Casting Off
Page 30
“I can’t find Siobhan and Rowan. I’ve called and called. They’re not at the pub. They’re not on the rocks.”
“Did ya check Old Man Dirane’s dinghy?” Sean asked, his chest tightening.
“I called on the rocks. They would have heard,” Annie said.
“Not if they fell asleep. They fell asleep in it a week ago,” Sean said, heading to the door. As he turned the knob, the door blew out of his hand. The world was red-orange, as though a great conflagration seared heaven itself, and Joe stood beneath it on the path in front of Sean, his eyes wide with terror.
Something’s wrong, Da.
“I know, Joe,” Sean replied.
“What’s that you say, Sean?” Paddy asked, coming behind him.
Sean blinked. Joe was gone. “Nothin’. We need to go.”
Sean, Paddy, and Annie clung to one another as they cleared the gate. The sky opened up and a great wash of water hit the asphalt with a crash. Sean squinted through the gusting rain, watching several tourists rolling from the ocean pier toward the pub like sea foam.
“That sky was clear,” Paddy yelled through the rain.
“It’s not now,” Sean replied. Sweat trickled down the old man’s neck.
“Hope that ferry’s all right,” Annie called.
“Ferry didn’t leave,” Paddy told her.
Sean didn’t care about the ferry. He didn’t care about the tourists. He cared about Rowan—Rowan and her best friend, Siobhan. Pushing past the pub, he willed the little girls to come up from the rocks. Any moment, they’d tumble together hand in hand around the corner from the pier.
“Bloody south wind,” Sean muttered.
Crossing the street at the church, Paddy and Annie held each other as Sean grabbed the cold brown stone. He crawled down the wall of the church to the corner. He wanted to see Rowan. He needed her to drag Siobhan to him. His heart raced as he got to the corner, the full force of the south wind slapping his face with rain as he came about.
“Can you see the rocks?” Annie called.
Sean couldn’t see anything through the rain.
“Siobhan!” Paddy yelled, but his words flew backward.
Clutching the ferry building, Sean pulled himself south, toward the rocks. The rain pelted his face, stinging his eyes. Still he could see through to the rocks, and what he saw made him gasp. The water was over the stones, crashing up onto the road itself, forming little tidal pools in the ditches on either side. The boat was gone. The waves must have risen and swept it away.
“Jesus Christ!” Sean yelled.
“It’s not there!” Annie gasped.
“Maybe they weren’t in it,” Paddy said. “We haven’t searched everywhere.”
Sean spun on his heel and grabbed Paddy by the collar. His body and soul were on fire like the Irish heaven above.
“Find Eoman!” he screamed, shaking the fisherman in fury. Suddenly he stopped. He heard a pipe on the wind. It came in from the north. He turned back to Paddy. “They’re in the dinghy! Call Iollan! Get your bloody boats out on that water! North!”
Sean flung Paddy away and flew back up toward town. He needed his boat. An engine would cover up the whistle tune, and he needed to hear it—to find Rowan and Siobhan. The wind was at his back until he turned the corner, racing toward O’Flaherty’s Pub. When he came to the corner of the church, he headed south, the wind shoving him north. Slowly, he passed Father Michael’s gate. John Hernon was pulling in his bikes.
“Get out of the wind!” Hernon yelled at Sean.
“Sean!” Father Michael stood at his gate. “Get inside!”
“That son of a bitch stole my sons!” Sean’s words spat in the priest’s face. He spun away, fury and hatred pushing him forward. Joe’s pipe played loudly in the screaming wind. “God’ll not take my girls!”
“The storm’s close, Da,” Joe whispered. His boy had just turned fifteen and sat beside the fire across from Brendan, who was but four. He was teaching how to blow the tin whistle. Sean relaxed, his eyes closed, warming his feet near the hearth.
“Play your pipe, boy. Don’t think on it,” he said to Joe.
“I can’t hear my pipe over the thunder.”
“Your pipe sings whether you hear it or not.”
“I want Ma.”
Sean opened his eyes. There sat Joe, holding his pipe in his hands, shaking as the thunder boomed again.
“You a man or a baby?”
