Casting Off

by Nicole R Dickson

  He came to you.

  “That he did. I can still see his arms.”

  And what else do you see?

  Sean glanced over to Matthew.

  “Every day is a first step.” The old man sighed. “Some are harder than others, Claire.”

  Who’s on the left arm?

  “That’s Liam. Remember the first day we tried to take him out in the boat?”

  He was looking at the Lord’s sheep.

  Claire chuckled.

  What is Liam’s lesson?

  “Our children begin with words, Claire. Every word that comes out of our mouth when talking to the wee ones makes them who they think themselves to be. ’Tis from our words that their future takes shape.”

  Only good words need fill a child’s ear—and gentle warnings.

  “Aye,” Sean whispered. He looked at Joe’s sleeve and a lump formed in his throat. He glanced up to Claire. The tears streamed down her cheeks, glistening in the Irish sun.

  And Joe?

  Sean shook his head, weeping.

  And Joe?

  “I killed your sons, Claire,” Sean cried hoarsely.

  Joe.

  “See the whales?” Sean choked.

  The day you were tossed from the curragh.

  Sean was unable to speak.

  Something was wrong that day.

  He nodded, covering his eyes.

  He found the oars. He knew where they were.

  “He knew things,” Sean whispered. “I didn’t listen.”

  What is Joe’s lesson, Sean?

  Sean looked up into Claire’s blue-green eyes.

  “Joe was a man—more of a man than I ever could hope to be—because he was your son. I needed to set him free to make his own way.”

  Set them all free, love.

  “I miss my boys,” Sean cried, picking up the jumper and burying his face in it.

  Just tell them you love them.

  “I do.”

  Now you are free.

  “Am I?” Sean mumbled.

  Bring me home, Sean. Lay me here, near Matthew and Mary and Claire. And when you pass on, lie next to me and hold me in eternity.

  Sean wept and whispered, “I love you, Claire.”

  And I—you.

  Sean reached out and as his hand touched the hem of Claire’s dress, a cloud passed in front of the Irish morning sun and she was gone.

  CHAPTER 42

  Diamond Entwined Diamond

  Diamond Entwined Diamond. 1. A diamond stitch with another set of diamonds knitted below. The pattern then looks like

  a column of diamonds set on top of one another, out of sync. 2.

  A shifting of memory that realigns the present.

  —R. Dirane, A Binding Love

  Rebecca hung back outside the wall, staring at the cemetery. She had started this day feeling disoriented, and she felt that way still.

  In the morning, when the banging at the front door had startled her awake, her mind was filled wih memories of Dennis coming for his first visitation, and she’d been unclear about where she was or what day it was. But in her confusion, a warm hand had laid itself on her head, and when that happened, her world stopped spinning. She’d found herself lying safely next to Fionn, and nearby, just as safe, were her daughter, Rowan, and Siobhan.

  The Blakes and the O’Flahertys had come into the house, bringing hugs and joy and breakfast. But it was only when Annie Blake hugged her that Rebecca remembered what she had done the night before. She gazed over to Sean, watching him as Annie hugged him as well. How hard it seemed for him to be warm—to touch and be touched. Now he knelt before a gravestone, crying. Rebecca had never seen a man cry like Sean was doing.

  “Now he’s free,” Father Michael said.

  “It seems too easy,” Rebecca remarked.

  “Is forty years living like he has easy?”

  “No.”

  “You saved him, Rebecca,” Father Michael said.

  This was the same comment the priest had made coming up the hill, and Rebecca had watched herself pull Sean and his white sweater up from the black abyss again in her mind as she walked with him. And each time she pulled Sean from the water, she watched Dennis fall, hanging on to nothing more than a little white gansey as he fell to his death. She had jumped to save Sean. She could save someone like Sean.

  “How long are you going to live like you are, Rebecca? Six years is enough, don’t you think? Why do you hold back from Sharon?”

  “What are you talking about?” Rebecca asked.

  “What is it that Sharon did that night that would make you treat her so?”

