Mrs. McCune flutters her spindly arms. “Of course, dear. Tell your mother everyone at the women’s circle at church is praying for her.”
I say I’ll do that even though I know I won’t.
Chapter Twenty
Driving toward the center of town, I see Fiona strutting down the street in her skinny jeans and snug sweater. She’s looking down at her phone. When I pull up beside her, she jumps and nearly collides with the steel kegs lining the path.
A smile spreads across Fiona’s face when I get out of my car, but then she pouts and crosses her arms over her full cleavage. “I have to hear about you and Hunter from him?”
“There’s not been much to say.”
Fiona smirks. “That’s not true. You’ve been spending a lot of time together. Well done!”
“He’s nice.” I kick aside a piece of rubbish. “He’s been a friend these past few days.”
“A very good friend from what I hear.”
“He’s been better than some.” My tone is harsher than I intend but don’t regret.
“Now don’t go biting my head off again. Since you’ve been off the drink, you’ve been a puss face. You need some craic.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I might have things going on in my life?” Fiona tilts her head up at me with a puzzled expression. I say, “No, you’ve been too busy with Jake to give a rat’s ass about me.”
Fiona puts her hands on her narrow hips. “All you do is sit around and mope.”
I square my shoulders and take a deep breath. “Well, I’m not now. I’m off.”
“Off? But, you and Hunter…”
“He’s nice and helped me a lot. But, he’s going back to the States.”
“Not for awhile.” Fiona’s tone is shrill. “He said last night after he dropped you off that he was going to extend his ticket. To spend more time with you.” Fiona touches my arm. “He really likes you. I can tell.”
I say, “There’s nothing here for me. I need to leave.” I hug my bag closer.
Fiona glances at the two suitcases lying on the back seat of my car next to the crutches. She says softly, “But you’ll be back, yeah?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
Fiona holds her arms out like a child. She feels small and fragile, like a bird I might crush.
“I know you. You’ll be back.” Fiona’s voice cracks. “This is your home.”
I pull away. Looking into Fiona’s makeup-smeared face, I say, “It was.” I smile weakly, then turn to leave. The wind blowing off Clew Bay carries the scent of spring.
Fiona starts to say something, but I get into my car and shut the door. The windows are up. It takes everything I have not to dissolve into a puddle of tears.
All I want to do is leave. No more goodbyes. I’m grateful Da and Paddy aren’t outside. There’s so much to say, and yet I have no words. Not now.
The only person I really need to see before I leave is pedaling his bicycle toward home.
Mr. Walters is lifting Johnny out of the basket when I pull up. He looks surprised to see me as I walk toward him. Looking at my boot, he says, “Well, you’ve come a long way.”
I ignore Johnny jumping on my trousers and say, “I’d like to talk to you, if you have time.”
He waves me in. “Time is all I have.”
I follow Mr. Walters up the path toward the door. Inside, the curtains remain shut. There’s a light on over the sink. Mr. Walters walks to the stove, grabs the kettle and fills it with water. Then he opens a cupboard. It is bare except for some canned goods and seasonings. He stands there awhile before saying, “I’ve nothing to offer you except tea.”
“I just want answers. The truth. Then I’ll be on my way.”
He pulls aside the curtain of the window above the sink. The sky is darkening. Then he turns his craggy face toward me. “The truth isn’t always better.”
“Yes, it is.” My voice is strong. I pull out a chair and sit down. “I want to know why Ma married Da. I want to know who my father is.” I fix my eyes on him.
His shoulders droop as he lowers himself into a chair. He sighs. “I told you that we couldn’t marry. Divorce was never an option.” He folds his gnarled hands. “It wasn’t then, nor is it now.” Mr. Walters picks at his tobacco-stained fingernail. I wait. Then he says, “When Annie found out she was pregnant, Seamus offered to marry her.” The kettle starts whistling. As Mr. Walters gets up to make tea, he says, “It was perfect for all of us.”
I persist. “You told me you’ve known Da since he was a boy and that you probably know him better than most people. What did you mean by that?”
