Rain and Revelation

by Therese Pautz

  “That’s not fair. Or honest.”

  “Maybe not. But a baby changes everything.”

  “It doesn’t have to.”

  “It would for me. It did for Ma.”

  Hunter picks at his cuticle. He seems lost in thought. I touch his smooth, thick hair. He looks at me, startled at first, and then he pulls me closer. Musk rises from his skin. As he strokes my hair, my body melts into his. Our blended, shallow breath fills the space between us. I touch his leg. He pulls me tighter. Then he leans down and kisses me. Soft. Lingering. Then hungry.

  There’s not much I hold back as I return his kisses.

  Later, we lie together in my darkened bedroom while the night breeze tickles my exposed skin. I begin telling him about Ma. How I found her. How I was beginning to think she’d never call. Eventually everything pours out. I can’t stop it. I feel comfortable telling Hunter, who will soon return home, the story I’ve unraveled.

  I hold nothing back, except…

  I don’t tell Hunter that the man who talked to us at the beach was the one who saved Ma and was with me when I broke my ankle. I don’t tell him why returning Ryan’s call is hard.

  I wait all weekend, but Ma doesn’t call back. I tell myself that I should have known she wouldn’t, but every part of me burned with hope that she would. I call St. Patrick’s Hospital on Monday morning, and they tell me that Ma is not accepting calls or visitors, then transfer me to Dr. Mary Kilkenny. The doctor reports that Ma is making progress. She says she wasn’t aware that Ma had called me, but promises to keep me updated.

  Again, there’s nothing to do but wait.

  I have just hung up from talking to Dr. Kilkenny when there’s a sharp knock on the door. It’s Maeve with the twins asleep in the pram. Maeve’s hair is pulled back tight and beads of sweat line her forehead. She looks past me. “Is your da home?”

  “No. Why?”

  “A damned pipe burst at the B&B. We got guests coming later this week.”

  “Call him.”

  “Don’t you think I tried? Where is he?”

  “No idea. You’ll have to track him down. It’s been days since I’ve seen him, and I’m going to be gone a day or two.”

  Maeve scowls. “Aren’t you a help.” She thrusts her double chin forward as she eyes me. “Where you off to?”

  “A friend’s taking me to the doctor in Castlebar and then we’re driving to Galway and then, maybe to the Dingle Peninsula. He hasn’t been there yet.”

  Maeve scoffs. “Let me guess. That American lad who is friends with Fiona’s new love?”

  I can’t help smiling. “He’s very nice.”

  “Just what you need.” Maeve sneers and turns the pram around. “Glad you’re having fun.” One of the twins stirs. She reaches down and pulls the blanket up, and he snuggles in. Under her breath, she says, “Never mind me. I’ll deal with everything.” Then, she strolls off without a backwards glance.

  Retreating indoors, I finish packing. Hunter arrives within the hour and loads my car with our bags. As we’re leaving the cottage, Hunter says, “Aren’t you going to leave a note?”

  “No. Maeve knows.” I grip the handles on my crutches and shuffle toward the door.

  Hours later, at the clinic in Castlebar, the doctor proclaims my ankle fit for bearing as much of my weight as can be tolerated in the removable boot. Walking out of the clinic, I put weight down on my foot and pain shoots up my leg. Grimacing, I stop and hold onto the handrail.

  Hunter holds up the crutches. “You can still use these until you get used to it.”

  “I’m fine.” My tone is gruff. I wait a few seconds. My breath steadies and the pain ebbs. Then, standing upright and taking small steps, I limp to the car.

  Hunter holds the door while I get into the passenger seat. On our way to Galway, I point out things of interest, and when we arrive, I direct him to one of my favorite places on the waterfront for a late afternoon lunch. The barman waves as we slide into a corner booth in the nearly empty pub.

  My eyes adjust to the dark interior. Light filters in through the front window as we look at the menus. We each order a pint of Guinness, and later, fish and chips.

  As we wait for our food, we make small talk about the antiques hanging from the ceiling and the pieces of memorabilia covering every inch of wall space in the musty pub. A man with grey, wispy hair peeking out of his tweed cap stops at our table, tips his cap, and says to me with a toothless grin, “Hello, gorgeous.” He winks and then shuffles to the bar.

