What Matters Most

by Luanne Rice

  Bernie listened to his words, unable to look at Tom. Was he thinking of Seamus, as she was? A silver Mercedes, part of the hotel’s fleet, pulled slowly into the circle. Bernie’s heart leapt—could it be him? But a different driver, much older, with dark hair, stepped out to greet some passengers waiting under the hotel’s awning. Her heart fell again.

  “Come in, join us for breakfast,” Sixtus said.

  “Absolutely,” Billy agreed. “As Tom knows, we’re regulars here—and frankly, bored with our own company. Come talk to us, Bernie. Tell us what you’re doing in Ireland, and how things are going at Star of the Sea.”

  “How I love visiting the Academy,” Sixtus said. “To think of Great-Grandfather Kelly building such a splendid place. With all the retreats we’ve spent with you there, and your tremendous generosity to all us Kellys, it’s time you let us reciprocate. Come to breakfast now, and dinner tonight.”

  “Oh, I can’t,” Bernie began. “We were actually just leaving now…we have an errand, something important…”

  “What are you doing here at the hotel in the first place?” Billy asked. He chuckled. “Don’t tell me the Vatican has started putting nuns up at the Greencastle? I knew I’ve been giving too much at the Sunday collection….”

  “We were just looking for an old friend,” Tom said quickly. “Someone who works here. That’s all.” The lie slipped out effortlessly, and Bernie gave him a glance of pure gratitude. “But now we really have to get going, on to the next stop.”

  “That is most unsatisfactory,” Sixtus said, frowning with mock displeasure. “Only one thing will set it right. Sister Bernadette Ignatius, you must agree to come for dinner tonight. Emer would feel very slighted to think you’d come to Dublin and not accepted our hospitality. So. What will it be?”

  “Yes,” Tom said, before Bernie could open her mouth. “We’ll be there.”

  “Excellent,” Sixtus and Billy said at once. They hugged Bernie, shook Tom’s hand, and told them they’d see them at dinner at eight.

  “Why did you do that?” Bernie asked as Tom’s cousins walked into the hotel.

  “Because they love you,” he said, gazing down at her with clear blue eyes. “Don’t you get it, Bernie?”

  She stood there, her heart pounding hard at his question.

  “You of all people should understand,” he said. “You’ve spent your life being a nun. Isn’t that supposed to be all about God’s love? Well, there’s human love, too. And it’s just as powerful. The Kellys love you, care about you. You’re here in Dublin, and they want to reciprocate for all the great times you’ve given them at Star of the Sea.”

  “They don’t have to reciprocate,” she said. “I welcomed them because I wanted to….”

  Tom stared at her long and hard. His eyes twinkled, and his mouth twitched in a half-smile. She saw him trying to hold back laughter, and something else.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “I always think you’re so smart,” he said. “The smartest person I know. You’re a scholar of so many things: philosophy, theology, literature…But when it comes to the human heart, Bernie…” He shook his head, grinning. “Stick with me, kid. I’ll show you the way.”

  His happiness was infectious. Bernie smiled, wanting to give in to it. Tom came from a big, wonderful family, and she could see how proud he was to be a part of it. Bernie felt that way, back in Connecticut, about her brother, sister-in-law, and nieces. For so long, she had felt that the community of Sisters of Notre Dame des Victoires were her larger family.

  But a new feeling was starting to grow. She looked into Tom’s laughing blue eyes, saw reflections of Seamus. These wonderful men, the Kellys, were her son’s relatives. Bernie shivered, thinking of what it could be like to introduce him to them. To bring him back to the States, have him meet everyone there.

  “Tom,” she said, reaching for his hand. She felt waves of love and hope washing over her—no matter what Seamus had said last night, once he got past the shock, realized that they loved him without any reserve or expectations, he would open up. It might be a slow process, might take a very long time.

  “We’re going to have dinner on Merrion Square tonight,” Tom said. “And tomorrow we’ll come back, right here, and keep coming back until we see Seamus again.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, feeling such warmth. She was so overwhelmed, she barely noticed the car pulling up the drive. It was one of the hotel’s vehicles, and its driver parked it with the other cars by the wall, climbed out, started across the circle.

