“What’s going on?” Molly asked. “Where’s Dad? Why’s the ferry still here?”
Fred held up one finger, gasping for air after his short sprint. “Bobby delayed gettin’ here so long’s he could,” he wheezed. “We pretended the engine broke down halfway here. To give you time to get back.”
“Why?”
He leaned over, his hands braced on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “Katie, your mom and dad are here.”
Chapter 21
KATHLEEN NEVER DID REMEMBER much about the drive to the cottage. She imagined her heart was pounding and her hands were shaking but, honestly, she couldn’t recall. She only remembered the pressure of Molly’s hand, holding tightly to hers, anchoring her.
A shiny, black Land Rover was parked in the drive, along with Joe’s truck. A small group of people was gathered on the porch. Blossom came bounding to Kathleen when she got out of the Toyota. He wagged his whole body as she rubbed him. She took a deep breath and straightened to face her parents.
Kathleen nearly didn’t recognize her mother. Under her perfectly coifed hair—blonde now—and makeup, her eyes and cheeks were sunken. Her expensive clothing couldn’t hide the angularity of her thin frame. Only her ever-present cigarette was the same. Her father looked as he always did, handsome, with more streaks of gray in his auburn hair than Kathleen remembered. His eyes, though, were hard.
“Mom, Dad.”
“It’s about time you got back,” Michael snapped.
Kathleen felt a stir of irritation. “Well, I didn’t know you were coming, did I?”
“That’s what we told him,” Joe said.
For the first time, Kathleen realized that Jenny, Joe, Rebecca, and Louisa were all gathered there, standing like some kind of barrier between her parents and the front door.
“What are you doing here?” she asked them.
“That’s what I want to know,” Michael said. “I’d like to get into my house.”
Rebecca stepped forward. “It’s not your house. It never was.”
Michael visibly bristled. “It was mine as soon as my mother died.”
Rebecca deliberately turned her back on him to face Kathleen. “It’s time to go.”
“Go?” Kathleen stared at her. “Go where?”
“You’ll see,” Molly said. She tugged on Kathleen’s hand and led her back toward the Toyota. Louisa and Rebecca joined them while Joe and Jenny headed to the truck.
“Where are you going?” Michael demanded.
Jenny called over her shoulder, “You and Christine are welcome to join us.”
Kathleen’s head was spinning so fast, it felt as if she were in some kind of bizarre dream in which she was being shunted from one surreal scenario to another.
Molly pulled out of the drive and turned away from town.
“Where are we going?” Kathleen asked.
Louisa leaned forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll see in a minute, Katie.”
The sun was below the trees and an indigo twilight was falling as Molly pulled into the cemetery. Kathleen’s heart sank. She should have known. Twenty-five years. Of course they’d all be thinking of Bryan. Molly parked, and they got out.
“What are all these other cars doing here?” Kathleen asked.
Behind them, the Land Rover ground to a halt.
“Come with me.” Molly took her by the hand again and led her past the chapel to the stone ring.
The interior glowed in the gathering darkness. They ducked under the low stone lintel to find the space lit by at least a hundred candles.
“Happy Birthday, Katie,” said Louisa.
Kathleen found herself engulfed in hugs and kisses from Wilma and Tim and Miranda and Siobhan and more than a dozen others.
“Aidan!”
Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly.
“What the hell is this?” Michael demanded as he and Christine stepped into the flickering light inside the stones. “What are you doing?”
“Celebrating,” Rebecca said.
“How dare you.”
Kathleen turned as her mother spoke for the first time.
Christine’s face was wraithlike in the candlelight. Her sunken eyes burned. “It’s the anniversary of my son’s death, and you’re celebrating?”
Rebecca’s nostrils flared, but her voice remained steady. “We’re celebrating life.”
Michael looked around. “Life? What life?”
Jenny stepped nearer to face them. “Do you even remember, have you ever remembered that this isn’t just the day Bryan died? It’s also Kathleen’s birthday.”