  “I don’t treat her badly,” Rebecca replied, glancing into the priest’s eyes.

  “But you’ve pulled back from her. Not as close as you once were.”

  “How would you know?”

  Father Michael pointed to his collar.

  Rebecca looked away.

  “Do you really think you killed Dennis?”

  “Leave me be.”

  “You wanted him dead, so you pushed him over. That’s what Sharon says you believe.”

  “Don’t you listen?”

  “And what did Sharon do?”

  “She held me!” Rebecca blurted out. She saw Sean glance over his shoulder.

  “She shouldn’t have done?”

  “I couldn’t reach him,” Rebecca hissed through her teeth. “He wouldn’t be dead if she hadn’t held me.”

  “You didn’t want him dead, then.”

  “I—I—wouldn’t carry his death if it wasn’t for Sharon.”

  “Whose death?” Sean asked, rising from the ground.

  Fury burned Rebecca’s cheeks as she glared at Father Michael. “Rowan’s father, Dennis’s,” Father Michael replied. “You were going over, Rebecca. Over the railing.”

  “What stopped her?” Sean asked.

  “Leave it be, both of you!”

  “Sharon grabbed her. You would be dead, as would Rowan, if Sharon hadn’t held you.”

  “I could have saved him!”

  “If you wanted Rowan’s da dead, why were you reaching over the railing of a bridge to save him?” Sean asked.

  “I—I—was trying to save Rowan.”

  “And your best friend grabbed hold of you, not to stop you from saving your baby’s father but because she wanted to keep you and Rowan from falling off the bridge. That doesn’t seem so wrong, does it?” Father Michael asked.

  “But I pushed him,” Rebecca whispered, wiping her burning cheeks.

  “You grabbed your baby. He slapped you and he slipped.”

  “I wanted him dead.”

  “Maybe before,” Sean said.

  “What?”

  “You wanted him dead before you were savin’ him.”

  “The moment before, w-when he was sitting on the bridge,” Rebecca stuttered.

  “But not in that moment—the moment when Rowan’s da fell. You were savin’ him. You’re hangin’ on to the wrong moment,” Sean said.

  Rebecca stepped back, startled.

  “Haven’t thought about it like that, have ya?” Sean added.

  She shook her head, running the scene through her head again.

  Becky! Save me!

  “I can’t,” Rebecca whispered, backing farther away from the priest and the old man.

  “What do you want, Becky?” Father Michael asked quietly.

  “What do you mean?” She couldn’t breathe.

  Dennis slapped her, slipping as he did so.

  “Your life. What do you want?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Dennis fell away, terror in his eyes. And he fell away again. But Sean came up and came up again.

  Her chest burst into flames just like it had the night before as she stood on the deck of Iollan’s boat and watched Sean go under.

  “Yes, you do. The first time we talked. Over tea. Remember?”

  Becky! Save me!

  “Rebecca?” Father Michael called soft
ly.

  “I’m broken,” Rebecca choked out. “I’m in that tub.”

  “What tub?” Sean asked.

  “I want,” she said hoarsely, “baskets of blackberries and kisses on scars.”

  “In my kitchen, Rebecca. You want a house—and?”

  “A yard and kids and a dog and—” Rebecca shot her eyes at the priest.

  “And what?”

  “And barbecues on July Fourth.”

  “Yes.” Father Michael smiled.

  “Fionn.”

  “Yes, you want that, too. He’s been trying to bring you what you want. Not noticed, have ya?”

  Rebecca looked down at her feet. She gasped, for her heart burned so hot, her Saint Bridget’s cross was glowing, she was sure.

  “You’ll have to let go of Rowan’s da to grab hold of what Fionn’s tryin’ to give ya,” Sean said. “Can’t hold on to two men.”

  Rebecca turned to Sean, tears of surprise flowing from her eyes. She knew the word for her burning now, and as Sean Morahan stood before her, her heart poured out in his direction. Grabbing the old man, she held him tightly, weeping onto his shoulder. His arms embraced her firmly around the waist, holding her heat to his frail old body.

