. Dr. Kilkenny sits back down and pushes the tissue box closer.

The silence hangs like the morning fog. I look out the window into the garden. There’s a small fountain. In addition to the patients sitting on the benches, there are couples walking along the path holding hands.

I look toward the wall with its cracked plaster and say, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t have a mother, a father, or a home anymore.” I hold my head in my hands. “And I don’t have any idea how to help her.”

“You can help her by giving her the space she needs. And by taking care of yourself,” the doctor says.

Choking back tears, I reach for my bag. It’s caught on the leg of the chair. I tug, but it’s stuck. Still, I yank on it. Dr. Kilkenny folds her hand around mine. She sighs. “Let me talk to her and see if we might arrange a short visit.” She raises a finger. “But I’ll be there to cut it short if I deem it necessary.”

“Absolutely. Thank you.” I scoot my chair back. Then I think of something. “Were you there when Da came?”

“For the first visit. Not the second.”

“The second?”

“The next day. He bought her some new clothes and brought them by.”

I sit back. “But he never shops. Except for fishing tackle.”

“Your mother was pleased. And touched. I don’t think she asked him to do it. Up until then, she wore the clothes we provided, which aren’t very smart.”

“I don’t recall a time when he bought her a gift for her birthday or Christmas without my help.”

“He did a fine job. After that, she started fixing her hair. Just combing and parting it differently, at first. Then she asked if she could get a haircut. Now she has an adorable style that suits her.”

I can barely form a picture of Ma in my mind from before, let alone imagine what she might look like now. It dawns on me that I don’t even have a picture of her.

“How long do you think she’ll be here?”

“Your mother is actually staying at St. Edmundsbury, five miles from here, just outside the village of Lucan. There, she has her own room. When your mother’s ready, we’ll look for transitional lodging.”

“What’s that mean?”

“She’s decided not to go back to Louisburgh. We’re exploring options.”

“I’ll take care of her,” I say.

Dr. Kilkenny shakes her head. “She doesn’t need or want you taking care of her. That’s one of the reasons that I’m not sure she’s ready to see you. We’re working on getting her strong enough to deal with the issues that contributed to her depression, and you have been her sole reason for living.”

“Then why did she try to kill herself?”

“I’m not sure if this will make sense to you. On one level, your mother, by trying to take her own life, reclaimed it.”

I gasp. “What?”

“It’s hard to understand, I know, but she took control. She made the choice about living or dying.”

“That’s rubbish!”

“Your mother never felt she had power. Others made choices for her, or she felt compelled to make certain choices based upon circumstances. Your mother didn’t see any future or have any hope when she came in. Now she’s seeing that she does.”

“But if she gets away from Louisburgh, it’ll be better.”

“She carries memories with her wherever she goes. Her thought process affects her moods and her behavior. She’s making choices about where she’s going to live, what she’s going to do, and how she’s going to interact with people in her life. She wants a relationship with you, but she needs to figure some things out for herself, as well.”

“Like what?”

“There is the issue of earning money, as your mother didn’t continue her education or have a trade. But she’s proving to have a gift with pottery, and we’re exploring options. We’re taking it step by step.”

“I’ll get a job. A flat.”

“You should take steps to take care of yourself.” She pauses, eyes magnified by her thick lenses. “I can even recommend a therapist for you. It might be helpful in dealing with your own feelings.”

My back straightens. “I’m quite fine, thank you.” I stand. “I’m sorry I took so much of your time. Will you call me when I can visit her?”

“Absolutely. Please write down your number so I have it.” Dr. Kilkenny slides a tablet over.

As I write my number, I say, “Whether she wants my help or not, I’m going to get to the bottom of things that
do
affect me.” Then I hand Dr. Kilkenny my number, thank her, and walk out.