Ryan scoots his chair over. He puts his arm around me. “You’re shaking. Let me get you a blanket.” He darts out of the room and comes back with a tightly-knit wool blanket that he wraps around my shoulders. The corner scratches my cheek.
I say, “How do you know Ma never loved Da?”
Mr. Walters pulls his glasses off, sets them near his empty plate and cup, and looks at me. He rubs the bridge of his wide nose. Then he closes his eyes and bites his thin, lower lip.
I wait.
In the distance, the bells of St. Patrick’s summon people to daily mass.
Finally, Mr. Walters looks up with misty, faded blue eyes. He looks past me, not meeting my eyes. He says, “Because she loved me.”
Chapter Twelve
I can feel my mouth pucker as if I’d bitten into a lemon. “It’s not possible. You’re so…”
“Old? Well, it’s relative. Some girls prefer older men. Your mother did. We took a fancy toward each other.” He peers past me into the living room, at the piano heaped with papers and sighs. “She had a voice like an angel. Really. I gave her lessons. Her parents never encouraged her so we snuck them in after school.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.” I pull the blanket closer.
“It started slowly, mind you. She came for lessons and gradually started opening up to me. She didn’t trust other adults. Such a miserable childhood. She talked of it only to me. She’d come to my class before and then afterwards. Even joined the theater and publications group so we could be together.” He looks down at his empty plate and says softly, “We didn’t mean to get close. It just happened. She needed someone to listen. To be her friend.”
Mr. Walters looks out the window at the grey sky.
“I don’t believe you.” My voice quivers. “She loved Da. Not you. She married him. Not you.”
“That doesn’t mean she didn’t love me. It would have been inconvenient to marry.”
“Why?”
Neither Ryan nor Mr. Walters look at me. Then Ryan says with disgust, “Because he’s married.”
My mouth hangs open and my eyes widen. “What? But I’ve never seen your wife.”
Mr. Walters pushes himself up from the table. “She’s gone,” he says. “With our daughter.” As he leans on the table, it wobbles. My cold tea splashes onto the saucer. The lines in his face deepen as he looks at me with milky, sad eyes. “You’re young, but someday you might understand. We all make choices in life, but some choices are made for us. In the end, we live with them. We don’t get second chances.” He sighs, shakes his head and whistles for Johnny as he leaves the table and shuffles down the hall to his room.
I turn to Ryan. I’m about to uncork. “This is mad. It doesn’t make any sense. Where are his wife and daughter?”
“London. My aunt, my mother’s sister, left probably fifteen years ago. She just up and said they were moving. Got a job teaching music at a private school. Willie refused to go with them, even to get them settled.” Ryan touches my hand, which has gone numb like the rest of my body. He says, “We don’t talk much of it.”
Then it hits me: What if Ma plans to come home to Mr. Walters and not to us?
I lower my leg and push back from the table. “I need to get out of here. I can’t stay. I want to go home.”
Ryan grabs the blanket, which has fallen to the floor, and hands me the crutches lying at my feet. “You need someone there, and I have to work tomorrow.”
“I’ll manage. Paddy will help until Da gets back. Fiona, even. I’m bloody well not staying here one more minute.” I take a few steps, unsteady and shaking all over, while pain surges up my leg.
Ryan holds his hands up, stopping me from going anywhere. “How about we go to my flat? I have a shower stool and elevated toilet seat from when I had knee surgery a couple of years ago.”
Shaking my head, I say, “I’m going home. I’m not staying with you.”
“Never said you were. Paddy brought over your phone and some fresh clothes last night while you were sleeping. Let’s get you changed, and we’ll spend the day at my flat until your da gets back.” He smiles and touches my cheek. “Humor me. I want to make sure someone is with you. And, some proper food would be in order.”
If I have another choice, I don’t see it.
Ryan helps me to the car and we drive toward Westport. Sitting in the car, exhausted and lost in my thoughts, I close my eyes and lean back against the seat while Ryan strums his fingers on the wheel and hums to the music.
