Rain and Revelation

by Therese Pautz

  Ma opens the door. Her straight black hair, once unshaped and limp, is short and stylish. She’s wearing a patterned blouse tucked into fitted jeans that highlight her trim, petite figure. “Eliza!” She steps forward and hugs me. Her arms feel strong.

  As I bend down, returning her hug, I whisper, “I missed you.” She pulls me closer, but doesn’t say anything as she sways slightly, stroking my hair. She doesn’t smell like I remember. It’s lavender, not bleach or the perfume I give her every year.

  Then Ma pulls back, grinning at me. There’s a glimmer of gloss on her lips. She takes my hand and leads me to the neatly made double bed that takes up most of the room. We sit. Beside the bed, on a nightstand, there are self-help books stacked according to size with their spines lined up. After squeezing my hand, she lets go and folds her hands in her lap.

  Muted voices pass by the door and then disappear. A window opposite the doorway takes up almost the entire wall. Even though it’s mid-morning and the room is filled with natural light, the lamp near the bed is turned on. A small bronze medallion is on the table next to a book entitled Daily Meditations. I want to ask about the medallion, but I don’t. Instead, I reach over and put my hand on the shoebox. “Da asked me to bring these photos.”

  “Thank you.” She opens the lid and starts looking through them. I notice a touch of mascara and a soft shadow dusting Ma’s lids. She smiles. “He didn’t need to send so many.”

  “He kept some.” I recall the picture of the three of us on my second birthday and the ones on the mantel. I look down at my hands. My fingernails are chewed to their nubs. A new, bad habit. I tuck my hands under my bottom.

  Ma sorts through the pictures in silence. The ones of her and Da, she puts back into the box; the ones of me, she continues to hold. She lingers over a photo of me at my baptism, dressed in the christening gown that had been hers, as well. Ma’s thin fingers rest on her parted lips. “You were just a baby,” she whispers.

  “Yeah.” I don’t know what else to say.

  Ma replaces the pictures and closes the shoebox. She wipes the dust off the lid with her hand.

  We sit side by side on the bed, just breathing. A tree branch sways outside the window, almost hitting the glass, but then it doesn’t. The sky is overcast.

  I want to ask questions but am too afraid of saying the wrong thing, so I wait.

  Finally, Ma says, “So, how’d the race go? The one you were training for.”

  “It didn’t,” I tell her. “I went running on Croagh Patrick and I fell. It was stupid. I lost my footing when it started raining and broke my ankle and had to have surgery.”

  “Oh, Lord, no!” she gasps.

  “Yeah, I was disappointed. It’s getting better. Still sore, though. Luckily, I get to sit down at my job.”

  “Job?” Ma asks.

  “Here in Dublin. Mostly I answer phones. It’s dull, but it pays for my flat,” I touch her arm. “You could come and see the flat. Maybe stay.”

  “A job here? And a flat?” Ma furrows her brow and pulls back her arm. “Why?”

  My chest deflates. “So I can help you.”

  Ma looks around the room. “But Dr. Kilkenny has a place arranged for me.”

  “I can talk to Dr. Kilkenny. We could find a bigger place. Wouldn’t you like that better?”

  Ma’s smile is unconvincing.

  In the hallway, men are bantering about a contested rugby match. As their voices trail off, Ma turns to me. “I didn’t ask you. How’s Mikey?”

  “Oh, hell. I haven’t seen that bloke for a long time.”

  “Really? Is there someone else?”

  I pause. “Nothing serious.”

  “Anyone I know?” she asks.

  “Sometimes I hang out with Doc’s son, Ryan. The vet. He lives in Westport.”

  Ma looks puzzled.

  I say, “He helped you.” I smooth out a wrinkle on the duvet. It’s pilled and rough to my touch. “That day. Before the ambulance came. He helped stop the bleeding.”

  “Oh.” Ma looks down. “I don’t remember much.”

  I wait, thinking Ma might want to talk about it, but she looks away and says nothing.

  Pulling my legs up onto the bed, I rub my ankle. “Ryan’s turned out to be a good friend. Even though he’s bossy and full of himself at times.” I force a laugh. “He was helping me train for the race and talked me into running Croagh Patrick. We should have gotten down sooner to avoid the rain. But it came up pretty quickly.”

