Ripple_Persy & Sully

by Marianne Knightly

  “Oh, yes. So, see? I know they’ll love you. My ma is like that, too. So are my sisters.”

  “So, what you’re telling me is that you’re dating someone who reminds you of your mother?”

  He hugged her closer and she could sense his smile without seeing it. “No. I’m telling you that you have more in common with them than you think you do.”

  Oh.

  “It’s different for you, I know. I can’t even begin to imagine what losing Molly was like for you. We lost my da, my ma lost her husband. It’s a loss, too, and your soul gets marked when someone you loved dies.”

  That was the truth.

  “You learn to live with it, but it never goes away. It pops up at the oddest times. Even now, I’m wishing my da were alive so he could meet you. But you know what I think?”

  She tilted her head up and caught his eyes. “No, what?”

  “I think he might’ve sent you to me.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?”

  She looked away, then back. “Do you think he’s met Molly?”

  He brushed a hand over her hair. It was such a sweet, soft gesture, she almost melted into a little puddle.

  “I think that’s a nice thought, too. And I think he probably has.”

  Chapter Nine

  Persy watched the village appear from a distance. When they’d called the hospital that morning to double check visiting hours, the nurse had informed them that her father had been released and was at home.

  Facing her parents at the hospital would have been easier than returning here, but she tried to tell herself that his release was a good sign for his health. Now, Sully was driving slowly, not just due to the rough road, but he must have sensed she needed some time. Her pulse was already pumping faster as nerves and anxiety took over.

  Just seeing the village again dredged up old feelings and hurts. She felt her old self—the one that always wanted to please and put her own feelings and wishes aside to do it—return. Would it even matter how much she’d changed, if the first thing she felt was to become who’d she’d been before? Any sense of independence or confidence she’d gained in the last few years seemed to disappear as they got closer and closer to her past life.

  Why was that? Why couldn’t she be the confident person she was now? Why couldn’t she be ‘current-Persy’, the one who was trying new things and in a potentially long-term relationship, not the insecure, worthless-feeling ‘previous-Persy’?

  She rubbed her arms but not against a chill. Fear was piercing the armor she’d created and built over the last few years; she was scared it would all but disappear by the time they reached her parents. She’d be left vulnerable and alone once again and, this time, if they rejected her or blamed her still, it would decimate everything she’d become.

  “We’ll get through this, honey.”

  Their hands reached for each other, linking easily. He felt solid and warm. Her pulse steadied. “Thanks for coming with me.”

  “There’s no place I’d rather be. I’m here for you, and with you, honey.” He lifted their joined hands and kissed hers. She felt the heat of it tingle through her hand and up her arm.

  They turned around a bend and now the village loomed large.

  “Steady. Take a deep breath.”

  She hadn’t even realized her breathing had become uneven. She took a deep breath, then another. They slowed down even more as they reached the road leading to the village square. They’d have to drive through the village to get to her parent’s house.

  “Oh God.”

  “What is it?”

  She’d caught sight of Nettie Mackenzie leaving the bakery, her arms holding a box steady.

  Tom’s mother.

  Her former mother-in-law.

  The woman who’d insisted Persy call her ‘Mother’ until Molly died. Then she’d asked Persy to call her Mrs. Mackenzie.

  “It’s my ex-mother-in-law. Just there.”

  He squeezed her hand. “No need to worry about her right now.”

  She nodded and watched the scenery as they drove farther. It got more rural and farms appeared. This one was Old Man Leary’s, that one belonged to the Stewarts. Her childhood friend, Michaela, had lived over the next hill, but they’d lost touch when they’d each gotten married within months of each other. Michaela moved north after her marriage.

  She never realized how easily she’d lost touch with her, with all the girls who’d gotten married and left the village. Why did a woman have to lose part of herself to get married?

  If she ever got married again—and that was a big if—she wouldn’t let herself make the same mistakes.