  “And you know what else?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “I’m taking you to Doolin,” he said, grabbing her hand. “That’s right, Bernie—we’re going to the Cliffs of Moher again. Will you come with me?”

  She was about to say yes—her heart was overflowing and she was caught up in the moment—when Tom looked over her shoulder, dropping her hand.

  “Look,” Tom said suddenly. “There’s his friend.”

  Bernie turned in time to see the young man dressed in a black suit and shoes, the same one Seamus had been speaking to yesterday, striding toward the hotel’s service entrance.

  “Hey!” Tom called. “Hold on!”

  The young man stopped, surprise all over his narrow face.

  “Yes?” he asked. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “It’s about your friend,” Tom said. “Seamus Sullivan.”

  “Oh,” the young man said, starting to grin. “He told me you might be looking for him.”

  “He did?” Bernie asked. Now it was their turn to be surprised. “What did he say?”

  “Just that if anyone showed up asking for him, I was to give them something. Hold on a minute,” he said, dashing back to the car.

  “What does he have?” Bernie asked, looking up at Tom.

  “Hang on, Bernie. Don’t get worried,” Tom said, placing his hand on her arm, making her shiver. She felt nervous and excited, as if she were standing at the threshold of a whole new life. Her mind raced, and her heart had never felt so full. Her faith had never wavered, and it didn’t now, it was just that it had become, sometime during the last several days, all about love. A deeper love than she had ever felt before—suddenly she wanted nothing more than to stand on the cliffs with Tom and tell him how she felt.

  “I’m Tom Kelly,” Tom said, shaking the young man’s hand as he ran back.

  “I’m Kevin Daly.”

  “And this is Bernadette Sullivan,” Tom said, his hand on her shoulder.

  “Hello, Kevin,” Bernie said.

  “Sullivan?” Kevin asked, shaking her hand. “Like Seamus?”

  “Yes,” Bernie said. She held herself back from saying more, focused on the white envelope Kevin held in his hand.

  “I’d ask if you were his long-lost relatives,” Kevin said, chuckling. “But I know he doesn’t have any.”

  “How do you know?” Tom asked.

  “Well, because he came from St. Augustine’s,” Kevin said. “He’s the greatest guy in the world, and he had the rottenest childhood, stuck in that institution. You’d never know; he’s so up and positive. Eileen and I are having him as best man at our wedding. We wouldn’t have anyone else.”

  “He’s a wonderful person,” Bernie murmured, stung by Kevin’s words.

  “Anyway,” Kevin said, “what a coincidence, you both being named Sullivan. He didn’t tell me that part, but you must be the people he meant. No one else has come asking for him!” He held out the envelope; Bernie’s hands were shaking, so she let Tom take it.

  “When will he be back at work?” Tom asked.

  Kevin shrugged. “Don’t know. He’s never sick—this is a first. Yesterday he gave me and Eileen his tickets to a show Friday night—tonight, that is. Maybe he came down with something.”

  “Did he look sick when he gave you this?” Tom asked, tapping the envelope.

  “Kind of pale, tired, but nothing too serious,” Kevin said. “He had
me stop by his flat to pick it up, said it was important I give it to a couple who’d be stopping by the hotel, asking for him. Don’t worry about him, now. He never gets sick. It’s probably just a cold, something like that. Are you friends of his?”

  “Yes,” Bernie said. “We’re his friends.”

  Kevin nodded, smiling. “Glad to hear that. He needs ’em. Friends, that is. Sometimes I think I’m the only one. He keeps to himself….”

  “He does?” Tom asked.

  “Yes,” Kevin said. “He works all the time, saving money for his future.”

  “His future?” Bernie asked. She was aching to read what was in the envelope, but also hungry for any detail his friend could spare.

  “He said he wants to be a barrister,” Tom said.

  Kevin laughed. “Yes, that’s Seamus. Very aspirational. You know why, of course…”

  “Why?”