The thought of Mr. Walters and Ma “close”—whatever that means—repulses me. I don’t believe him. Did I miss something? I try to think back to times that I saw Ma talk to him or even mention him, but I can’t. I can barely imagine Ma intimate with Da. And certainly not with “Weird Willie,” as Fiona referred to him. I shudder and try to think of anything else, but I can’t. Even my burning ankle doesn’t distract me long.
What else am I missing?
When we arrive at Ryan’s flat, he helps me out, waiting patiently as I stump to the door. Inside, sun streams in from large windows overlooking the quiet residential street. He ushers me to a leather couch facing the largest flat screen television I’ve ever seen. It’s mounted above a gas fireplace on a wall the color of yellow daffodils. A guitar is propped on a stand in the corner near a desk with pictures that I can’t see from the couch.
After offering me a glass of water and my pills, he grabs an assortment of brightly-colored pillows from the side chairs and elevates my leg, then stuffs one pillow under my head. He sits on the oversized ottoman facing me. I glide my hand over the soft leather. “Nice. You live here long?”
“Not really. I moved in when I started working with my dad. I couldn’t stand the idea of living at home after being on my own so many years. For an only child it can be suffocating.”
“Tell me about it.”
“They thought I’d never come back after university and my travels, so they make it easy for me to stay around.”
“I’m leaving Louisburgh as soon as Ma is better. It’s so provincial here. There’s got to be more,” I say. “Something better.”
“There’s more. Some better. Some not.” He rests his hand on my mine. I notice small lines around his eyes and wonder what he’s seen outside of Westport. Outside of Ireland.
“I’m going to run to the store quick,” Ryan says. He hands me my phone, the remote, and a few magazines that were scattered on the ottoman: the Economist, Veterinary Journal, Architectural Digest, and Runner’s World. “You okay with these and the telly?”
“Grand.”
He gets up and covers me with a furry wool blanket and then leaves. I sink into the soft, chocolate-colored couch and pull the blanket close. It smells like a bouquet of spring flowers, not like ours that reek of peat. I pick up Runner’s World. The mailing label has Ryan’s address but another name: Alex Murphy. I start reading but soon fall asleep.
The door slams, and I wake up with a jolt. For a moment I don’t know where I am. Then I remember. I lift my head, expecting Ryan. Instead, walking through the door, carrying bags of groceries, is a tall, blonde woman wearing Ray-Ban sunglasses.
“Hi.” The woman glides into the room, sets the groceries on the table, and flips her sunglasses up onto her head. “I’m Alex.”
“Oh, I’m Eliza.” I pull myself up from my slouch. “Ryan’s gone for food.”
She feigns exasperation. “Go figure. We’ll have enough for a party.” With a face like a model, she laughs and tosses up her perfectly manicured hands. “He eats like a bull but burns it like a jaguar. Always on the move, that bloke.”
My smile feels forced, but I hope she doesn’t notice. Her face looks familiar, like someone I might have seen in a magazine or on a commercial. I catch myself staring and say, “I’m just here because he’s helping me on account…”
“Oh, of course. You’re the girl. How sad. Yes, he told me he was helping you get back on your feet—so to speak.” She flips h
er mane back and laughs. I bristle at “girl.” Then with a syrupy tone, she asks, “What can I do to make you comfortable? Want juice? A Coke? Oh, never mind. We haven’t any. Ryan thinks it’s dreadfully bad for the body. More water?”
“Water’s lovely. I’ll be gone soon.” I assure her. “He’s just loaning me things. For when I’m on my own.”
“I’ll be back in a jiff.” In her skinny jeans, she prances to the kitchen, smiling. Her teeth are the whitest I’ve ever seen. I run my tongue over my teeth, which feel scummy.
I try not to stare at Alex but I can’t stop myself. She’s so perfect. I tuck my dirty hair behind my ear and, when Alex isn’t looking, I wet my fingers and try to smooth my thick, disheveled hair. I smell stale. Pinching my cheeks, I try adding color to my pale skin.
Just then, Ryan bounds through the door with an armful of groceries. Spying Alex near the fridge, he sets the groceries down, pecks her on the cheek, and says, “Hello, beautiful.”