  She gave Sully a surreptitious glance. It wasn’t lost on her that she was thinking of marriage and sitting next to him at the same time. He said he wanted something long-term with her, but they hadn’t discussed if that meant marriage or just a long-term commitment. Until her past was settled, as much as it could be anyway, she couldn’t think about anything long-term.

  As they drove over another hill, now minutes away from her parents, she pushed those thoughts aside. “Just there. The next right.”

  A small lane, barely enough for one car, was just visible. It was graveled and grown over; her father had never bothered with proper paving, as the generation before him had never bothered either.

  Her heart was beating faster and harder, and a new rush of memories came back.

  Gardening with her mother—the flowers were just on the cusp of blooming now.

  Playing in the small gazebo out back that her father had built for her mother. She’d wanted to get married in it, but ‘it’s not a proper wedding if it’s not in a church’, her mother had said.

  Back in the present, they rumbled over the uneven ground, their bodies jerking and bumping.

  The front door opened and her mother stepped out. It was an image she’d seen countless times over the years: an apron covering her ma’s dress, a pair of sensible and comfortable heels on her feet, her hair—now gray and white, which was new—in a loose bun at the top.

  Her ma’s mouth dropped open and she clutched the storm door. By the time they’d parked behind her da’s beat-up truck, her ma was wringing her hands with a look of pain on her face.

  Her ma had always been loud and bossy and confident.

  Now, she looked worried and wary.

  Persy’d decided against phoning to let them know she was in Ireland. Maybe she should have given them a warning, but if they’d turn her away again she’d wanted to see their faces when they did it, not just hear it from their lips over the phone.

  They stepped out, both meeting at the front of the hire car. Sully took her hand.

  Her mother glanced down at their hands, then up to Sully, then over to her. “Oh, Persy.”

  They ran towards each other. Persy hadn’t even realized she’d done it until she was in her mother’s arms.

  They felt good. So warm and familiar.

  Welcoming.

  She knew their problems couldn’t be handled with just a hug, but it felt like a good start.

  Her ma cupped her cheeks. “You’re home. Oh, you’re home.” Her mother pulled her back in a hug.

  Persy’s voice was thick and rough. “I heard about Da. How is he?”

  “Oh, you did?” Her mother pulled back, sniffling and drying her eyes with her apron. “He’s better. He got a lot of rest today. He’s just in the parlor.”

  Would her da be as happy to see her as her mother was? “Should I go see him?”

  Her ma touched her cheek, more tears welling. “Oh, I think so. I think he’d be right glad to see you.”

  When her ma stepped back, she caught sight of Sully again. “And who’s this?”

  Persy nodded to him and Sully stepped forward and took her hand again. “Ma, this is Ronan Sullivan. Sully, this is my mother, Theresa.”

  He held out his hand and his mother shook it lightly. “Ma�
�am. Nice to meet you.”

  Her mother’s eyes darted between her and Sully. “It’s nice to meet you as well. Maybe just, uh, give me a minute to let your father know you’re here before you come in.”

  She opened the storm door and disappeared quickly inside.

  Sully smoothed a hand down her back. “You doing all right?”

  Persy rubbed her arms, though she wasn’t cold. “That went okay. Didn’t it?”

  “I think so. It’s just gonna take some time to get over the awkwardness. Give it that time, and then we’ll see.”

  She nodded, and her ma came into view again and waved them in.

  Sully opened the door, and she stepped inside.

  It looked so familiar. Nothing had changed. Even the smell—God, the smell; she’d missed it—of her mother’s cooking and baking, and the soft scent of cleaner filled the air.

  How odd it was to be back. It didn’t feel like her home anymore, yet, at the same time, it did.

  Her boots tapped against the wood floors, then silenced on the carpet of the parlor. She sensed Sully following close behind but didn’t turn to look. She only had eyes for the man in the chair with his leg propped up.

  “Da?”

  His eyes were wet, but no tears were falling. He held his arms out wide and called to her. “Persephone. My baby.”

