by Luanne Rice
“I know,” she whispered.
“I gave him her postcard. A postcard, Bernie! That’s all. Nothing can bring their childhoods back, give them the chance to be part of a family.” Tom paused, staring into space. Was he seeing their son as a little boy, imagining games of catch, fishing trips, walks along the beach? Bernie blinked, seeing the same things.
“I know,” she said, her throat catching. Her head was spinning. Tom had hustled her into the cab so fast, but she’d made him take her past the hotel where Seamus worked. She’d climbed out, walked over to the desk, asked for him.
He wasn’t there, of course, so she’d left him a note. She didn’t know that he’d want even that, from her. And Tom hadn’t told her this until now. What had he been thinking, watching Bernie stand by the bell desk, staring emptily at the row of cars lined up? Her heart had been thumping, she’d thought of all the trips he’d driven, all the people he’d taken around Ireland—her son, and she was leaving, and she couldn’t even say goodbye.
She stared over at Tom now, wondering how they could be doing this to each other—it seemed like the latest in a strand of hurts, unintentional maybe, but still, straight to the bone. She had stood at the hotel weeping, and now he sat in the airport silent and empty.
Just then the loudspeaker crackled, and their flight was called. Their seats were all the way at the back of the plane, in the tail section. They lined up with the other passengers, and Bernie felt numb as they inched forward along the jetway. She showed her passport and boarding pass, saw Tom do the same.
“Sir, are you all right?” one of the flight attendants asked with alarm. Tom’s face was a mess, and he weaved slightly—as if still dizzy from the punch—keeping his eyes down to keep from looking into curious faces as they made their way to the back of the plane.
Bernie watched as people reacted to her. They always did whenever she flew. Complete strangers would approach her, ask her to bless them, or their babies, or just the flight in general. Others would gaze at her with alarm; she knew that some people considered nuns to be bad luck. As she walked down the narrow aisle, she tried to keep her expression serene.
To disguise the turmoil she felt inside. It was so great, so extreme, she almost thought she should get off the plane. Her heart was beating so hard, twisting with such anguish, she felt sure she’d send the flight off course. If only people could know how human nuns were; how they didn’t have any extra answers or powers, even any extra holiness. By the time she got to her seat in the last row, she felt so broken, so wrecked, she could only turn to Tom with wide, beseeching eyes.
“Why are we leaving?” she asked.
“The better question,” he said, shoving their luggage into the overhead bins, “is why did we come?”
They sat beside each other. Bernie had the window, and Tom the middle. A stranger had the aisle. He nodded at them once, then pulled eye shades down and went instantly to sleep. Bernie glanced at Tom—tall, rangy, stuck in the cramped middle seat.
“Want to switch?” she asked.
“You like to look out the window,” he said.
She nodded her thanks. It was true; she did. Right now, waiting for the plane to push back from the gate, she watched fuel trucks and luggage carts, food service vans and cleaning crews. People buzzed around the tarmac, doing their jobs. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass; in a few moments they would take off. She’d be gazing down at Dublin, as she had just a week earlier, when they’d first arrived.
Everything is different now, she thought. It’s both better and worse.
“What you said before,” she said, turning to Tom, “when you asked why we came?”
“Yes?” he said.
“We came to find him,” she said. “And we did.”
“That part’s true,” Tom said.
“Leaving is so hard,” she said. “I didn’t think it would be this hard.”
He listened, his lips pursed, gazing out with his good eye. The other was swollen shut, angry red.
“That’s because you don’t live in this world,” he said.
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t want to know,” he said darkly, evenly.
“I do, Tom,” she said. “Tell me.”
“You wanted a life of prayer and meditation all those years ago? Well, that’s what you’ve got. You and the Holy Spirit. The rest of us, living here on earth, have to fight it out, Bernie. You didn’t think leaving would be this hard, because you’ve always been able to consign the people you love into the care of God.”
She listened, knowing that he was right.