Mr. Walters sets the cups of tea down on the table. His milky eyes lock with mine. I maintain my gaze. He looks down as he lights his cigar. He says, “Let’s just say I always knew he and Paddy had a special relationship. They were altar boys together. Inseparable from Father and then from each other in school.” His words linger like the smoke lofting toward the ceiling. “To this day, in fact.”
“I don’t get it. Why would Ma marry him?”
“Seamus found Annie in a very difficult situation and helped make it right. It was convenient. For both of them. He could be the doting husband and father and no one needed to know his secret. She had someone who could marry her.”
“Did Ma know? About Da?”
“Not at first. Later. Though she didn’t want much to do with me by then. Or anyone.”
“Did she tell you about that night in the pasture? About what happened? I mean, who…”
“She only told me that she was drinking with Seamus and Paddy. She got sick and Paddy offered to walk her home. She said she didn’t recall what happened between her and Paddy. The next thing she remembered, she was waking up in the pasture and Seamus was there.”
“Wait—Paddy? He could be my father?”
“Hell if I know. She said she and Seamus got close around this time.”
The cigar smoke whirls, then evaporates. Its familiar scent lingers between us.
Mr. Walters gets up, his back hunched, and carries his cup to the counter. The smell of soggy cereal and sour milk waft from the sink. He gazes out the window. Drops of rain start spattering the pane.
Keeping his back to me, Mr. Walters says, “Annie isn’t the girl I knew. Not anymore. She changed.” He turns and looks at me with moist eyes. “She didn’t understand how I couldn’t leave my wife. Until she had a daughter.”
Rain starts drumming the roof. Slow. Steady. Mr. Walters’s voice is soft as he says, “Don’t you want to ask me? Don’t you want to know if I’m your father?”
Despite wondering, his words send shivers down my spine. Outside, the wind churns.
Mr. Walters’s chest heaves. “I thought I was for years, but now I wonder if Annie even knows. Maybe she did it on purpose? Sleep with all of us and tell none of us. She was going to have the baby. That’s all that mattered to her.” His lined eyes close. “In the end, it was always just you that mattered.”
Rain slams the window. Mr. Walters goes over to the stand near the door and grabs an umbrella and rests it beside the door. “You’re going to need this. Take it when you let yourself out.” Then he whistles for Johnny, shuffles down the hall and shuts the door.
Chapter Twenty-One
After Mr. Walters shuts his door, leaving me alone and sitting there with more questions than answers, I gather my bag, limp to the door, and grab the umbrella. Using it as a shield, I put my head down and try to get to the car without losing my footing on the slick, uneven path.
Through the rapid swishes of the wipers, I try to see a few feet in front of me. All the feelings I’ve stuffed deep inside feel like they are going to erupt.
The windows are fogging up. I can’t breathe. The hollowness and sadness I felt earlier is replaced with anger. Toward Da. Toward Paddy. Toward Mr. Walters. And toward Ma.
The wind roars. I can barely hear myself think. Does Ma even know who my father is? How will I ever know what really
happened to Ma that night in the pasture? Even though Ma left that phone message four days ago, she has not returned any of my calls. Even if she did call me, would I ask these questions of her?
Do I really want to know the truth?
Hunching over the wheel, I follow the winding road out of town, gripping the wheel tighter as the rain comes down harder. My hands are numb.
The question that haunts me the most: If I mattered so much to Ma, then why did she want to end her life and leave me? Why’d she leave me alone with the memory of her bathing in her own blood?
The wipers can’t keep up. It’s a solid sheet of grey. The only thing clear: My parents’ secrets are now mine.
My shoulder muscles burn, and my ankle throbs. Rounding the corner, there’s a sheep in the center of the road. I swerve sharply to the right to avoid hitting it, then crank the wheel back to stop skidding. The car spins around and leaves the road. Then it stops. My heart pounds. I put the car in park and check the rearview mirror for cars. There are no lights from either direction. I try catching my breath.