  Hunter smiles. “You seem to have a way with men.”

  “Apparently so.” I sip my stout. It glides easily down my parched throat.

  Hunter reaches over and wipes foam from my lip. “There. Now you’re perfectly gorgeous.”

  I feel my face flush and notice his hands resting on the table. Large. Calloused.

  “What exactly do you do in Montana with horses?” I ask.

  “The typical things. Feed them. Ride them. Work with the guests.”

  “Guests?”

  “It’s a guest ranch. People—families mostly—come to experience horseback riding and hiking in the mountains. Been in the family for generations.”

  “You’ll work there after school?”

  “Someone has to.” Hunter grows quiet. I’m about to ask him more about the ranch when he blurts out, “I’ve been thinking about something you said. About your mom.”

  “Oh?” I suspend the glass in front of my mouth.

  “Well, you said that the Walters guy told you that he and your mother had a relationship when she was a student, but he was married. Do you know when their relationship ended? I mean, could he be your dad?”

  “Hell, I dunno.” I drain my stout and push the glass away. “I’ve wondered, but couldn’t bring myself to ask. It’s all so feckin’ unbelievable. How can this be my life?”

  The server brings the fish and chips with peas and a bottle of vinegar. She asks if we are ready for another jar. We both nod and she goes off to get it. For a while neither of us says anything. A group barges into the pub, laughing and talking loudly. The musty air envelops me. Hunter grabs my hand and says, “Don’t you need to know the truth.”

  After we leave the pub, we linger around the waterfront for the rest of the afternoon and evening. A light mist falls. My mind stews over all that Hunter said. I barely know where we are even though I’ve been to Galway more times than I can count.

  We stop often so I can sit and rest. Still, I refuse to go back to using crutches. Instead, I lie and say it’s not too bad and that the boot just takes getting used to. Finally, after a late dinner at a pub with loud music, I admit that I’m not up for driving and spending time on Dingle Peninsula the next day. I’d rather go home, where I can prop my leg and take something for the pulsating pain. Hunter agrees, and we walk back to the car.

  Just past Galway in the direction of Louisburgh, a few large drops of rain splatter on the windshield, and then a steady drumbeat on the roof. Soon the wipers can’t keep up with the rain pelting the windshield and making the road barely visible. A wave of exhaustion washes over me. My eyes grow heavy as I listen to the wipers swishing. I drift to sleep. When I wake up, we are entering Louisburgh.

  The streets are empty except for a few parked cars. In the shops and in the flats above the pubs, all the windows are dark. Our headlights funnel light toward the holiday cottages. A few still have lights on, but our cottage is completely dark. Because the outside light above the door is turned off, Hunter leaves the headlights on so we can see our way inside.

  Pulling up the collar of my jacket to cover my face, I lower my head as I walk to the cottage without crutches. The pain in my ankle slows me down. The stone path, polished with the heavy rain, is slippery and the boot has little traction. By the time I reach the door, I’m drenched. Water cascades from my hair onto my face. I fumble for the key, unlock the door, and push inside with Hunter right behind me. One of Da’s boots lies in the entryway. Hunter kicks it aside
.

  The only light in the cottage glows from the fireplace across the room. The air smells of peat and cigar smoke. I’m trying to take off my soaked jacket when I hear Da’s snoring. It’s not coming from his bedroom. It’s close, like he’s on the couch. Then I see a movement in the shadows and my body turns ice cold. Someone’s on the floor. Crouched. Like an animal.

  I feel around on the wall for the light switch and flip it on. Staring at me from across the room is Paddy, wide-eyed, on his knees. He’s wearing only his undershirt and socks. Grabbing a magazine to cover his crotch, he lunges for his trousers which are tossed over the back of a chair, yanks them down, and scrambles to put them on.

  Hunter says, “Shit, man. What the fuck?” He reaches for me and tries pulling me in close so I can’t see anymore. But, I pull back. I have to look. I have to see.