Michael’s mouth was already twisted with a retort which he never uttered as he stared at Kathleen, his eyes wide.
Jenny smiled. “That’s what we’re celebrating. We’re choosing to celebrate the gift of the person who is still with us while we honor the memory of the one who went on.”
Rebecca scowled. “He’ll never understand. He never did.”
Jenny, though, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s time you stopped blaming Kathleen for living.”
“Blame her? Of course we don’t blame her for living.”
Jenny’s gaze moved beyond him, to where Christine stood. “She does.”
“No, she d—” One look at his wife’s face silenced him.
Christine’s features remained a mask. Kathleen waited to see if her mother would look at her, would finally see her standing there, alive and breathing, and be glad for it, but…
Aidan shouldered his way past his mother, gently nudging her aside. “If you want to blame someone, blame me. I’m the one who dared him. I’m the one who went out with him. I’m the one who came back when Bryan didn’t.”
Michael looked as if he’d like nothing more than to plant his balled-up fist in Aidan’s face. Aidan must have sensed it, because he stood still, offering himself to Michael’s wrath.
“No.”
Kathleen felt as startled as everyone else looked. For a moment, she searched, too, for whoever had spoken before realizing it had burst from her. She stood frozen for a second when her father fixed her with his icy stare, but then she took Aidan’s hand.
“Bryan was being stupid that whole summer. He was sneaking out at night, climbing out his window and doing all kinds of risky things. He could just as easily have fallen and broken his neck climbing down that tree. He asked me not to tell Nanna, and I didn’t.”
Her chin trembled. “I could have stopped it, but I didn’t. It was an accident. It’s not Aidan’s fault.”
“And it’s not yours,” Aidan said softly.
“Bryan did what we all did, Michael,” Joe said. “You and I, all the other kids our age, we all did the same foolish stuff growing up here. But we got away with it.”
He laid a hand on Aidan’s shoulder. “Part of me would have died if Aidan had been lost in that storm, too, but I wouldn’t have loved my other children any less.”
A heavy silence followed.
Louisa took Kathleen by the hand. “Come, Katie.”
She led Kathleen to the center of the circle with the others gathered round.
“If Maisie were alive,” Louisa said, “she would be the one to do this, your first birthday after deciding to make your life here. As the oldest one here, and her friend, I’m chosen.”
Rebecca handed her a small pine branch. Louisa held it in the flame of one of the candles until it ignited, flaring brightly in the darkness. She let it burn so that the glowing ashes dropped into a bowl that Rebecca held. She mixed the ashes with some oily substance in the bowl.
Rebecca pulled out her knife, smiling at the expression on Kathleen’s face. “Just a couple of drops.”
Kathleen held her hand out and let Rebecca stab her finger, squeezing a few drops of blood into the oil and ashes. She stirred the mixture with her knife.
Using her thumb, Louisa daubed a smear of oily ashes on Kathleen’s lips. “May you speak only truth.”
Kathleen did as she was told to let Louisa daub more of the ashes on her eyelids. “May you see only beauty.”
Next, her forehead. “May you know your soul’s purpose while you walk in this world.”
She tugged the collar of Kathleen’s shirt down and painted a swatch of ashes over her heart. “May you always give and know love.”
Kathleen opened eyes that shimmered with tears. “Thank you.”
Louisa bent to scrape what remained of the mixture into a hole Rebecca had dug with her knife. With the dirt tamped back in place, Louisa stood and enfolded Kathleen in an embrace. From the corner of her eye, Kathleen saw her mother leave the stone ring. She closed her eyes again. When she opened them, her father was gone, too.
A LIGHT BREEZE BLEW through the screen, bringing the smell of a storm. It would be here before morning. Molly eased out of bed without disturbing Kathleen. Blossom lifted his head to watch as she crept to the hall. She waggled her fingers at him, and he followed. Together, they went downstairs and out onto the front porch. She sat on the edge of the porch, and he sat, too, leaning against her.