  Ma’s expression is serious. “Do you like him? I mean, as more than friends?”

  My gut twinges. I shrug. “He’s been great. Really supportive.” I can’t help smiling. “And he’s cute and sweet.”

  “But he’s in Westport and you’re here in Dublin?”

  “That is one of the problems.” My shoulders droop. “I don’t know what I want. I just know I don’t want to go back there. I can’t.” I start chewing on a fingernail, then stop. “There are loads of things I haven’t sorted out yet.”

  “Like what?” Ma asks.

  “Just stuff.” I shift on the bed and look down at my gnawed cuticles. “But I will.”

  To change the subject, I ask about the activities at St. Edmundsbury. We chat about Ma’s new interest in pottery, and she points out two fat, round pots perched on top of a rectangular cabinet. They are quite lovely. Above the bed, a ceramic crucifix hangs from a nail. Ma says she made it. Tucked behind it is a dried palm frond, the kind they give in church on Palm Sunday.

  Ma answers my questions, but volunteers nothing. Several times she glances at the digital clock on the nightstand.

  Ma takes a deep breath. Without meeting my eyes, she says, “I’m so sorry you had to find me like that.” Ma’s shoulders sink and she starts sobbing. “What kind of mother does that?”

  My gut contracts. I can’t hold the tears back any longer. In between gulps of air, I say, “I didn’t think you’d make it.” I sob. Ma pulls me tighter and strokes my hair. Her breath is warm on my neck. I say, “I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again.”

  Hugging. Rocking. Crying. We do this for a long time. Then Ma pulls back, and we both wipe our eyes.

  Ma says, “I couldn’t face you. I’m ashamed that at the time I didn’t care what my death might do to you. Or to your da.” She looks out the window at the shrouded sun. “I only wanted to die, to be free. Not from you, love, but…it felt easier.”

  “You’re better now, though, right?” I say.

  “Getting there.”

  “Does that mean you can leave? With me?”

  Brushing her hand across my damp cheek, she smiles weakly and says, “Love, I don’t think that’s best. For either of us.”

  “I can take care of you.” My voice gets soft. “I need you. I need to know you’re okay.”

  Ma tilts my head up. “You need to live your life.”

  “I am,” I say. “I’ve got a job now, and my own place. I’m not going back to Louisburgh. Ever.”

  “Who’s helping with the B&B?” Ma asks.

  “Maeve’s there. No doubt doing a better job.”

  “Still…”

  “Granda understands that I need to leave Louisburgh. And that I need to help you.” I lean my head against Ma’s bony shoulder.

  “It’s good you’re away.” Ma looks down and wrings her hands. “Good you don’t have to rely on your granda for a job. For money.”

  The tree branch outside slaps against the windowpane, startling us both. The room is stuffy. It’s hard to breath. The secrets and the loneliness are swallowing me up.

  Finally, I can’t hold back. “Ma, I know things now. That you couldn’t tell me.” Air swells in my chest and I say, “About Granda.”

  “What?” She bolts off the bed and begins pacing the room.

  “Ma, please sit down. Let me explain.” I go and wrap my arms around her. She tries to free herself, but I tighten my grip. “Just listen. It’s going to be okay.”

  Ma break
s free and flees to the window.

  “Please. I didn’t want to upset you. Maybe I should get Dr. Kilkenny.” There’s light filtering in under the door and footsteps in the hall, but no voices.

  She refuses to look at me. In a small voice, she says, “I’m fine.”

  I take a tentative step forward. Ma sneaks a look at me, but turns back toward the window. I pause. Her chest rapidly rises and falls. I step closer and, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, I say, “I know Granda’s my father.”

  Ma gasps and turns to face me.

  Quickly I add, “But when I found out, I hired a solicitor.” I hold my hands out. “Everything’s okay.”

  She sputters, “You hired a solicitor?”

  I talk fast, “It’s hard to explain, but pieces came together. I didn’t see it at first. Nothing made sense. You left your ring. I found your journal.” Ma grips her head, intertwining her hands in her fine hair. Moving closer, I whisper, “And, I found the pictures. The ones Granda took.”