I just barely survive the rest of the afternoon and our meal together. I listen to Ryan and Alex banter back and forth. Finally I insist that I must go home. My foot, I say, is killing me. And it is. During the drive back, Ryan lectures me about caring for my ankle. I mutter grateful responses, counting the minutes until I can be alone.
For a moment, snuggling into Ryan’s couch, I had pictured what a relationship with a real man might be. Not like with Mikey or others before him, who wanted only one thing, and who moved on once they got it. Or maybe I was the one who moved on. I never wanted a serious relationship. Especially with Mikey. I always wanted more. Better. I just didn’t know what—or who—“better” was.
I thought I saw better in Ryan.
Chapter Thirteen
Smoke drifts from the chimney of our cottage. Da’s car is there, as is one that I don’t recognize. When I finally make it up the path and into the cottage, Fiona bursts towards me. “Eliza, darling. I came over when I got your text.” She tries to hug me, but Ryan blocks her so I don’t teeter and fall back.
“Thanks for coming,” I say. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” It surprises me that emotion catches in my throat.
“You’ll never know, love.”
Standing near the fireplace with their hands in their pockets are two men I don’t recognize. They smile awkwardly.
Fiona squeals, “You must meet my two favorite Americans. Remember I told you about them? We went to Galway together. See? You should have come with us. This would never have happened.” She pushes past Ryan, who is trying to get pillows arranged under my aching foot, and links her arm through the slightly–built American with slicked-back hair. “This is Jake,” she says, making his name sound like a snack she’s about to bite into. Fiona flutters her eyes at him. Then she pulls the other man over. “And this is Jake’s friend Hunter.” Hunter, muscular and tall, has short-cropped hair the color of fertile soil and stubble covering his square jaw. Rugged and handsome, he nods an acknowledgment.
Fiona watches Ryan as he adjusts my pillows, puts my medicine on the table, and brings me a water bottle. “Aren’t you a good doctor,” she says.
“Least I could do.” Ryan hands Fiona the discharge documents. “Make sure she follows up, especially if she has any of these symptoms.” He rattles them off and points to something on the papers. Fiona squints her eyes. I know she’s only pretending to be interested.
Ryan tells me to call and text—to keep him up to date on how things are going or if he can help—and I agree. Leaning down, he kisses my cheek. I want him to stay as much as I want him to go. Then I picture him and Alex curled on the couch watching the television in front of the fake fire. My stomach tightens.
After Ryan gently closes the door, Fiona mocks Ryan’s instructions: “Remember, no alcohol while on the meds.” Jake bursts out laughing. This only encourages Fiona. Hunter folds his arms across his broad chest and rolls his eyes.
I shift on the couch, my ankle throbbing. “Where’s Da?”
“Passed out on his bed,” Fiona says.
“Right.”
“As your best friend, I’m getting you out. You need some craic.”
“Did you not hear Ryan? I have to keep my leg propped. I can’t drink,” I remind her.
“Well, I can drink, and so can Jake and Hunter. You can prop your bum leg up just as easily at Paddy’s. We can get you set up in the corner. We’ll take the pillows with us. There are three of us who can help you.”
“I feel like shite. I just want to be home. With you. Only you.”
“But I told Jake and Hunter we’d go out.” Fiona pouts her painted lips. She says, “There’s nothing to do here. The time for fun is now. If you wait for it, you might miss it.” Fiona’s tone suggests this is a deep thought.
Jake snickers. “Yeah, baby. That’s right. Life’s short.” His dark, beady eyes and hooked nose make him look like a weasel.
Hunter steps forward and slaps Jake’s shoulder. “Let’s blow. They need time, and I’m wiped from all the driving we’ve done in the past few days. You’ll be fine without her one night. Remember what life was like before you became a hapless fool.”
Jake whines, “But I want to be with Fiona.” Pathetic. Fiona puckers her lips, and he leans down to kiss her.
I start crying. It’s the last thing I want to do. Fiona comes over, wraps her arm around me and purrs, “Oh, darling. Don’t. It’s alright. I’m here for you, love.”
Shrugging her arm off my shoulders, I say, “Go. Leave me alone. I’m fine without you.”