Overhead, heavy clouds had moved in. The wind teased Molly’s hair as she swiveled her head, listening. For what, she wasn’t sure.
Something had shifted last evening. Standing in that circle, when Aidan and then Kathleen had stepped up to face Michael, something like a whisper had rippled through those ancient stones, bringing goosebumps as Molly watched them.
The rest of Kathleen’s birthday celebration had been perfect, just as planned. From the stone circle, they had all gone into the chapel where food waited. Wilma had brought a cake, beautifully decorated by Nels, with icing flowers in blues and greens. It looked like one of Kathleen’s paintings.
Molly recalled her own tar abháile—her homecoming. The boys had all followed tradition and done theirs the first birthday after they graduated from school, even though they hadn’t actually gone anywhere. But Molly had gone away, to college and then the academy. Even after she’d come back, she’d been so unsettled that Rebecca had refused. Not until the next August, with Molly resigned more or less to doing the sheriff’s job and starting to establish her fixit work, had Rebecca taken her to the circle on her twenty-third birthday and anointed her. Molly smiled now, remembering how instantly it had felt as if a huge weight had been lifted. This island was exactly where she wanted to be, and that ancient ceremony—one blended from the First Ones and the Irish—had confirmed it for her.
She’d wanted the same for Kathleen. She’d wanted her first birthday celebration in twenty-five years to be the thing that anchored her here, on Little Sister. But then her parents had to show up. Molly didn’t really believe in coincidences. Michael and Christine just happening to show up on this particular day was no accident.
All evening, Molly had kept a close eye on Kathleen, waiting for some break in her composure, but it hadn’t come. When they got home—both relieved to find that Michael was not waiting there for them—Molly had expected Kathleen to dissolve into tears once they were alone. But there’d been no tears.
“Thank you. For the best day I can remember in forever,” Kathleen had said, wrapping her arms around Molly’s neck to kiss her.
“I wanted it to be perfect,” Molly said morosely.
“It was perfect.”
Molly had been ready to argue, but Kathleen’s soft lips silenced her, and they hadn’t spoken of it again as they lost themselves in lovemaking.
She glanced up to where Kathleen lay sleeping, wondering if she was as okay as she seemed. She gave Blossom a rub.
“Let’s go back to bed. Maybe even sleep a little.”
KATHLEEN STOOD, A MUG of coffee cradled in her hands, as she watched the storm from the shelter of the back porch. The rain fell in gray curtains, gusty winds bent the trees, and black clouds filled the sky. There was little likelihood the ferry would make it to Little Sister today, which meant there was little chance her parents would just disappear.
She sighed and took a sip of coffee.
“What did you expect?” she muttered. “For her to break down in tears? Beg your forgiveness and declare she never meant what she said?”
For years, she’d wondered what it was about her that made it impossible for her mother to love her the way she’d loved Bryan. She’d tried to do little extra things—clean the house without being asked; bake her mother some cookies; bring home fresh flowers—but none of those things had worked. They hadn’t even been acknowledged. And always, always, Kathleen had secretly thought it had to be something lacking in her.
But last evening, everything had shifted.
For the first time, Kathleen had seen her mother, not as her mother, but as a broken, bitter woman, unwilling or unable to rise above her grief.
“Hey.”
She roused herself at the sound of Molly’s voice and went into the kitchen to find her pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“You were up early,” Molly said. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“That sounded convincing.” Molly set her cup down and sat.
Kathleen joined her at the table. “I’m fine. Really. Just thinking.”
“Probably hard not to, after last night.”
Kathleen nodded. Molly reached for her hand and frowned at their intertwined fingers.
“Are you going to go into town to see them?”
Kathleen didn’t need to ask who “them” was. “I don’t know. Probably. I still have to talk to my father about the lawsuit.”