Joe’s lip quivered.
“A man doesn’t need his ma. He has himself.”
A flash of lightning cracked the darkness of the dimly lit room. Matthew and Liam, whose little toes wiggled closest to the small fire, sat across from Sean, Joe, and Brendan. Their eyes were wide with fear. The thunder roared overhead.
“I want my ma,” Joe repeated.
“You’ll never be a man.”
“I don’t want to be a man!”
“No son of mine ever says that!” Sean yelled, grabbing Joe’s pipe and breaking it over his leg.
“Play your pipe, Joe. I’m coming.”
Sean struggled down the south road. If his body hurt from the run earlier, he didn’t notice. The gale was all-encompassing—in his ears, his eyes, his soul. He had no idea how long it had taken him, but there was still light behind the burning red sky when he stepped onto his gravel walkway. Soon, though, it would be all blackness. As he pushed through the wind, he heard a mistle thrush. It sang sweetly in the banshee’s wail. Sean went into his house, lit a lantern, and headed out to the beach. In the gale, the sand flew in the air and scoured the old man’s face and hands. Sean shrank away from it as he untied the mooring ropes. The wind picked up the curragh and tossed it on its keel.
He looked out to the water, crashing upon his beach. The wind was helping him; he knew the sea would, too, for in his mind he knew that both the sea and the wind remembered forty years ago. They wanted him to come out. They’d waited forty years to settle with him.
“Not until I get my girls,” Sean hissed. If the wind blew in fury, Sean had his own searing tempest. At this moment he could match anything nature could throw at him. With his entire body, Sean leaned into his curragh, pushing it into the boiling sea, which took him, as he’d suspected it would. Sliding onto his seat, he headed out. He didn’t go west or south. The girls in that dinghy would be north, near the kelp beds, toward O’Flahertys’ beach. He could hear Joe’s pipe calling to him. Joe knew things. Joe could tell when something was wrong.
“Da, I don’t do anything better than you. I see things differently than ya,” Joe said.
“Can you read a sky better than me or no?” Sean yelled.
“Da, I’m not sayin’ I can. I’m sayin’ something’s wrong.”
“You’re a coward, Joe!” Sean declared. “All of you are! I read the sky! I know best! If you’ll not get in that boat, then I’ll take her out.”
“No, Da,” Matthew said, stepping in front of his father. “The engine’s not running right.”
“How do you know? I fixed it while you ran home to your ma.”
“You couldn’t have. It needs a new—”
“First the weather, now the engine. Get out of my way, boy! Someone has to be a man for this family!”
Sean pushed Matthew to the side and reached for the door.
“We’ll go, Da,” Matthew whispered.
“What’s that?” Sean asked with a sneer.
“We’ll go,” his son repeated.
“Matthew?” Mary called from the kitchen.
“Shut up, girl! Not afraid of the storm, are ya, Matthew? Need your ma?” Sean mocked.
“I said we’ll go, Da,” Matthew replied, and he opened the door and stepped out. The sky had turned orange.
Liam and Brendan grabbed their shoes and followed their oldest brother. Sean glanced over and found Joe staring angrily at him.
“Staying in with the women?” Sean asked.
Joe said nothing, brushing past his father. “I love you, Ma,” he ca
lled as he reached the door.
“I can read a sky better than you, boy,” Sean snarled, goading him.
Joe stopped at the door and slowly turned around. “Matthew knows engines, Da, and I know the water. Will you never let go of us to see that we have become the men you raised us to be?” He turned away and went out the door.
And then he was gone.
Sean pulled on the oars, the rain pouring from the red sky above him. Joe’s whistle was clear, singing to the depths below. It was telling all those who lived there that there was a roiling and a spinning above. Best to stay below where it was cold and safe—still and peaceful. For years Sean had thought of the frozen darkness of the sea. He was a fisherman. It was never far from his mind. But it was something to struggle against; it was the great, grasping selfishness of God, created to tear a husband from his wife, a father from his sons.
Suddenly he stopped. The pipe had changed. It wasn’t clear. It wasn’t peaceful. The whistle blew “My Lagan Love.” And it wasn’t one pipe. It was two and they were shrill and terrified.