  Paddy’s got his pants and shirt on now. He’s shaking Da, who’s passed out naked on the floor.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Maeve’s face bears a crease from the pillow and her hair stands on end when she answers the door in a housecoat that could have been my grandma’s. “What the hell are you doing here?” She doesn’t open the door more than a crack even though the rain is assaulting my face.

  “I’ve got nowhere else to go,” I say, pushing past her and hobbling to the kitchen. Hunter follows me into the warm B&B, dripping water onto the polished wood floor.

  Maeve says, “He’ll not be staying.”

  “I never said he was,” I say, and lower myself onto a chair at the kitchen table.

  Hunter sets my car keys and bag on the table. “You’re sure you’ll be okay?” he asks.

  I shrug and peel off my soaked jacket.

  He leans down, kisses my cheek, and whispers, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He walks out the door to return to the place that he and Jake have been staying in down the street.

  Maeve slams the door and returns to the kitchen. On the counter, laid out for breakfast, are stacked plates, cups, and saucers, and a platter of scones covered in plastic. Standing with her legs widely planted, and her arms resting on her belly, she says, “Are you going to tell me what is so bloody important that you had to come here at three in the feckin’ morning?”

  “I can’t,” I say, rocking and hugging myself.

  “You’re mental. Go to your granda’s. No one’s there. You and your boyfriend could have a grand time and not disturb the precious little sleep I’ll get.”

  “I need to be here,” I say. “With you.”

  “So I’m your new best friend? Saints be praised! Lucky me,” Maeve huffs over to the sink, fills the teakettle, and rummages for a hand towel in the drawer. She tosses it at me. “Here. Don’t drip on the floor. I just cleaned it.”

  I wrap the towel around my hair. My wet clothes cling to my body. I get up and limp to the hall closet, where I’ve stashed an extra pair of trousers and a sweater, and go into the bathroom to change. When I come back, Maeve’s sitting at the table sipping tea. There’s a steaming cup at my place.

  The tea is strong, smooth and sweet. It goes down easily.

  Maeve stares at me. “So I’m to read your mind?”

  I turn away from Maeve’s icy glare.

  “Lovely. Well, then, let me give you some advice.” Maeve leans forward on her fleshy arms and says, “Quit feeling so bloody sorry for yourself. Whatever it is that has you here with me and not with people who actually give a shite, is not my concern.”

  I start to say something but Maeve holds her hands up and stops me. “Deal with it. Whatever it is. Stop expecting someone else to do it for you.”

  Maeve drains her tea and points her finger at me. “And stop thinking some dim-witted man will make it alright. They’re more bloody trouble than they’re worth.” She hoists herself up from the table and shuffles in her slippers to the living room, to the couch, which is her bed.

  I sit at the table for hours and try to make sense of everything that has happened. But, I can’t. Nothing is as it has seemed. Anger swells. I want to pound the table and scream. It takes everything I have to hold it together. I don’t dare wake Maeve or the guests. For the first time, I have no home and no place to go. I’m alone. I feel powerless. Tears flow until there are no more.

  The sky finally lightens although the sun is not shining. Upstairs, the guests’ feet clomp across the wooden floorboards. I hear Maeve stirring in the next room. I wait. When Maeve finally comes into the kitchen, she is dressed with her hair neatly combed. I stand up. She brushes past me and goes to the refrigerator.

  I say, “I’ve decided to go to Dublin.” I drape my damp coat over my arm and sling my bag over my shoulder. “To try and help Ma.”

  Maeve takes out a carton of eggs and starts cracking them into a bowl.

  “I’m not coming back,” I say and stand up straighter.

  Maeve turns to me. “Leave if you want. Stay if you want.” She reaches for the milk. “I don’t care. Just let me work.”

  As I push the chair back to the table, it scrapes the linoleum. “Right. Well, thanks. You take care, too. What with those babies and Bobby.”

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t mind me.” Maeve takes a deep breath, beats the eggs faster, and doesn’t look up as I walk out the door.

  Outside, a fine mist tickles my face. The sun is trying to peek out. The hills, with their varying shades of green, glisten. I start the engine and drive down toward the cottages. My stomach knots when I see Da’s car parked along the street in front of Paddy’s pub.

  When I reach the cottage that used to feel like home, I shower, dress, and start packing. My heart beats rapidly as I inventory what to take and what to leave behind.