  She bent down and hugged him. A different kind of comfort, familiarity, and love, but it was there all the same. Just as she’d had it with her mother.

  She pulled back and settled next to his hip, careful not to disturb his leg. “How are you?”

  He waved the question away. “I’ll heal. Stupid tractor. I’ll have to replace the whole thing. How are you?” His eyes drifted to Sully.

  “Da, this is Ronan Sullivan. Sully, this is my father, Bill.”

  Sully extended his hand, shaking her da’s in a much firmer hold than he’d done with her ma. “Sir. Pleased to meet you.”

  Her father gave him an appraising look as their hands separated. “Sounds like you’re from Dublin, are you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re in Valleria now?”

  “I’m in the Garda, on assignment in Valleria as an Irish liaison.”

  Her father’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you then? Well.” He turned his head and spoke to her ma.

  “I could do with a bite to eat, love.”

  Her mother was drying her eyes again. “Yes, yes of course. Persy, would you like to come help?”

  Persy glanced between her father and Sully and hoped they’d be all right alone. “Sure, Ma.”

  She and Sully brushed hands as they passed, her to the kitchen and him to the sofa to sit near her father.

  When she reached the kitchen, her ma was flitting around.

  “I’d already started a roast. Your Ronan—oh, sorry, Sully, was it?—he’ll eat roast, won’t he? What luck, you coming back on the night I’m making my roast. It’ll be just the thing.”

  “Sully likes roast, Ma.” Persy wasn’t positive about that, but he seemed to eat most anything.

  She stood near the entrance, unsure what to do. She’d spent a lot of time in the kitchen with her ma growing up. The wooden cabinets were still the same, as were the appliances. Perhaps she was surprised that everything was the same, because she was so different. She expected everything else to be different, too.

  And it was, but only to her.

  Her ma’s back was to her as she stirred something on the stove. “Are you back for good, then? Or will you need to go back to pack up your things?”

  She frowned. “Pack up?”

  “To move back. Will you want to move in here again? Or will you move to Dublin with your Sully?”

  Her chest tightened at the thought of moving home. She couldn’t do it. Being back here…she was glad to see her parents, but more than that she didn’t think she could do.

  Her heart broke a little, because in that moment she finally realized that Ireland wasn’t home anymore. She’d thought it, but now she knew it would never be home again. She couldn’t come back here to live, not even to Dublin for Sully. She’d have to find a way to tell him later.

  For now, it was clear her ma had jumped to some big conclusions. Persy shook her head and sat down at the table. “Ma, I’m not coming back.”

  Her mother was still turned away. “Of course you are. No need to run away now, is there? We’ve made up and, oh, your Da’s missed you something awful.”

  Her ma turned to her. “I have, too.”

  Her breath hitched. “I missed you both, too. This is the first time I’m seeing you in years. We still have things to talk about, but I’m not moving back.”

  Her mother turned down the stove and sat down next to her. “B-but, you’re seeing an Irish boy. You wouldn’t do that if you didn’t miss home.”

  “Ma, I’m not moving back. Not ever.”

  “B-but you need to. Who’ll look after us if you’re not here? We managed all right when your da got hurt this time, but something worse could happen and you’ll be half a world away—”

  “Valleria is a couple hours by plane.”

  “And it only takes a moment for one of us to die, Persephone Mackenzie.”

  She winced at the thought of her parents dying, and at the sound of her married name. She hadn’t used it in years, had gone back to her maiden name after the divorce, but her mother clearly didn’t agree with that decision.

  She could feel it, feel herself sliding into the role of the Persy she used to be. That Persy would have apologized to her ma and done anything to avoid conflict.

  She wasn’t that Persy anymore. She had to be firm but not cruel. “Ma, please don’t say things like that.”

  Her ma pursed her lips, then spoke again. “The man you brought with you is Irish, Persy. Is he the man of his family?”

  She couldn’t lie, so she nodded.