Sean laid on his oars, and as he did so the sea lifted his curragh up and dropped it heavily into the waves, angry at his defiance. He pulled and fought the raging water.
“You son of a bitch!” Sean screamed to God. “Not my girls!”
The sky writhed angrily above him.
“Keep playin’, Rowan! I’m comin’!”
CHAPTER 37
Diamond/Zigzag Entwined
Diamond/Zigzag Entwined. 1. A diamond pattern with a zigzag entwined. The zigzag spirals around one side of the diamond, then follows the angle of the diamond so the two patterns together appear to be double zigzags as they cross where the diamonds intersect one another. On the opposing side of the diamond, the zigzag spirals the edge of the diamond again and follows the pattern as before, like a double zigzag. 2. Guilt.
—R. Dirane, A Binding Love
Rebecca had downed one pint, sending a whoop and a holler across the small pub as she did so, for everyone there knew she didn’t like beer. Though another pint was slid before her, she didn’t drink it. Swallowing the first pint had merely confirmed for her that she disliked beer. Instead of drinking more, she decided to eat, as the rowing had exhausted her. She was famished, and so she ate not only her own plate of fish and chips but half of Fionn’s. He had stopped eating, concentrating instead on the orange sky reflected against the yellow-white of the pub’s walls. Fionn and his father grew silent.
“Something wrong?” Rebecca asked.
Before they answered, Iollan came through the door. “There’ll be no goin’ home for you three tonight,” he said, turning to the bartender. “Pint, Grace.”
“What’s going on?” Fionn Sr. asked, rising from his seat.
“Paddy called over and said there’s a gale comin’ like a mad banshee from the south.”
“Rowan,” Rebecca said, moving to the edge of her seat.
“We didn’t smell anything,” Fionn said, resting his hand onto Rebecca’s knee.
“No one did,” Iollan replied. “’Twas Sean. The old man came racing up the dock like death itself was on his heels.”
Grace slid the pint into Iollan’s hand. He had only lifted it from the bar when his partner came flying in the door.
“We need to go out!”
“We were just told to stay in,” Iollan said, setting his glass down heavily on the bar.
“There’s a couple of little girls out on the water.”
Rebecca spun around to look at Fionn, who slowly stood up.
“Which girls?” Fionn Sr. asked.
“Paddy’s daughter and her friend from the States.”
“No!” Rebecca cried, bolting for the door. “No!”
“You think you can raise this baby by yourself?” Dennis yelled at her. He sat on the edge of the bridge, the ocean pounding into the cliff far below.
“Please, Dennis,” Rebecca said through her tears. “Please give me Rowan.”
“That’d make you happy, wouldn’t it? Taking the baby and moving to be rid of me! You can’t move far enough away! You’ll never be free!”
“Becky,” Sharon called from behind.
“Dennis, just give her back to me.”
“You think you can raise this baby without me?”
Highway 1 was dark and cold, and a deep fog rolled in from the Pacific far below onto the bridge.
It was Thanksgiving Day. Dennis had not returned with Rowan on time, and though Sharon wanted to call the police, Rebecca insisted she shouldn’t. Dennis had called. He was already mad, and so Rebecca agreed to meet him on Highway 1 just north of Half Moon Bay, where they had met two years before—where he fixed her car and offered her raspberry sherbet.
Rebecca held her hands out in supplication before her, staring at Rowan in her Irish sweater, cuddled next to her father’s chest as he sat on the edge of the bridge.
“You remember when we met?” he asked her.
Rebecca nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“You were so afraid out here—so high up with your car stuck. I helped you.”
“Yes, you did.” He had been so nice. He helped that day so selflessly.
“What happened to that girl, Becky? That pretty girl—that smart girl that I loved?”
“You happened to me, Dennis,” Rebecca whispered.
“No, Becky. That smart, pretty girl is still here,” Sharon replied from over Rebecca’s shoulder.
“Shut up, Sharon! If it wasn’t for you, she’d be with me still!”
The deep, burning hate Rebecca held in her heart for Dennis turned to ice-cold terror. She wished he would die—just die and leave her be forever so she wouldn’t have to see him ever again. So she could be free.