Stunned, Fiona glares at me like I slapped her. I look away. She gets up in a huff and mouths to Jake, “I tried.” Jake escorts her out like she’s Mother Teresa. Hunter says goodbye and saunters out behind them.
The cold air sweeps in, sending shivers down my spine. Then the door slams, and I’m alone. Staring at the smoldering embers and the darkening sky, I listen for Da’s snores. Faint. Steady. Familiar. I reach for the crutches, propped against the arm of the couch, and hoist myself up. Each painful step brings me closer to my room.
Sleep eludes me. I toss and turn all night and rise early in the morning. Da emerges from his room in wrinkled trousers and a half-tucked shirt. His face bears pillow marks. At first he doesn’t see me as he tromps to the refrigerator, opens it wide, and stares into it. It’s empty except for green bread and brown lettuce. I know because I looked there earlier for something to eat.
He looks in the cupboard. “God dammit,” he says with his back still to me.
“Time to make a proper trip to the store, or we’ll starve to death.” I have thought all night about what to say to him. This wasn’t it.
He turns, sees my elevated leg and grimaces. “Holy Mother Mary, what the hell happened to you?”
“I broke my ankle running Croagh Patrick and had to have surgery. Didn’t Paddy tell you?”
“Haven’t talked to him.” Shaking his head, he walks over and looks at my leg more closely. “It’s not smart to run up that damn mountain alone.”
“I wasn’t alone. Doc’s son was running with me and he helped me down.”
“Thank the saints.” Da runs his hands through his disheveled hair and sits down in the chair opposite me. “What are you going to do now? How will you work at the B&B?”
“Don’t mind me. I’ll figure it out.” I push myself up. The blanket slips off, to the floor, and I shiver. The fire had long gone out, and I didn’t make it over to toss on more peat. I reach for the blanket, not quite out of reach, and pull it up over my shoulders. Da doesn’t move to help me.
I say, “How’s Ma?” Da, rubbing his greying beard, looks at me with tired eyes.
I sit forward, causing the blanket to fall from my shoulders. “Is she coming home?”
He avoids my eyes. “Might never, she says.”
“What?” A chill climbs my spine. “Wait. Why did she want to see you?”
Da shakes his head and avoids my eyes. “That’s between us.”
“I want to kn
ow.”
“Some things are between a man and his wife,” he says as he twirls his wedding ring. “It didn’t pertain to you. But she asked how you were getting by, and I told her you were just fine, but not many guests this season. Not yet, anyway.”
“You could at least tell me what the hell is going on.”
His voice booms. “Shite, I don’t bloody know. For Christ’s sake, she won’t tell me why she did it.” He melts into the chair. “She doesn’t know if she can come back.” Sighing, he says in a voice, barely loud enough for me to hear, “Tell me, where the hell will she go?”
“You did this to her.” My tone is icy.
He glares at me. “What the hell? How is this my fault?”
“You drove her away with your affair with some slut. That’s why she took off her ring—not that you noticed.” It’s still on my hand. I wave it at him. “So, who is she?”
“Jaysus! You’re off your nut. Where the hell did you get that idea?”
“It makes sense,” I say.
“Nothing makes sense. You’re mental. They give you something at the hospital to send you off your rocker?”
“Paddy said you had to marry her because of me.” I narrow my eyes in contempt. “You never loved her, did you?”
“Christ. I got to go.” He grabs his jacket and slams the door shut on his way out. I know where he’s heading: To Paddy’s. Though I have no idea when he’ll come home—or in what state.
Chapter Fourteen
Maeve Cunningham arrives, the last person I had wanted to call. She’s bent over from the weight of an overstuffed bag slung over her arm, two bags of groceries, and the wind pounding her face as she walks from her car. I’ve been watching for her from a chair near the door. She said she was on her way. The last thing I want to do is make her wait. Not a good start.
Leaning on the crutches, I swing the door open so she can get by. The wind gusts in, and the cold air slaps my face.
“Never mind the door. I’ll get it. Just sit your arse down before you catch cold as well.” Maeve sets the groceries on the table. One bag falls over. From it spills fresh fruit, vegetables, butter, eggs, and meat.
Rain and Revelation Page 7