“It’s not your responsibility to stop him, you know. That’s why we hired an attorney.”
“I know, but I need to do what I can. If I don’t at least try…”
Molly nodded.
Blossom jumped up and trotted toward the front of the house, growling. Molly and Kathleen followed.
“Crap.”
Kathleen reached for Molly’s hand at the sight of the Land Rover pulling to a halt in the drive. A black umbrella speared the air when the driver’s door opened. Michael splashed his way to the porch, flapping his umbrella as he jogged up the steps.
He propped the umbrella against the wall and pulled the storm door open before skidding to a halt when he found Kathleen and Molly standing shoulder to shoulder.
“Oh.” He took a step back off the threshold and cleared his throat. “Never had to knock to come into this house before.”
“Things are different now,” Molly said coolly.
He ignored her and stared at Kathleen. “I’d like to talk to you.”
Kathleen stepped aside. With a small nod at Molly, she signaled her willingness. It had to be done and this saved her a trip into town.
Molly hesitated a moment and then said, “I’ll be at the house, working with Mom today.”
Kathleen caught her by the hand as she headed out the door and deliberately kissed her. “See you for supper.”
She led the way back to the kitchen. Michael took his time, looking around.
“Not much has changed here,” he commented as he followed her.
“Some things have changed.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Kathleen got another mug down. “Coffee?”
“Sure.”
Michael sat at the kitchen table while Blossom watched them from the safety of his position under the dining table and chairs.
Kathleen refilled her own coffee, careful not to drop the two mugs from her suddenly sweating hands, and joined him at the table. An awkward silence filled the kitchen.
“I… I didn’t realize,” Michael began. “I never meant to ignore you or your birthday after…”
Kathleen gripped her mug hard, steeling herself. I will not cry. “I guess it’s understandable that everyone only remembers Bryan on that day. But it’s been kind of hard.”
She forced herself to meet her father’s gaze and was pleased when he had to look away. He stalle
d, sipping his coffee.
She decided to press her advantage. “Why did you come here?” she asked. “It clearly wasn’t to wish me a Happy Birthday.”
Michael’s jaw clenched, but he absorbed the verbal punch. “Twenty-five years. It felt like a milestone, of sorts.”
Kathleen nodded. That she understood. “I think that’s part of what drew me here.”
Michael sat back, his eyes hard. “But it’s more than that. You’ve been here for months.”
Kathleen braced herself. “I’m staying. This is my home now.”
His mouth compressed. “Why? Why would you throw away the life you had for this godforsaken rock?”
Kathleen smiled. “I’ve found the life I always wanted. I’ve found people who welcome and accept me for me.”
Michael angled his head. “This cottage doesn’t belong to you.”
She recognized that expression, the one he reserved for his business deals, for when he gloated about defeating his opponents.
“No. It doesn’t.”
Whatever he had expected her to say, whatever counterarguments he had prepared for her protests, he apparently hadn’t expected this simple admission. He stared at her.
“It doesn’t belong to anyone.”
He frowned. “It was my mother’s. She died without a will. That makes it mine.”
Kathleen eyed him over the rim of her cup. “It never belonged to Nanna.”
“Of course it belonged to her. Christ, she lived here for almost seventy years. The mortgage must have been paid off decades ago.”
Kathleen shook her head. “No house on this island belongs to anyone. Neither does the land. It all belongs to an island trust. It’s only leased to us. Nanna was a tenant. That’s what I am. A tenant. I’m nothing more than a caretaker.”
The look on her father’s face as he absorbed this was priceless, Kathleen thought.
“Of course, you do have first dibs,” she continued. “If no one from our family had claimed it within a year of Nanna’s death, then it would have become available to the other islanders in a lottery. That’s how it works here. I didn’t know that, and I arrived just a month before that deadline. But I will move out if you or Aunt Moira want to live here.”
When the Stars Sang Page 29
