Soaring (9781311625663)

by Ashley, Kristen

  I had a feeling Mickey had already earned my baby girl’s stamp of approval.

  Just because he meant something to me.

  And fortunately, even though she’d waited up, obviously she hadn’t heard her brother and me talking about Polly.

  I smiled to myself as I turned away from the door, wandered down the hall, took off my cardigan and threw it on the arm of the daybed, kicked off my sequined slippers and climbed into bed.

  Then I, Amelia Hathaway, who’d grown up not learning how to deal and never having a solid foundation, after a very rough night, fell right to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  My Umbrella

  I was Pledging my fabulous new dining room table that looked perfect in its place in my great room and better, the bowl I’d bought that began my new beginning looked perfect in the middle of the table, when my phone rang.

  I wandered to it, thinking I needed a rug under it and wondering if I’d be able to find that, and arrange for Mickey—and perhaps Junior and Jake, with the help of Auden—to come and move the huge, heavy table in order to put the rug under it.

  This was a happy thought, which made the announcement on the display even more annoying than it normally would be, considering it obliterated my happy thought.

  I sighed and wondered if I should perhaps not be grown up all the time as I took the call and put the phone to my ear.

  “Conrad,” I greeted.

  “You didn’t phone my secretary,” he replied.

  No hello. He didn’t even say my name in greeting.

  This was not starting out great.

  “I’m sorry. You called during an important evening and it slipped my mind,” I somewhat lied.

  He ignored my mention of the important evening and asked, “Now that I have you, when can we meet?”

  “Perhaps first you can tell me why we’re meeting,” I suggested.

  “We need to talk,” he said shortly.

  “I could guess that. But about what?”

  “This situation with the children isn’t working.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way but it’s working for me”

  “I can imagine it is. But it isn’t for Martine.”

  Like I gave a crap.

  He had to know I felt that way so I didn’t tell him that.

  “They’re of an age they can decide where they want to spend their time,” I informed him of something he knew, since he’d forced them to make that decision in a legal way. “But more, it would seem from their demeanor that they enjoy that freedom. I think, as their parents, having put them in a position where they have to divide their time between us, giving them the ability to do that as they wish is something we should allow.”

  “The way things are, Amelia, Martine doesn’t know if they’re going to be home for dinner. If she’ll need to pack lunches for them. This affects grocery shopping—”

  I interrupted him, “I face the same thing. However, I do find it’s easy to cope with making last minute adjustments. And they aren’t six and eight, Conrad. They can pack their own lunches, something they do at my house.”

  “Martine likes to be certain they eat healthy,” he returned. “You would find it easy as they’re your children so you’d make those adjustments as a matter of course. We can’t forget that they aren’t Martine’s children, their home is her home, and the mingling of that has to be managed. This is not managed well.”

  The mingling of that has to be managed?

  This entire thing was making me uneasy.

  “Conrad, I don’t need to remind you that your wife chose to pledge her troth to a man with children. Thus she had a readymade family, which I’m sorry if you disagree, but it’s my feeling she would need to adjust to fit within that family, make our children comfortable in the home she shares with them, not her home, all of your home, and do what’s best for them. If this means she has to endure the horror of cold cuts going bad because someone isn’t eating them, I’m sure she’ll eventually find it in her to survive.”

  “There’s no need to get ugly,” he clipped.

  “You’re taking my time to share the fact that your wife is annoyed she can’t predict what groceries she needs to buy for the week, Conrad. I’m busy. I have a life. I don’t have time for these trivialities. Honestly?”

  “Our children aren’t trivialities, Amelia,” he snapped.

  “We aren’t discussing our children,” I shot back. “We’re discussing your wife. And to me, she is. Now, unless there’s some real reason that this situation with the children cannot continue as it stands that you wish to discuss, the discussion is over. Things remain as they are and Martine has to find it in her to deal.”

  “Fuck, why did I think you’d give that first shit about managing an issue with our kids?”

  “Because this isn’t an issue with our kids,” I whispered my reply. “You have an issue at home with your wife.” That was a guess but with this ridiculous conversation, with the way I now knew my children were escaping that house and with what I knew of my ex-husband, it was a guess I suspected was correct. “You’re making this my issue because you can’t sort it yourself. I do not factor in your life, Conrad. I do not want to factor in your life. I will not be dragged into issues you have in your home with your wife. So do not ever call me when things are not going well for you unless that genuinely involves our children.”

  “I’m assuming this is your way of telling me that even though you’ve at long last settled down and pulled yourself together, you don’t wish to participate in a team effort in the raising of our children.”

  How could he take that from what I said?

  “Am I speaking English?” I asked.

  “Go fuck yourself, Amelia,” he retorted and hung up on me.

  God, what a dick.

  I stared at my phone now knowing things were not good with Conrad and Martine.

  I didn’t give a crap about that.

  I was worried about my kids.

  Shit.

  * * * * *

  Later that morning, I pushed open the door to Dove House and my eyes went right to the reception area where I saw Ruth sitting.

  “Hey,” I greeted.