“The rest of us don’t have that luxury. For us, it’s flesh and blood, dog eat dog. To me, loving someone means carrying them, and feeding them, and holding them when they’re scared. God might be up there”—he nodded his head back, tilting up toward the ceiling—“but I’m down here.”
“We’re all down here,” she said. The plane jostled, then began to push back. It pivoted, then bumped slowly into traffic waiting to take off. “We’re all human, all the same, Tom.”
“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. He sounded so bitter, looked so tired.
“Yes,” she said stubbornly.
“Bernie, you know what I said before? About Eleanor Marie ruining lives?”
“You said she ruined our son’s and Kathleen’s.”
Tom fixed her with his dark gaze. “She ruined ours, too.”
“No,” Bernie whispered. “We’ve had good lives….”
“Tell yourself that if you want to,” he said. “And maybe you’ll even believe it.”
“Tom!”
“We were meant to be together, Bernadette. From the day we first met. You had a vision? Well, so did I. My vision was of a little cottage with a pretty garden. You and me raising our kids. Me working the Academy land, you teaching—you always wanted to be a teacher.”
Bernie closed her eyes. The flight attendant had come to the back of the plane. She handed Tom an ice pack, and then began walking up the aisle, looking left and right, making sure everyone had buckled their seatbelts. Tom was right, that she had always wanted to be a teacher. She had started with her younger brother, John, right around the time they’d met Tom Kelly at a summer picnic at Star of the Sea.
The flight attendants took their seats, the captain came on the loudspeaker, told them they were next in line for takeoff. Bernie blessed herself. She sat with her eyes closed. The plane began to taxi down the runway. It picked up speed; she felt the thrust in her lower back. Bernie had always loved to fly. But right now, taking off filled her with sorrow.
Lifting into the air, the plane slowly climbed over Dublin Bay. The sun was setting, but there was a soft golden gleam over the city and surrounding fields. Bernie scanned the ground for the Liffey. There it was, running right past the brick apartment house where she had lived this last week. She blinked, searching southeast Dublin for Merrion Square, and for the convent. She caught sight of a rooftop that might have been O’Malley’s: Tir na Nog…
“Where is he?” she whispered.
“What do you mean?”
“Show me now,” she said, turning to Tom. “Before we fly out of sight. Where does he live? I want to be able to picture it, find it on a map.”
“I can’t right now,” Tom said. He might have meant because his eye was too swollen, or it might have been something else.
Regardless, Bernie welled up. She stared down at Dublin as the plane banked west, heading across Ireland on its way to the United States. She was leaving her son behind, as she had done once before.
The realization made her shiver, feel so cold. What had Tom and he talked about?
“Do you think he’ll ever come to America?” she whispered. “To look for Kathleen?”
“Of course he will,” Tom said.
“Did he say so?”
“He didn’t have to. It’s just the way it is. That’s how much he loves her.”
Bernie pressed her face to the window a
gain. Dublin was slipping away, its flickering lights left behind, as the plane climbed into the next layer of clouds. Bernie glanced down at her habit. She had taken it off, and she had put it back on. She harbored no illusions about the effect either of those things would have on Tom. She wanted to tell him, but couldn’t quite, that putting it back on had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
“Tom,” she said, turning to look at him. He had pushed his seat back a little, was sitting there with the ice pack on his eye. The way he was sitting, he couldn’t see her, and she was glad. She reached toward his face, wanting to touch it. She held her palm open, trembling slightly. Just then he lowered the ice, and she pulled back.
“I have to tell you something,” he said.
“Okay,” she said.
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he said.
“Sometimes it takes time for thoughts to gain clarity,” she said.
“Spoken like a true nun,” he said, flashing her a quick, bright smile.
She smiled back, relieved to hear Tom Kelly joking again. But his grin quickly faded, and the seriousness was back on his face.
“I’m leaving the Academy,” he said.
For a moment she was confused, thinking she’d heard wrong. “Leaving?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m leaving Star of the Sea.”