  Ma starts crying hysterically. I put my hands on her shoulders. “Ma, I’m sorry.” I try getting her to the chair. It’s like corralling a wild animal. “We don’t have to talk about this now.” She finally sits, but won’t look at me. I kneel in front of her and say, “I just didn’t want secrets between us anymore.” Ma covers her eyes, doubles over and makes low guttural noises. I try to hug her, but she pushes me away.

  The look in her eyes scares me. I dash out of the room to find Dr. Kilkenny.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Dr. Kilkenny barks at me to get out of Ma’s room, but I stand rooted in the doorway. Ma’s sobbing in the chair while Dr. Kilkenny mutters words I can’t hear. Ma’s eyes had sparkled when I arrived that morning. Now they look like they did when I found her in the tub: hollow; vacant. Dr. Kilkenny comes over and pushes me out the door, telling me to wait in the family lounge. She slams the door shut.

  I wander down the hall, past the receptionist and into the family lounge. Collapsing into a chair, I wait.

  As soft instrumental music plays in the background, my mind replays every minute with Ma. If I could take back my words, I would. Periodically people saunter in for a beverage or a biscuit. I avoid their eyes and hope they don’t make any conversation as I flip through the magazines on the coffee table. I pretend to be engrossed in the material even though my vision blurs the print. Each time the door is pushed open, my heart beats with hope as well as dread.

  It seems like an eternity before Dr. Kilkenny walks in frowning and sits in the chair next to me. There’s no one else in the room now.

  “She okay?” I hold my breath.

  “That’s not how I hoped the meeting would go,” Dr. Kilkenny says curtly.

  “I wasn’t thinking.” My hands grip the faded armrests. “The lies are eating me up.” I think that I have no more tears left, but I’m wrong.

  Dr. Kilkenny sighs, grabs a tissue from a box on the table, and hands it to me. “It took a long time for your mother to trust me, and then the group, with the tough stuff. She may have told you someday. Or maybe not. We hadn’t gotten there. Needless to say, it was a shock to her that you knew.”

  The truth remains bitter in my mouth. My shoulders slouch. “She’ll probably never want to see me again.” Tears continue to stream down my face.

  Dr. Kilkenny softens her eyes and hands me another tissue. “Give her time.”

  Clutching my stomach, I say, “It was so hard waiting and not knowing if she’d ever see me. I don’t know if I can do that again. My life’s on hold. I don’t know what to do.”

  “You’ll have to figure out your own life, just as she’s figuring out hers.”

  “It’s not fair, you know,” I say as I scrunch the tissues and toss them in the bin.

  Dr. Kilkenny, with her greying hair pulled back in slides, peers over glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. “Tell me what’s not fair.”

  “That I have to carry all this with me. I don’t have a home anymore. My world is shattered, too. And she doesn’t give a damn. Life was too hard. She wanted to be free. She tossed in the towel. I get all that. Now she wants to go off on her own, and to hell with how that affects anyone else.” I glare at Dr. Kilkenny. Through gritted teeth, I say, “She’s a selfish coward.”

  Dr. Kilkenny sits back in the chair and crosses her arms. Her blouse is buttoned high and her suit is impeccable. She says, “Sometimes you have to be selfish in order to take care of yourself.”

  I grab my bag and stand up. “I know I have to move on, but it’s hard now that I know the truth.” My ankle’s stiff and it takes a second to get my footing. Reaching for my jacket on the back of the chair, I teeter a second, but catch myself.

  Dr. Kilkenny rises. “I’ll call you tomorrow to check in and tell you how your mother is doing.” She looks tired as she touches my arm. “And to see how you’re doing.” I avoid her eyes as I mutter thanks and stuff my arms into the sleeves of my jacket. She stands back and lets me pass.

  As I turn toward the door, I see Ma. She’s standing in the entryway wearing an oversized sweater and hugging a book. Her face is ashen and her posture stooped.

  Instantly Dr. Kilkenny is at Ma’s side. “Where did you come from?”

  “I was walking to the library and heard your voices.” Ma looks down at the hardwood floor.

  “Now’s not the time.” Dr. Kilkenny tries to steer her out of the room.

  Ma doesn’t move. “It is.”

  Dr. Kilkenny raises her voice. “I don’t think you’re ready for this. Not now.”

  Ma shakes her head and looks Dr. Kilkenny straight in the eyes. “I can do this.” Her voice is soft, but firm.