Wiping my face, I put the car in gear. The wheels only spin as rain pounds the windows. Slapping the wheel with my hand, I try to think what to do. Pulling my phone from my bag, I check the GPS. I’m only a few kilometers from Westport. I look up the number for roadside service and call for help. They tell me it could be up to two hours. There’s no choice but to wait. I turn on the emergency flashers and sink into the seat. The windows fog up. While I wait, all the questions spin in my mind again. More than two hours pass before I see the tow truck’s yellow flashing lights.
After getting hooked up and pulled back onto the road, I follow the truck’s taillights into Westport. At the center of town on James Street is the Clew Bay Hotel. I’ve never been inside it before. Fiona and I only walked by it on the way to the nearby pubs. It costs more than I’d like to spend on a night’s lodging, but there’s an open parking spot in front. All I care about is getting out of the car and out of my wet clothes.
After paying for a night’s stay, I drag my suitcase through the newly remodeled lobby and take the elevator to the second floor. The room is at the end of the hall and overlooks the street. It smells like fresh paint and new carpet. After stripping off my wet clothes, I burrow beneath the down comforter, close my eyes and listen to the relentless rain. Soon I fall into a deep sleep.
My cell phone rings, jarring me awake. I let it go into voicemail. A dim light illuminates the far end of the room. Everything is still. No rain. No traffic sounds. No sounds from neighboring rooms. Stretching like a cat, I will myself to get up only because I have to pee.
Under the fluorescent lights in the bathroom, my skin looks blotchy. My eyes are puffy and red, and my hair is a wild mane, tangled and standing on end. Cranking the faucet, I fill the tub, step into the warm water, and submerge myself in floral-scented bubbles.
When I emerge, wrapped in the hotel’s oversized, fluffy robe, I check my messages. Fiona called. I ring her back.
“You’re not going to believe this.” Fiona’s voice blares into the phone. “Jake’s leaving with Hunter. Going back to the States.”
“Brutal.” I let myself relax into the mound of pillows on the bed.
“The worst is he now tells me he has a fiancée back home.” There’s the sound of a cabinet slamming shut. “The prick.”
“He tells you this now?”
“Hunter said he had to come clean and tell me.” In the background there’s the sound of ice clinking in a glass. “Well, he can kiss my arse.”
“You’ll find someone else.”
“You’re bloody right I will.” Fiona gulps something. “You need to come home. I don’t want to be alone right now.”
“I can’t.” I don’t tell Fiona that I’m only twenty minutes away.
“But, I need you!” she whines.
“You’ll be fine without me. I’ll call when I’m settled. You can visit sometime.”
“I need you now.” Fiona’s voice is still whiney but softer.
I sit up and hug the pillow. “Well, I’ve got to go now. Sorry.” I hang up before Fiona can squeeze in another word. I cover my face with the pillow and feel my body sink into the bed.
I lay there debating whether I should go back to Louisburgh, just to make sure Fiona is going to be alright. But I know I can’t go back. Not yet. Maybe never.
There’s one thing I have to do before leaving for Dublin tomorrow. I call the number stored in my phone.
“Ryan here.”
“Oh, hallo. This is Eliza.”
“Eliza. Splendid to hear your voice. How are you?”
My voice sounds higher than normal and quite perky. “Grand. I wanted to make arrangements to bring your crutches by. Perhaps tomorrow on my way out of town?”
“You’re driving through Westport tomorrow?”
“I’m actually here. At the Clew Bay Hotel. I spent the day here after I got stranded with the rain. I’ll be going to Dublin in the morning. Can I bring the crutches by the clinic then?”
“You’re here?”
“Just for the night.”
“Well, then, I can save you the trip. Have you eaten yet?”
I glance at the clock. It’s nearly six o’clock. “Well, no, but…”
“Excellent. We can eat dinner at the restaurant there. Say in an hour?”
“Umm.” I can’t think of an excuse. “Lovely.”
We hang up. I touch my puffy eyes and scramble out of bed to get a cold washcloth to put on them. Then I dig through my suitcase for my makeup and something presentable to wear. My footwear choices are limited. Finally I settle on a cashmere cardigan and boot-cut jeans.