“Please, Dennis. She’s a baby,” Rebecca whispered.
“All you think about is this damn baby! You never think about me! My wants! My needs! I should just throw her over!”
“Please.”
“I’ll just let her go.” Dennis chuckled and turned toward the black abyss behind him. He held Rowan away from his chest.
“No!” Rebecca cried, stepping closer.
“Becky, stay back,” Sharon warned.
Glancing over her shoulder, Rebecca saw Sharon standing several yards behind her, with Peg sitting in the car. They had come so she wouldn’t have to be alone with Dennis.
“Sharon, what do I do?” Rebecca asked.
“Shut up, Sharon! You caused all this by coming here! She’d be listening to me if you weren’t here. She belongs to me.”
“Stop blamin’ everybody else for things that are your fault, Dennis. Becky wouldn’t be with you even if I wasn’t here because you’re a bastard and you don’t deserve her!”
“Give me Rowan,” Rebecca begged.
“Give me your hand, Becky,” Dennis commanded, offering his open palm.
Rebecca stepped forward.
“No, Becky. Stay away from him,” Sharon called.
“If you give me your hand, I’ll give you Rowan.”
“You’ll give her to me?”
“No, Becky!” Sharon yelled.
“I promise.”
Her trembling hand reached out, her eyes never leaving the little bundle of wool in Dennis’s right arm.
“I promise,” Dennis repeated.
“Don’t, Becky!”
As she reached for Dennis with her right hand, Rebecca grabbed Rowan with her left.
“Let her go!” Dennis screamed.
Rebecca shoved Dennis with her right elbow, pulling Rowan away from him. He backhanded her across the face, losing his balance on the railing.
“Shit!” he yelled as he slipped back, still clutching Rowan.
“Give her to me!” Rebecca hissed, wishing with all her heart he would just die.
“Help!” he screamed and as he fell backward, Rebecca caught Rowan’s foot. Sliding off the bridge, Dennis pulled Rebecca to the edge, for she could not allow Rowan to take his weight.
“No!” Rebecca screamed, slipping over the railing with Rowan’s foot in her left hand.
“Help!” Dennis yelled, terror in his voice. His right hand flailed for Rebecca.
For a split second, Rowan’s little body in its sweater was all that kept him from falling, and as the jumper slipped, a pop sounded in the baby’s hip. A shrill scream burst from Rowan’s lips, piercing the night. Rebecca grabbed the sweater at Rowan’s chest, her own hips cresting the railing. Hanging on to the tiny white sleeve, Dennis screamed again.
Suddenly arms wrapped around Rebecca’s waist, anchoring her to the bridge and preventing her from grabbing Dennis’s hand.
“I’ve got you now!” Sharon shouted.
“Rowan!” Rebecca cried, grabbing Rowan’s other leg, holding both with one hand.
“Becky! Save me!”
The sweater slid over Rowan’s head.
“Sharon, let go! I can reach him!” Rebecca yelled. All Dennis had hold of now was the left sleeve. Rebecca held all of his weight on nothing but the sweater. Her left hand held the sweater, which had nearly slipped off of Rowan’s body completely, while her right hand held Rowan by both of her feet.
“You won’t! You’ll fall too! I’ll not let go! I’ve got you now!”
“Becky! Help me!”
Still holding Rowan by the feet, in a flash of her eyelids, Rebecca let go of Rowan’s sweater to grab Dennis’s hand. But as she let go of the sweater, it immediately slipped off the baby and Dennis fell, his hand holding nothing but the empty little gansey.
“Dennis!” Rebecca screamed.
All she could see was his wide eyes as he fell through the mist onto the rocks below.
“Becky!” Fionn yelled.
Rebecca turned her head as she struggled for freedom. She froze. It wasn’t Dennis. It was Fionn.
“Becky, it’s me.”
“She can’t be out in this storm. She has to be safe,” Rebecca whispered, pulling him to the door. “I have to go.”
“We’re goin’ with you. Iollan,” Fionn said.
“Boat’s acting up,” Iollan said quietly.