  “It’s been a long day, Annie.” Dr. Kilkenny puts her body between us.

  Ma walks around Dr. Kilkenny and stands before me. Her eyes are bloodshot and puffy. “No. Now. Eliza’s right. I’ve been a coward.”

  “I didn’t mean that.” I look down. “I’m just a git.”

  Dr. Kilkenny motions to a smaller room off the family lounge. “Let’s at least go in here, where we can have some privacy.” She walks over and flips on the overhead light. The room is barely large enough for the small round table and four chairs. There’s no window, only wallpaper the color of moss.

  Ma sits first, with her back to the closed door. The room smells like stale coffee. Dr. Kilkenny sits at Ma’s side. I sit across from Ma. She pulls her sweater tighter, stares at the center of the table and says, “I made a choice, and I have to live with it.” She swallows hard. “I’m sorry I hurt you. Never would I have wanted that. But it got too hard living with the lies. The pain. The loneliness. Death seemed easier.” She looks up at me. “You’re right. It was the coward’s way out.”

  My voice cracks. “I didn’t mean that.”

  Ma tilts her head back and closes her eyes. “All my life, I never felt I had any choices or power. Killing myself felt like power.”

  Dr. Kilkenny rests a hand over Ma’s. Ma opens her eyes then, but stares at the ceiling. For a minute, she doesn’t speak. Then she says, “I didn’t see how my life would ever get better. Except maybe by dying.”

  I say, “I should have returned your call that morning. I was almost too late.”

  Ma turns her gaze from the ceiling to me. “I wanted to know how long you’d be gone, but you couldn’t have stopped me. I would have done it at some point.” The corners of her mouth turn upward slightly, but her eyes remain dull. “It was almost exciting planning it. I thought I picked the best time.”

  My gut sinks. “Your fortieth birthday, of all days?”

  Ma shrugs. “Why not? It was just another day. And I didn’t want to live the next forty years like the first forty.”

  I trace my finger along the surface of the table. It smells like lemon, sticky from layers of furniture polish. Beneath the glossy surface are cigarette burns, water marks and other stains. Placing my hands in my lap, I say in a lowered voice, “I had no idea about Grandma hurting you, let alone the
horrible things Granda did.”

  Ma gasps. “What?”

  Quickly I add, “Linda told me about Grandma.”

  “Linda?”

  “Linda Gallagan. But now it’s Linda Graham. Da said she was your friend in school. So I found her on the Internet. She lives here in Dublin and she teaches at the National Performing Arts Center. I met her, and she told me things.”

  “I haven’t thought about her in years. We were close. A long time ago.”

  Dr. Kilkenny pushes back from the table. “It’s been a long day. Why don’t we find another time to talk?”

  Ma shakes her head and looks straight at me. “You said you talked to a solicitor.” Her voice quivers slightly. “I need to know what you’ve done.”

  Dr. Kilkenny fixes me with a cautionary look and sits back.

  “It’s a long story. Things came together when I found those pictures Granda took.” Ma cringes. I say, “I found Clara McShane, a solicitor who sued the Church and made them pay for priests molesting boys. She suggested that I have the hairs tested.”

  “Hairs?” Dr. Kilkenny arches her brows.

  I explain, “I found hairs in a plastic bag with my baby book, hidden in a suitcase of Ma’s.”

  Ma covers her eyes. “I forgot about that.”

  Dr. Kilkenny looks back and forth between Ma and me. “Someone want to fill me in?”

  “I was moving out of Da’s and I needed one more suitcase so I found one of Ma’s in our hall closet. That’s where I found the bag of hairs and my baby book.”

  Dr. Kilkenny looks at Ma. “Your father’s?”

  Ma nods. “I thought maybe someone would believe me if I had evidence.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “I always watched those crime shows on the telly. But I didn’t have the guts to tell anyone. I was scared. Who would believe me over him?”

  “The solicitor did,” I say. “Clara was brilliant. She had him by the short hairs. He won’t bother you again. In fact, she made him pay.”

  “What? How?” says Ma.

  “Granda signed over the titles to the guest cottages and the house in Naples to you. So you own those properties now. Just you. And Granda has to pay you rent to live in the Naples house—if you let him. Each month he’ll send you the rent money to live on. Plus he wrote a check. It’s big.”