The Parting Glass (23 page)

“Why don’t you go home now?” Peggy said, standing up and purposely turning her back on her son. “You’re right. You’re not getting anywhere with him today, and it’s not your fault. He’s just having a bad time. Didn’t you say you had a play to attend tonight?”

“It won’t feel right, leaving you this way.”

Peggy put a hand on the girl’s square shoulder. “You’re a good teacher’s aid, Shannon. I don’t know what I ever did without you. But there’s no point in banging our heads against the wall.”

“You ought to tell
him
that. Or the floor, for that matter.”

Peggy smiled thinly. “A lot of good it would do, huh? Anyway, you go on. Full pay for the week anyway. You did your best.”

Shannon looked longingly at the door.

“Go on,” Peggy insisted. “I’ll see you on Monday.” She watched the girl stop in the living room to say goodbye to Irene before she bolted for the front door. Irene shuffled to the classroom doorway.

“She didn’t stay long today.” She looked at Peggy, not at the screaming toddler.

Once again Peggy was gratified that this woman, who had never had children of her own, could be so understanding about Kieran. She joined Irene and tried to make herself heard. “He’s been a little monster today.”

“Maybe he needs a rest, dear.”

“I’d agree, but he’s had more than usual. We’ve taken off early every day this week.”

“He did have quite a siege with that tooth. Maybe he’s still recovering.”

Peggy didn’t know what the problem was. She had been so sure the small gains Kieran had made were only the start of something bigger and better. Now, despite what she’d said to Shannon, she was afraid those were gone, as well.

“I’ll find something quiet to do with him. I’m sorry.”

“I’m only sorry he’s not having a better day.” Irene patted Peggy’s shoulder before she left.

Kieran began to tire, and the tantrum ebbed. Peggy wanted nothing more than to pick him up and cuddle him, but she knew that was the last thing
he
would want. One of the saddest things about Kieran’s autism was the way it worked against all her natural biological impulses. The comfort she yearned to give was like a match to dry tinder.

She searched the room for something that might interest him and saw a rag doll on the shelf in the corner. Bridie had appeared with it one afternoon, salvaged from some Shanmullin resident. Peggy had carefully washed and dried the doll, but she hadn’t yet used it in play, afraid that with this, like his stuffed animals, Kieran would be more interested in picking apart loose threads.

Desperate, she decided to try it anyway.

“What a pretty girl,” she said, taking the doll off the shelf. She pretended to ignore her son. “A pretty girl with pretty eyes.” Peggy touched the eyes.

She knew she was using too many words if her point was to teach him the word
eyes,
but she was more interested in distracting him now. One goal at a time.

She sat in the armchair in the corner and put the doll on her lap facing her. She began to sing “An Irish Lullaby.” Maybe it wasn’t authentically Irish, but it had been good enough for Bing Crosby, and it was close enough for her purposes.

“Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral. Too-ra-loo-ra-li…” She thought she sounded pretty good, considering. Even though she wanted to scream her frustration, she kept her voice serene.

Kieran’s legs flailed once, twice, then stopped. He didn’t particularly like music, but something about her performance caught his attention.

“It’s an I—I—rish Lull—aby,” she finished. She remembered Megan singing the song to her when she was very young. Megan had certainly sung it better, but never with better effect. Kieran was silent now. Music therapy to the rescue.

Encouraged, she decided another song was in order. She settled for something all-American. “Hush little baby, don’t say a word…” She stroked the doll’s hair as she sang, paying no attention to her son. “If that mockingbird don’t sing…” She always forgot the rest of the words, but it was more fun to make them up, anyway.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kieran rising from the floor. She made a mental note to herself. This was working. Anything that worked was worth trying again. She might have stumbled on a combination here that appealed to the little boy, and hope nibbled the edges of the day’s disappointment.

Kieran took one step in her direction. She didn’t look at him, made no fast moves. She just let him come closer, a step at a time. She sang softer, nonsense words that didn’t even rhyme. It didn’t matter.

She loved this child, and she wanted so desperately to make things right for him. If she could just nudge him in the right direction. Gently. Slowly. Lovingly.