  “Well, then he’s not one to put aside his duties, from what I can see. He’ll be coming back home, and he’ll expect you to come back with him.”

  Expect. God, she hated that word. Expectations had made her every decision. She’d never regretted it—because those expectations had led to Molly—but she’d always wondered what her life would have been like if expectations for what she should do, had been replaced by acceptance of what she actually wanted. Would she have been a different mother if she’d waited a few years to have Molly? Would she have been more confident, more self-assured? Would she have told her daughter she could become whoever she wanted to be, or would Persy have forced the same expectations on her, even unintentionally?

  She took a deep breath. Molly was gone, and she’d never forget her, but living with the ‘what ifs’ was draining, and she was tired of it. She had to be stronger, show her ma she was stronger now. The last time her ma had seen her, she’d been broken. She’d always done what was asked of her until she got divorced. It was time to show her ma that she’d changed, and that the way she’d changed wasn’t bad.

  “You’re right. Not about all of it,” Persy added quickly. “But, yes, to some of it. Sully is the sort of man who understands his duties. He’s also the sort of man who respects me and my decisions, and I don’t know that I can ever come back to live here.”

  “Persy—”

  “Please, just listen to me.”

  Her mother pursed her lips and nodded.

  “There’s so much pain here. If it was just the pain of losing Molly, maybe I could have coped with it, but there’s also the pain of seeing all of you.”

  Her ma’s mouth fell open. “Seeing us? Whatever do you mean?”

  “I don’t feel safe here.”

  Her mother shot out of her chair, her hand going to her heart. “We’d never harm you! Not a hair on your head!”

  She was shaking her head. “I don’t mean physically safe, I mean emotionally. You all turned your back on me. I’d lost my baby girl and you all blamed me. I-I…Even now, I hear the words at night. Tom’s. Yours. Da’s. Everyone’s.
All blaming me for something that can’t be blamed.”

  Her ma sat down quickly, her face ravaged. “Oh, Persephone. I thought you’d forgiven us. I thought that’s why you came. I thought—”

  “I’m sorry.” The words slipped from her lips before she’d realized she’d done it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you false hope.”

  “So, you haven’t forgiven us then?”

  “It’s not about forgiveness. It’s about acceptance. You, everyone, all of you need to accept that I shouldn’t stay with a man who would accuse me of hurting a child, much less my child. Everyone in this village has known me practically since I was born. Yet, no one helped me. I felt so alone.”

  She started crying, sobbing at the memories that came flooding back in a wave. She buried her face in her hands, desperate to hide the pain.

  She heard her ma’s words the day of the funeral. “You shouldn’t cry in public, Persy. Crying’s best left for private. Everyone’ll think you’re just after some false sympathy, and no one wants to see it.”

  Then the whispers at the funeral. “Who doesn’t know their child’s died a room away? Makes you wonder what kind of mother she was.”

  Tom’s anger when she left, weeks after the funeral. “Go ahead! Divorce me. I’d rather have a wife who knows how to be a mother.”

  Tom’s mother, Nettie, hissing her words, just feet away from Tom who’d done nothing to defend her. “My son should never have married you. He deserved better.”

  Better.

  Better.

  Better.

  Her ma’s arms wound around her shoulders, breaking the chain of memories. She didn’t need to open her eyes to confirm it was her ma; she’d never forgotten the feel of her ma’s arms around her.

  “I’m so sorry, Persy.” Her ma’s voice trembled as she cried, too. Persy could feel the moisture from her ma’s tears on her neck. “I’m so sorry. We were wrong. So wrong.”

  Her ma pulled back to wipe her tears, and Persy wiped her own.

  “Since you left the village, it’s become clear that Nettie, well, she never got over losing M-Molly.”

  Persy’s breath caught. It was the first time she’d heard her ma say Molly’s name since before she’d died. Though her parents had told her before they didn’t blame her for Molly’s death, this was the first time she felt her ma actually meant it and was sorry they’d believed it at all.