“But Tom,” she said, panicking, “it’s your home. It’s where you live…we need you.”
“I’m just a groundskeeper. There are plenty more like me.”
“But you know everything! You know us.” She swallowed. “Tom,” she said, “you know me.”
He shook his head, and one stray tear slipped from his bruised, swollen eye. It took him a long time to speak, and when he did, she could barely hear him.
“I thought I did,” he whispered without looking at her. “And I wanted to, more than ever. But I don’t, Sister Bernadette Ignatius. And I know I never will.”
“Tom,” she begged, “don’t say that. I know you’re upset, but you’ll change your mind.”
He shook his head. “I’m tired,” he said. “Let me sleep, okay?”
She couldn’t take her eyes off him. She reached for the small pillow wedged beside her hip, tucked it against his head. He left it there for a few moments. But either it was uncomfortable, or he didn’t want to touch anything that reminded him of her. He gently lowered the pillow down, slipped it into the seat back in front of him.
The plane flew west, just ahead of the darkness, bringing the night with it, trailing blackness and clouds and millions of stars, including the ones Bernie had named for Tom and their son, over Ireland, over the Cliffs of Moher rising over the open sea. She, who always loved to look out the windows on planes, tonight slid down the plastic shade, blocking all the stars, and that beautiful cliff where it had all begun.
She closed her eyes, praying for Seamus and Kathleen, for Tom and herself: the four lives Tom said had been ruined. She hadn’t believed him when he’d first said it, but she did now as the plane flew home across the Atlantic from Ireland, through a night without stars.
PART THREE
Seventeen
What’s Seamus like, Aunt Bernie?” Agnes asked.
“Tell us,” Cece said. “Is he coming to Connecticut?”
“Do you have any pictures of him?” Regis asked. And then, “What happened to your eye, Uncle Tom?”
“I walked into a door,” Tom had said. The whole family oohed, except for John, who just looked across the table with withering pity that Tom couldn’t come up with something better than that.
The family had gathered at the Sullivans’ house, on the beach side of the Star of the Sea campus, to welcome Bernie and Tom home from Ireland. They had flown into Boston’s Logan Airport, driven down to Black Hall in Tom’s truck, retrieved from long-term parking. The swelling in Tom’s eye had gone down, but it was still black and blue.
Honor had cooked dinner, John had opened a bottle of good wine. Regis had taken the train home from Boston College, even though she’d only been back there for a week and a half. Cece was wide-eyed, wanting to hear every detail about Seamus. Agnes sat beside Brendan McCarthy, her boyfriend. And Sister Bernadette Ignatius sat between Honor and Tom, as frail as a new leaf, trembling in her seat. Tom was pretty sure no one but he and Honor noticed.
“Tell us about him,” Regis said.
“We’ve been dying to hear!” Cece exclaimed.
“Girls,” Honor said gently, “give your aunt and Tom a chance to relax. They must be so tired from traveling.” She glanced at Bernie with such sensitivity, Tom realized she must have heard some of the story. But her daughters wouldn’t let up—they were constitutionally incapable of anything less than total love and enthusiasm when it came to their family members. They practically bounced on their chairs, wanting to hear.
“He’s tall,” Bernie said, shakily. “And so beautifully handsome.”
“Beautifully!” Regis said, grinning.
“He has bright red hair, just like Bernie,” Tom said.
“And lovely blue eyes,” Bernie said. “Just like Tom.”
Her words sliced through him. He felt her watching him, but he couldn’t look her way. A dam had broken somewhere inside, and he was a rushing torrent. If he even glanced at her, he’d wash her away—onto the beach, out to sea.
“What does he do?” Agnes asked.
“He’s a driver,” Bernie said. “For the Greencastle Hotel. He wants to go to law school, though.”
“Being a lawyer sounds very Kellyesque,” Regis said, laughing. “All except for Tom, that is.”
“Working the land like Tom does,” Brendan said, “is just as good as being a lawyer.”