Ryan is waiting for me in the lobby when I get off the elevator. He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers. When he sees me, his eyes widen. He smiles and says, “I’ll be damned.”
I feel myself blush. He hands me the flowers and kisses my cheek. Then, he takes my elbow and guides me to the restaurant.
The barman is watching the rugby match on the big screen and talking to an elderly man clutching his stout. Unlike at Paddy’s pub, the stools are leather and the bar a polished, dark granite. We find a table by the front window. Soon, a server brings us menus. After contemplating our drink order, we agree on the house red wine.
We make small talk, mostly about the dreadful weather and lambing that has kept Ryan busy, along with his training. The server arrives, uncorks the wine, and pours us each a glass. It goes down smoothly. My stomach rumbles as we place our food order.
The bouquet rests on the corner of the table. I touch one of the lilies. “Thanks for these.”
“I hope your boyfriend doesn’t want to beat me up, but I still feel bad about your leg.”
“Boyfriend?”
“The guy I saw you with on the beach.”
“Oh, him.” I avoid his eyes. “He’s just a tourist. An American. He’s not my boyfriend.”
A smile spreads over Ryan’s freckled face. He lifts the wine bottle and refills my glass. I look out the large-paned window. Puddles glisten under the streetlights. People walk by with closed umbrellas. A silence lingers between us like the morning mist. As he touches my fingers, he says, “I’ve been thinking of you.”
I pull my hand back and put it on my lap. “That right?” I take a long sip of wine. It warms my throat. My cheeks feel flush. “How’s Alex?”
Ryan shrugs. “Okay, I guess. Moving to New York. Got a modeling job.” He folds his hands on the table. “I’ll miss her.”
“No doubt,” I say. I break off a piece of bread, slather it with butter and take an interest in looking around the empty restaurant.
“You okay?”
I stuff the bread into my mouth. “Grand.”
“Did I say or do something wrong?”
“No. I’m just tired. And hungry.” I look around for the server to bring our food. I offer Ryan the bread basket, but he shakes his head. I take another piece and ask, “How’s your training f
or the tri going?”
“Excellent.” He runs his hands through his curly hair. “I wish you could do it, too.”
“There’ll be others,” I say, rotating my stiff ankle.
“Right.” Ryan leans forward and tries to touch my hand again, but I pull it away. He just stares at me.
The server arrives with our salad. Ryan sprinkles his with lemon while I coat mine with dressing. I take a bite. “Will you and Alex try to visit each other often?”
He shakes his head. “Probably not. I’ll get another flatmate.”
“It’ll be hard to replace her in your life.”
“Not really. I mean, she’s been great, and we’ve known each other since university, but we didn’t do much or see each other often. Mostly she stayed with her boyfriend.”
My mouth hangs open. “Boyfriend?”
“Plays rugby for the union team. Nice lad.”
“Oh, I just assumed…”
Ryan laughs. “Alex likes real athletes.”
My breath escapes and I smile. He refills my glass and motions to the server to bring another bottle. This time I don’t pull my hand away when he reaches for it. His hands are smooth and strong.
He leans forward. “So where were you on your way to?”
“Dublin. To see Ma.”
“Oh, she’ll see you now? Excellent.” He squeezes my hand.
“Well, I don’t know. I hope so.”
The server returns with another bottle of wine. After uncorking it, she fills our glasses and then goes to check on our food. Ryan brushes his fingertips over my arm. His dark brown eyes meet mine. “Maybe we can spend some time together when you get back.”
Shivers snake through my body. “I’ll not be back. Not to Louisburgh.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“There’s a lot that’s happened since I saw you last. Too much. Let’s just say that I have no bloody clue who my da is.”
Ryan’s back straightens, and he shakes his head. “I still can’t believe my uncle and your ma. It’s a good thing I’ve not seen him.” His voice is brittle and hard.
“It’s complicated. Not just with him, but with Da. With Paddy.”
Rain and Revelation Page 11