  I was surprised she was there. Ruth was still volunteering but sporadically, mostly because my three days a week, three hours a day had morphed into four days a week, four to five hours a day, and since I was there so often Dela didn’t really need another volunteer who may or may not be in it for the long haul (the last part was what she really didn’t need).

  We always needed help, though, so Ruth filled in here and there, but it was no longer regular.

  “Hey, Amelia,” she replied.

  “Good to see you,” I said, shrugging off my jacket.

  “You too,” she returned. “But, um…Dela wants to see you too. In her office.”

  I focused more closely on her and saw her usual pretty, benevolent features were shadowed with something.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  “Dela wants to speak with you, hon,” she repeated.

  I stared at her, nodded and went to the door that led to the administration wing. I didn’t have to punch in the code because Ruth buzzed me in.

  I walked down the short hall to Dela’s office, jacket over my arm, purse over my shoulder, and stopped in her opened office door. I knocked on the jamb, and when her head came up and she looked at me, I said, “Hey, Dela. Ruth wanted me to check in with you?”

  “Yes, Amelia, come in, would you? Have a seat.”

  She swept an arm to the chairs in front of her messy desk, and cautiously, I moved to one, feeling funny.

  I’d been working there a while. I knew the lay of the land. I knew my duties. I knew when to pitch in, where and how. I knew the chain of command. I took tough stuff and easy stuff. Unless they thought I was a Nazi, all the residents liked me. I thought I did a good job.

  I could not imagine I’d done something wrong.

  Studying Dela’s
face as I sat and tucked my purse and jacket into my lap, I couldn’t get a read on if it was saying I was in trouble or something else.

  I just knew whatever it was saying wasn’t good.

  “What’s going on?” I asked once I’d settled.

  “Amelia, honey, worst part of this job but I have bad news for you, girl.”

  I tensed.

  She gave it to me.

  “Mrs. McMurphy passed away last night.”

  My lips parted and my throat started burning.

  “I’m sorry, Amelia,” she went on, sounding like she absolutely was. “You were real good with her and I know she liked you, even if she thought you were a Nazi. This is tough news to hear and I hate havin’ to give it to you.”

  “But, she was okay yesterday,” my mouth said for me, my voice sounding far away in my head.

  Dela shrugged, keeping kind eyes on me. “Happens. Sometimes outta the blue like that. One minute their accusin’ you of bein’ in cahoots with Hitler. The next minute, peace.” She got up, walked around her desk, sat in the chair next to me and leaned in to grab my hand. She held it between us and said softly, “First one’s always the hardest, girl. Gotta say, plain truth, second one isn’t a whole lot better. We know ’em. We care for ’em. We give ’em what we can to make their time with us as best as it can be. It isn’t easy for them to be in here. And one thing we give ’em that they don’t know they’re gettin’ is how hard it is to find it in us to be able to say good-bye.”

  I heard her. She was saying the right things.

  But I looked to the window, wondering how on earth I could spend my days at Dove House without Mrs. McMurphy.

  It was raining outside, gray, cold and windy, but I didn’t see that.

  I saw Mrs. McMurphy walking down the front walk in her coat with her umbrella on a sunny day.

  It was no longer funny.

  Right then, it pierced my heart and made it bleed.

  I felt a tug at my hand and my eyes drifted to Dela.

  “You with me?” she asked.

  “They’ll all go.” My mouth was still speaking for me in that distant way.

  “Eventually, we all go, honey.”

  She was right.

  Mrs. Osborn.

  Mrs. Porter.

  God. Mr. Dennison.

  “Not many folk have gifts like you and me.”

  I focused again on Dela at her words.

  “We get it,” she said, still gentle, but also now firm. “We got the strength others don’t have not ever to show to them we know they’ll go but we’ll suffer the good-bye. We just keep on givin’ ’em the good. That’s our job. That’s our gift. You with me?”

  Somewhere in my dazed brain I understood she was challenging me.

  And somewhere in my dazed brain I wondered if she actually saw that strength in me or if she wanted me to reach for it, believe in me, grab hold and give that to the folks I helped look after.

  Perhaps the Amelia Hathaway my parents raised wouldn’t actually have that gift Dela was talking about.

  But the Amelia Hathaway I’d become in spite of that definitely had it.

  So it wasn’t just my mouth that replied, “I’m with you, Dela.”

  I saw relief flash in her eyes, knew then she thought this sad event, like it had probably with others, would have me leaving.

  But truly, if I did, who would Mr. Dennison flirt with?

  I tipped my head toward the wall. “Are they upset?” I asked.

  Her hand clenched in mine before she let it go and sat back. “The ones who been around awhile, they’re dealing. The new ones, not so much.”

  “I better get out there,” I told her.

  “Yeah,” she replied.

  “Thanks for being so kind in telling me.”

  “Practice,” she murmured like she wished she didn’t have it.

  I figured she didn’t want that practice (because who would?) as I gave her a smile that I hoped reassured her, got up and went to the door.

  I turned in it to see she was up and rounding her desk.

  “Do you have any idea why she thought I was a Nazi?”