  “Well, for Kathleen,” Kevin said. “She’s all he ever talks about. When he finds Kathleen, what he’ll do, the life he wants to give her. He has great dreams for himself and Kathleen—just like me and Eily.”

  “He’s in love….” Bernie said.

  “Well, he hasn’t seen her in a long time. But he will! Don’t doubt it!” Kevin said in a warm, good-natured brogue. “Seamus is the kind of person who sets his mind to something and never lets go. He’ll search for Kathleen to the ends of the earth. And he’s inspiring me to think about another career, too.”

  “Another career?” Tom asked.

  “Other than driving, I mean,” Kevin said. “It’s good work, very honorable. But Seamus has got me dreaming, just like him. I’m not so much cut out to become a barrister, but there are other things. We meet a lot of influential people here. Maybe one of them will hire me.”

  “We wish you all the best,” Bernie said, shaking his hand. She had educated so many young women, never tired of their dreams, of the shining look in their eyes as they imagined their futures. It pierced her heart to think of Seamus spurring his friend to think big, dream large.

  “Yes, we do,” Tom said. “Thank you for this,” he said, gesturing with the envelope. The sight of it made Bernie’s blood leap—maybe Seamus had given thought to seeing them, talking to them. Their presence in Dublin was a shock, yes, but such an open young man would surely want to hear what they had to say.

  “You’re welcome,” Kevin Daly said, waving and heading in through the service door.

  “Come on, Tom,” Bernie said, tugging his hand, pulling him toward their car. Her mind raced with so many ideas: Seamus would give them his address, they would drive straight there, spend the day together. She and Tom would have to postpone dinner with the Kellys—or maybe Seamus would want to join them. Would that be too much? It was all too much, and not enough, both at the same time.

  Tom held the door, and she climbed in. She watched him come around the car, wondering why his expression looked so dark and guarded. Usually he was so optimistic; why wouldn’t he be imagining that Seamus had slept on it, come to the conclusion that he should meet with them today? Or even tomorrow…

  “Let me read it,” Bernie said as soon as Tom got into the car.

  “Are you sure, Bernie?” he asked, holding on to the envelope.

  “Why don’t you want me to?” she asked.

  “I…I just don’t want you to be hurt,” he said.

  “He can’t hurt me,” she whispered. “He’s my son. Nothing he says…”

  Tom gave her a long, almost pitying look, as if he knew how very wrong she was. How had he been able to intuit such a thing? She’d been so strong and guarded for so many years, worn her habit like a shield. Right now, she felt as if her armor, even her skin, were stripped away. She sat across the front seat from Tom, holding out her hand, asking for the letter.

  “Bernie,” he said. “Please let me.”

  Reluctantly, she nodded. Tom’s hands were trembling as he slipped his thumb under the flap, tore the envelope open. He read the words through silently once. Bernie felt nearly crazed with impatience—why wasn’t he reading the letter out loud?

  “I can’t,” he said, staring at the page, after a long minute.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  He turned toward her, looked at her with such love and despair, she felt her heart crack in two.

  “I can’t read this to you. I thought I could, but I can’t,” he said, but he let her take the paper from his hands. She held it in her lap, read what Seamus had written:

  Dear Mr. Kelly and Ms. Sullivan,

  Your visit yesterday surprised me, to say the least. I can’t say that I didn’t know who you were, the minute I saw you standing there. As you pointed out, there is quite a strong resemblance—the red hair, the blue eyes. But that is all—just the superficial similarity of physical features. You can’t tell me that red hair and freckles make people into family. Because I know they don’t.

  I know many things that you don’t know. I have lived my entire life without you. You say that you have “thought of me every day.” I can’t tell you how little comfort that brings me. I could probably describe to you the time I had chicken pox, along with every other kid at St. Augustine’s, how I scratched my skin raw and the nuns were too busy with the other kids to stop me. Or about the times I dreamed of monsters, coming through the light fixtures overhead, coming to kill all the children at the Home. Or about holiday dinners—you get the idea.