Tom smiled his thanks. Brendan’s red hair and freckles were so like Seamus’s. The way the kid moved and laughed, his inflections, the wounded look just behind his blue eyes were all reminiscent of Seamus—but while Seamus had grown up at St. Augustine’s, Brendan had been adopted by a couple here in Connecticut.
Meeting Brendan in August had been the catalyst that had sent Tom and Bernie over to Dublin to look for their own son. Seeing him now made Tom’s stomach clench. He had promised Brendan a job on the grounds crew, to supplement his work at the hospital, saving money for medical school. But Tom knew that he had another promise to keep as well: the one he’d made on the plane, the one that would take him away from here.
“Does Seamus have a girlfriend?” Agnes asked, holding hands with Brendan.
That question, Tom felt ready to answer. “He loves a girl named Kathleen Murphy.”
“Ohh, Kathleen!” Regis said.
“Does she live in Dublin?” Agnes asked.
“Newport, Rhode Island.”
“She’s American?” Regis exclaimed. “That’s great! He’ll come over from Ireland to see her, and we’ll invite them both here, and we’ll all get to know them.”
“Tom, is something wrong?” Brendan asked.
Tom shook his head reassuringly, as he would to his own son. Brendan was so eager, but also a little insecure. He’d been so disappointed to find out he wasn’t Bernie and Tom’s son—that their child, although the same age, had been born in Ireland. What he didn’t fully realize yet was that Bernie would hold on tight—she’d love him no matter what, help him in his search to find his real birth parents. That had been Tom’s plan, too….
“All is well,” Tom said.
“I started working on the grounds when you were gone,” Brendan said. “The other guys are nice.”
“That’s great,” Tom said.
“Tom trained them well,” Bernie said, fixing Tom with a tentative, hopeful gaze. “He has such a particular way of doing things around here.”
“It’s a long tradition,” John said, giving Tom a light punch on the shoulders. “Kellys and Sullivans rampaging around the grounds of Star of the Sea.”
“Yeah, it was a long tradition,” Tom said.
Everyone looked at him, hearing som
ething in his voice, taking note of the past tense. He felt the blood rising in his face. Bernie’s smile faltered and dissolved. John clued in to the fact Tom needed help fast. He was Bernie’s brother, but he was also Tom’s best friend.
“Hey, Tom,” John said, standing up, “can you step outside for a second? I noticed some pipes are leaking. Let me show you before I forget.”
They went out the kitchen door, leaving everyone else to stare after them and wonder what was wrong. It was getting dark. Twilight silhouetted the hills, and a few stars had started coming out. Tom breathed in the salt air, trying to calm himself. John walked him away from the house, up the first hill, toward the old stone wall.
“There aren’t any leaking pipes up here,” Tom said.
“Nope,” John said, stopping at the hilltop so they could lean against the wall and look down at the beach, where long waves rolled in, lacy white spume blowing off in the cool breeze. “Like Brendan asked: is something wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Tom said, staring out to sea. Looking east, he could see lights blinking seven miles across the Sound, in Orient Point on the North Fork of Long Island. Beyond that was the South Fork, and after that the Atlantic Ocean. Beyond that lay Ireland and Seamus. “I met my son.”
“I know,” John said. “Man, that’s great.”
“He didn’t want anything to do with us.”
“I’m sorry.”
Tom shrugged. “I can’t really blame him. The fantasy we’ve been living with all these years, that he grew up in a great Irish family? Didn’t come true.”
“What do you mean?”
“He spent his childhood in an institution.”
At that, John turned to look, incredulous. Tom felt anguish just saying the words—he saw it reflected in his friend’s eyes. “How could that have happened?”
“I don’t know. It’s a combination of a really misguided nun and a stubborn boy, if you can believe that. The nun was Bernie’s Novice Mistress, when she first joined up with the order. The stubborn boy…”
“Let me guess,” John said. “Your progeny?”
“I don’t feel I deserve to call him that,” Tom said.