“If that billy goat bumps his head, Mama’s going to buy a loaf of bread…”

He was standing right in front of her now, holding out his tiny little hand. She stopped singing. “Doll,” she said softly. “Does Kieran want the doll?”

He didn’t move away, though of course he didn’t answer. Not even his favorite word,
no.
He just stood there, hand extended.

She thought she heard the door swing open, and she bet Irene had come to see if Kieran was doing better. She didn’t hazard a glance. She didn’t want anything to distract her son.

“Doll.” She lifted the doll from her lap and held it out to him. “Kieran’s doll.”

For a moment she wasn’t sure he would take it. Then he grabbed it, and, using the doll like a club he began to beat her with it.

Peggy sat in astonished silence for a moment. The doll was soft. There was no way he could hurt her, but his intention was clear. He wanted to. It was the supreme failure of her week. She was devastated, and her sharp gasp told the story.

“Kieran!”

He didn’t seem to hear her. He beat her harder.

Peggy leaped to her feet. “Kieran, no!”

She picked him up, and he hit her again before she could wrench the doll from his determined grasp. “No!”

She dropped the doll on the chair, and he tried to dive for it. He began to scream and kick, managing to land one good thrust against her hip before she could prevent it.

She had never, in her entire life, wanted so badly to strike back.

She was prevented from considering it by a pair of strong arms. In a moment Kieran was out of hers and safely ensconced in Finn O’Malley’s.

Peggy burst into tears.

“You stay here,” Finn said. “Don’t follow us.”

He turned and left the classroom with the screaming child held away from his chest. Peggy gasped and ran after them, but Finn turned. His face was stern. “Do you need help or not?”

She wanted to say no, but she couldn’t.

Her expression must have been answer enough. “Stay here, Peggy.”

This time she didn’t follow.

Somehow she ended up in the living room. Somehow she ended up with Irene’s bony arms around her and a cold cloth for her eyes.

“I shouldn’t have come to Ireland,” Peggy said. “You don’t need this.”

“On the contrary, it’s exactly what I need, don’t you see? I’ve had none of this in my life. I needed some before I died.”

“Don’t talk about dying!”

“I suppose the timing’s not good, is it? There’s a good girl. Have a good cry. Kieran’s in the best of hands.”

“Finn hates kids. He hates me. And I don’t take it personally, you know. He hates everyone except you, and maybe Bridie.”

“He hates no one except himself. Forgiveness is a long time coming for our Finn. But I’m hopeful.”

“I’m a failure,” Peggy said.

“You’re a woman with a difficult task ahead of you and no guarantees. That’s hardly the same thing.”

“This isn’t really me, you know. I’m the sister with her head on straight.”

“Your head looks just fine to me, crooked or not.”

Peggy stopped in the middle of another sob. A giggle bubbled out instead. “Aren’t I supposed to be helping you? Isn’t that why I came?”

“You help me more than you’ll ever know.” Irene patted her hand.

“Where did they go, do you suppose?” Peggy said.

“It doesn’t matter, but they’re together, and that’s what counts. The two of them have so much in common, don’t you know?”

Peggy looked up. She wasn’t sure what Irene meant.

“Walled away from everything and everybody, both of them,” Irene said. “Kieran can’t connect to people, and Finn? Well, he simply refuses to. Perhaps they understand each other in a way that we can’t. Perhaps after a time they can help each other move into the world.”

Peggy felt fresh tears welling in her eyes.

Finn stayed for supper. He wasn’t sure why, except that he didn’t want to go home. After school, Bridie had gone to the country to spend the weekend with a classmate. He had wanted her to go away. Now he was almost sorry he’d said yes. Bridie was the sunshine peeking through the dark windows of his life, and even though he knew a child should never be burdened with an adult’s happiness, he still missed her when she was gone.

He was careful, of course, never to tell her so.

“You’re sure you didn’t drug him?” Peggy asked as she passed a platter of baked parsnips. Beside her, Kieran was barely able to keep his eyes open. The spoon that had been his cherished companion for several weeks lay idly in front of him now. What little he’d eaten, some brown bread dipped in milk, he’d eaten with his fingers.

“He needed fresh air and silence.” Finn took the platter and added the parsnips to a plate heaped with fresh salmon and boiled potatoes.