  Dela lifted her eyes to me as I spoke and shook her head after I was done. “No clue. The woman thought I was Rosa Parks. Every time she saw me she congratulated me on the courage I showed on that bus. Now I’ve seen a fair few pictures of Ms. Parks and not in one of them did the woman have braids. But didn’t matter. Mrs. McMurphy lived in her own world and until the end it was a safe world. Somethin’ else we can give. Somethin’ she got.”

  Yes. That was something we gave. Even as a Nazi, she never feared me.

  So that was something she got.

  “Thanks, Dela,” I said.

  “Not a problem, honey,” she replied.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Long time ago, I learned what was important to give and through that, how to deal.”

  I nodded, gave her a wave and walked out of her door to get to the residents.

  I spent part of my time there seeing to things that needed to get done, but most of it I spent being with the resident, taking their pulse, being sensitive and as business as usual in the circumstances as I could be.

  It was not a fun day.

  And at the end of it, I did something that was probably not right.

  But I didn’t care.

  I went to Mrs. McMurphy’s room, stole that broken umbrella and took it home with me.

  I didn’t know why I wanted it.

  What I did know was that it would always be with me.

  * * * * *

  I stood at my wall of windows, the double-paned glass surprisingly warm on the inside when I knew the day, still gray, damp and windy, was chill.

  I stared at the stormy sea and thought I needed some kind of seating up there. The landing was wide, two people could walk across it comfortably. Maybe three. A nice seating arrangement or chaise lounge that you could relax in, watch the sea and brood when you had really crappy days that no book or TV would help would be just the ticket.

  My phone chimed and I looked over my shoulder to it sitting on the kitchen counter.

  I wanted to continue to mope about Mrs. McMurphy but it was the Wednesday after the week Mickey met my kids. My kids weren’t over that night and Mickey had texted that morning to say we should get together if they weren’t coming since both Cillian and Aisling had something going on at friends’ houses.

  Since it might be Mickey, I went to the phone, picked it up and saw it was a text from Auden.

  I opened it. It said, Found it and it had a web link.

  I touched the link and a page on the official Magdalene site came up with the title of “Town of Magdalene: Budget, Financials and Annual Reports.”

  In continuing to search but not finding the information, I’d asked Auden to help and obviously he’d done it.

  I looked at the web address and saw that this information was buried under “About Magdalene” then “Meet the Town Council” then “Our Administrative Staff” and finally “Other Information.”

  No wonder I couldn’t find it.

  I went back to my texts, thanked my son, and forwarded it to Robin, telling her, Auden got it. Here it is. Can you look and report back?

  She knew what it was about because I’d mentioned it. And I was asking for her help because once, in a very brief period of deciding that perhaps her life was more than wreaking havoc on her ex, she’d decided to become an accountant (part of this, admittedly, was to be around accountants in order to find a new man because, “Amelia, sweets, a boring accountant wouldn’t have it in him to cheat”).

  This had started with bookkeeping classes. And even though she switched back to wreaking havoc on her ex, it included her finishing those classes as during one of their clashes he’d baited her about them, telling her she’d never finished anything she started.

  She finished those. Two years of them.

  But even before that, she was good with numbers.

/>   Roger wilco.

  That made my mouth curve up.

  Five minutes later, I was back to moping at the same time considering cueing up a movie in order to take my mind off things.

  I was considering this because I could be brain dead doing it. I actually should be going over some of the online paperwork I’d told Mickey I’d fill out for him in order to file it so he could establish his new company. I also knew I should check email because, in his stead, I’d requested some insurance quotes for his new enterprise and I knew those would be coming in imminently.

  I’d done this after Josie had told me that in order to cope with a busy life, Jake had found a wife.

  I was not Mickey’s wife but that didn’t mean I couldn’t help. And when I’d offered, I knew the extent of his gratitude just with the way he looked at me.

  So I was on it, and although it was a slow process, I was getting there.

  But at that moment, in the doldrums, I didn’t think I had the brain capacity.

  These were my mental meanderings when my phone rang.

  It was Mickey.

  “Hey,” I greeted.

  “Hey back,” he replied. “Listen, babe, Ash’s plans changed. She’s home tonight. Thought you could come over for dinner.”

  To my surprise, I didn’t like this idea.

  If it was just Mickey, I’d take time with Mickey. I’d be with Mickey anytime I could.

  Except right then, with Ash.

  It was nothing against Ash. It was just that I felt I had to be upbeat around her, keeping things light, keeping myself open should she wish to bond or unload or anything with me. She hadn’t been back at Mickey’s house long enough for Mickey to have another try at a sit down so it wasn’t that.

  It was that both of us moping I didn’t think would be a good thing. I knew I didn’t have it in me to be upbeat. And Ash was such a concern I didn’t want to introduce any kind of bad mood that she might catch, making her even worse.

  “Why don’t you have some time with Ash, Mickey? I’ll stay home and let you have that.”

  There was a moment of silence before, “You okay?”

  “Not really,” I told him.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Conrad called this morning. He was a dick to me, but reading between the lines, something’s up with him and Martine and he’s taking that out on me,” I told him.