  The point being, I didn’t have you then, and I don’t want you now. You’re after something that doesn’t exist. I can’t even imagine why you thought finding me would be a good thing. Maybe you thought I’d be grateful for giving me life. From that standpoint, I guess I can say “Thank you.” Thank you for giving me life.

  As for the rest of it, I don’t think you want to know what I think. Or what I have to say. It’s not one bit complicated, it’s dead simple: Stay away.

  By now, if you are reading this letter, you know that I skipped work today. I guarantee you, I’ll skip work for the rest of my life if it assures me I won’t have to see you again. Go back home to America, to your nice house and other kids if you have them, to the life you’ve been living for the last twenty-three years without me.

  You obviously didn’t need me, and I don’t need you. If you look for me again, I’ll disappear. I’ve done it before.

  Goodbye,

  Seamus Sullivan

  Bernie read the letter, then folded it, placed it back in the envelope. She felt Tom’s eyes on her, but she knew he wasn’t expecting her to speak. She couldn’t if her life depended on it. She felt as if they had driven to the West, as if she’d fallen off the cliff’s edge. Sitting there, holding the letter, she felt so grateful to Tom for one thing: for not telling her that she’d been wrong about her son being unable to hurt her.

  Her eyes stung as tears spilled out, and she knew she wasn’t hurt now. Not for herself, anyway. But for the tall, thin young man, with her red hair and Tom’s blue eyes, she began to cry as if her heart was broken. And it was, for him.

  Fourteen

  Tom had no idea what to expect, what he’d find. He’d dropped Bernie off at her flat after they’d read Seamus’s letter—not because he’d wanted to, but because she’d refused to talk, seemed unable to unlock the thoughts and feelings that had to be pouring around in her mind, as they were in his.

  All she had said, very quietly, in a voice nearly too low to hear, was, “Please take me home.”

  “Home?” he said, not wanting to drive her back to her flat, that small, sterile academic walk-up across the Liffey. He imagined all the kids gathering. It was the start of fall term, and the air was charged. Hearing young adults’ voices wasn’t what Bernie needed right now.

  She nodded, though, staring out the windshield, not looking left or right, as if she was unable to take one more thing in.

  “If you’re sure, Bernie,” he said. “But why don’t we stop at O’Malley’s instead? We can talk…Or not talk, whatever you want.
We need a little Tir na Nog, don’t we? We can kill time until we go to Sixtus’s for dinner.”

  “I can’t,” she said.

  He glanced across the seat. “Come on, Bernie,” he said. “It’ll be good for you. For both of us. We can get some perspective and then start fresh tomorrow. Look, if you want to go home now, and rest, or think, that’s fine. I’ll take you back to your apartment….”

  “Not my apartment,” she said.

  “Doolin?” he asked, his heart jumping. “That’s what we’ll do! We’ll drive west, go to the cliff. Bernie, I’ll hold you. I swear, I’ll make it better. We’ll find that same B&B, and…”

  “No, Tom,” she whispered. “Home.”

  “The convent?” he asked, his heart skipping. Jesus, no. He wanted to take her to the Cliffs of Moher, prove to her how much he loved her. Not the convent. He’d never stopped dreaming, praying, that she’d want to be with him. “Please, Bernie—don’t ask me to take you there.”

  “No,” she said. “Home…Star of the Sea.”

  “Bernie,” he said, “what are you talking about?”

  “You read his letter, Tom,” she said. “He doesn’t want us here. He’s right, in every single thing he says….”

  “No,” Tom said. “He’s wrong in every single thing he says.”

  Bernie turned away, gazed out the window. Tom wanted to grab her shoulder, throttle her, make her pay attention to what he was saying. But he saw her shrinking into herself, knew that she was going through something even he couldn’t understand.

  All he could do was drive her back to her flat, drop her off. He watched her climb out of the car, taking Seamus’s letter with her. Before she closed the door, she leaned into the front seat again.

  “You know I can’t go to Doolin with you,” she said.

  His heart fell, and he couldn’t speak.

  “Or even to dinner tonight,” she said softly.

  He nodded. His voice wouldn’t work.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “So am I,” he managed to say.

  “Thank Sixtus for me,” she said.