“He needed some time away from his mother.” Peggy smiled, as if to say she knew the truth and was fine anyway.

There were few women who were still pretty after a storm of tears. Unfortunately, Peggy Donaghue was one of them. She had wiped her nose and dabbed her eyes, and even though her color was still high, she looked lovely. Sheila, whose complexion matched her pale hair, had looked splotchy and bloated for days after a good sob, and no one had remarked on it as much as she.

“He liked the view from my shoulders.” Finn took a bite, then another. The food was delicious. He knew Nora had gone home at noon, which meant Peggy had cooked the salmon while he and Kieran were walking.

“I used to carry him in a backpack when he was smaller. Your shoulders felt like old times, I guess.”

“Maybe his father carries him that way?” Finn knew that Peggy and Kieran’s father weren’t married, but Irene had told him their relationship was cordial.

“I don’t think that’s it. Phil’s never been around much,” Peggy said matter-of-factly.

Finn wondered about a man who could abandon both Peggy and his own child. Despite himself, he wanted to know more.

Peggy got to her feet, even though the meal had just begun. “I’m sorry, but I think you’d better excuse me. I’m going to put Kieran to bed. I’ll be back.”

“We’ll be right here,” Irene said.

“That was good of you,” Irene continued, when Peggy and Kieran were gone. “Taking the boy that way for her. She’s consumed by him, you know. The most conscientious mother I’ve had the pleasure to know, but it tires her more than she lets on.”

He searched for something to say and found little. “It was the least I could do. Peggy’s good to Bridie,” he said at last. “And
for
her.”

“I doubted you’d noticed.”

“I’m not as oblivious to what’s going on around me as you think.”

“Resistant though, dear. Far too resistant.”

“I don’t know why you put up with me.”

“Nor do I. I suppose it’s your sainted grandmother guiding my steps from heaven.”

He laughed, but he was afraid she wasn’t joking. He was also afraid that before too long there would be two meddling old women in heaven trying to shape his life. He wondered if Peggy realized just how ill Irene was, and how small her chance of living long enough to see any real improvement in Kieran.

Peggy returned when he was halfway through his salmon. “I’m sorry, but I was afraid we’d have another scene if I didn’t get him to sleep.”

“I didn’t hear a lullaby.” He began to hum the one she’d been singing when he came into the classroom.

Peggy blushed. “That backfired, didn’t it?”

“Autistic children often have hypersensitive auditory systems and no ability to screen out or make sense of sound. Combine that with your appalling voice, and it’s good cause for a tantrum.”

Peggy’s head snapped up, but when she saw he was smiling, she burst into laughter. “So that was the problem.” She held her napkin to her mouth, but the sputters continued around it. “Oh Lord, I was just trying to help him.”

Irene was laughing now, and Finn found himself laughing, too.

“My father can sing. My oldest sister sings beautifully. Casey’s passable, but I can hardly carry a tune. Why is that?”

“I’d say it’s justice,” Finn said. “I doubt they’re as beautiful as you.”

Peggy looked stunned. Finn was stunned that he’d said the words out loud.

“The Lord parcels out His gifts,” Irene said. “And you’ve the Irish gift of blarney, Finn. Eat your supper now, before it grows icicles.”

Finn washed the dishes, despite Peggy’s repeated admonitions that he’d done enough.

“You’ve no concept, do you, of all the poor Irish mothers who longed their entire lives for their husbands and sons to help in the kitchen? The tide turns, and you swim against it?”

She laughed. Finn was someone different tonight, and she liked this new version enormously. He was allowing her to dry, so she stood beside him, carefully wiping each dish with a freshly laundered tea towel.

“Bridie’s really been looking forward to this weekend,” she said. “She talked about it all week.”

“She’s not happy in town. It’s better for me, because I have people there who can look after her while I’m at work. But she likes to be outdoors. She had a pony, and I had to sell him when we moved.”

“She said the friend she’s visiting has ponies and they’ll go riding.”

“The parents are good people, and they invite her whenever they can.”

“She’s a wonderful little girl. Well, not so little, I guess. Before too long she’ll be thinking about boys the way she’s thinking about ponies.”

“And I’ll be out of my depth.”