  Digging into the bottom of my topmost dresser drawer, I grab the money that I’ve stashed along with my bank card. Ma’s wedding ring is still on top of the dresser. I slip it onto my pinkie and haul out a suitcase from under my bed. It fills quickly as I toss in clothes, boots, trainers, socks and underwear. There’s not enough room to cram all my things in, so I go to the hall closet to get Ma’s large suitcase. It is hidden in back behind the heavy coats. I wheel it back to my room, flop it onto the bed, and open it.

  The canvas suitcase looks new despite a layer of dust. It’s lined with compartments. One section bulges. Unzipping it, I find my soft-sided baby book. My fingers touch the pink satin cover. It smells like baby powder. I flip through the pages, brushing my fingertips over each page. Ma’s perfect writing meticulously details my early years. In an envelope are locks of wispy red hair and baby teeth.

  Just as I’m closing the book, Ma’s passport falls out, along with a wad of money bound by a rubber band. I have no idea how much is there, but it’s a lot. I open the passport. It’s long expired. Ma looks at the camera blankly with her small, expressionless eyes. Her thin lips form a straight line as her black, flat hair frames her narrow face.

  I put the baby book, passport, and money back into the compartment. As I do, my hand brushes across a plastic bag tucked deep into the corner. I see strands of dark hair inside it. I have to look closely to see them. Not my hair. It’s too dark. And it’s too red to be Ma’s hair. A strong wind rattles the windows. Looking up, I see the clouds rolling in. I fold the bag back up and tuck it into the compartment.

  I finish packing my things and go down the hall to my parents’ room to see if there’s anything I should take to Ma.

  Da’s clothes are strewn all over the floor. I open Ma’s closet. Her clothes are on metal hangers and grouped by color. They barely fill the small closet. I touch a sweater with frayed edges that Ma wore most days. It’s the color of ash. I hold it to my nose, inhaling deeply. Her scent lingers. It’s the perfume I gave her. My throat tightens, and I can’t swallow. I consider taking the sweater with me, but don’t. I leave all her things behind except for the ring and the items I found in her suitcase.

  After loading the car, I stand outside the cottage looking toward Clew Bay. Gathering clouds block the sun. Looking out at the restl
ess water, I hold my thick hair back from the wind and inhale the salty air. Even though I’ve longed for more, I never saw myself leaving this way.

  I never saw myself without a home. I never saw myself without a family.

  Getting into the car, I drive the short distance to the school I left two years ago. Mrs. McCune, the receptionist, peers over her thick eyeglasses and greets me as I come through the office door. “Good day, Eliza.” She puts down a stack of papers and rests her twisted, arthritic hands on them. “Ah, the leg is still bothering you, I see.”

  “It’s better,” I say.

  “And your ma?” Mrs. McCune folds her hands as in prayer and says, “Shame she’s locked away like that.”

  I cringe. “It’s a hospital, not a prison.” My tone is sharp and cold. I lean over the counter. “I need some information. Ma went to school with a girl named Linda. I want to know her last name and where she is. If you know.”

  Mrs. McCune’s blue-veined hand fondles the thin, loose skin on her face. “The only Linda that I know who might have been in your ma’s year was Linda Gallagan. Went off to London to study music, I think.”

  “That sounds right,” I say.

  “Let me check.” Mrs. McCune peers at the computer screen. “I think she got married, though. Linda’s parents moved to Limerick years ago, and I lost touch. I don’t recall Linda’s new name. My memory’s not what it used to be.”

  I shift my weight. My ankle is starting to throb and burn.

  Finally she looks up. “Ah, here it is. Linda Gallagan. Married Ian Graham.” She looks back at the screen, her pointy nose just inches away. “She lives in Dublin and works at the National Performing Arts School. Aye, she did do well.” Mrs. McCune shakes her head. “She and your ma were the oddest pair.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, dear. Your ma never did much, did she? A fine mother, yes. Don’t take this wrong, but with the means and so little drive, I always felt badly for your grandparents. Such a shame that she didn’t do more with her life. And now…”

  A forced smile creeps across my face. “You’ve been your typical helpful self. Thank you.”