  “Thanks for saving my daughter,” she whispered.

  “Thanks for savin’ my life,” Sean replied softly. Pulling away, Rebecca held his old face in her hands.

  “I can’t hang on to two men.”

  “My son says ya have to let go of the dead.”

  Rebecca stared into his hazel eyes, feeling the word roll around her mouth. “Love binds, Sean Morahan, and I have hold of you now.”

  “And I you,” Sean whispered.

  Rebecca nodded as she pulled away from the old man. Then she stared into Father Michael’s eyes and then down at her feet and the next thing she knew, she was flying down the hill. Her mind filled with moments—Fionn riding his motorcycle and eating his sandwich and waving his silly American flags. Fionn dripping in the fog and playing his fiddle. Fionn’s red hair.

  “I have to go home,” Rebecca called, racing down the hill.

  She flew like a seabird down the hill. She jumped across the ditch and headed up Sean’s drive, bursting through the door. She ran through the front room and skidded to a halt at the kitchen door. There sat Paddy, Annie, Fionn Sr., Sheila, Siobhan, and Rowan, eating breakfast.

  “Fionn?” Rebecca panted.

  “Aye?” Fionn Sr. replied.

  “Not you! My Fionn!”

  “He went back to your house. Said he forgot somethin’ there.”

  Rebecca launched herself out Sean’s door, down his gravel pathway, onto the little dirt path at the side of the street, speeding north back into town. By the time she reached the village, her lungs were burning. She stopped, breathing hard as she rested against Father Michael’s gate.

  “Becky?” John Hernon stood up from between his bikes.

  “John. I need a bike,” Rebecca said, coughing.

  “You all right?”

  “Fine,” she replied. “I’m just kind of in a hurry.”

  “Take the red one,” John said. “You need help?”

  “Nope. Nope.” Straddling the seat, Rebecca took off. “Can’t hold on to two men.”

  She pedaled faster, the wind whipping the strands of her hair about her face. She bumped off the road and raced up her gravel drive. Jumping off the bike, she ran to the door and opened it. She pulled up short in the living room. Fionn peered over at her as he slowly dropped another brick of peat on the fire.

  “Becky?”

  Rebecca shook her head, doubling over, trying to catch her breath. Fionn stepped toward her. She held up her hand to stop him.

  “I’ve been in that tub, Fionn,” she groaned, holding her ribs.

  “What tub?”

  “I’m like that woman in the painting in the tub.”

  “Ah, the painting,” Fionn replied, nodding.

  “I haven’t seen you,” Rebecca said. “I—I—”

  “I’ll get my paints,” he said quietly.

  Rebecca stared in disbelief, and though Fionn’s eyes were as black as that night on Highway 1, she found no memory of Dennis in them. Instead she found the Irish night sky. Reflected in them, the peat fire sparkled like stars in the Irish heaven. She wanted always to be in those eyes.

  “I can only hang on to one man,” she said, weeping.

  “Aye,” Fionn replied, slowly stepping closer.

  “I love you, Fionn,” she said.

  “That you do. You think I’m beautiful.”

  He chuckled as Rebecca placed her fingers on his lips. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

  “Will you marry me?” she asked.

  “Look down,” Fionn mumbled through her fingers. She peered down and there, on Fionn’s open palm, was a simple gold ring.

  “I see you as forever, Becky.”

  Fionn lifted her chin and kissed her, and as he did so Rebecca wrapped her arms around his neck. Entwining her fingers in his red curls, she knew that she would hold on to him until the day she died.

  CHAPTER 43

  Cluster Rib

  Cluster Rib. 1. Rib stitches clustered together every so many rows. A common pattern would be to create a rib by knitting two and purling two, making ten stitches total for ten rows. On the tenth row, the ten stitches that make the rib are slipped onto a cable needle, wrapped with the yarn three times; then all ten stitches are slipped back on the knitting needle. This pattern appears as a column of ribbing bound horizontally every ten rows. 2. Tall, dry grass cut and bound together at the center to make easy-to-carry bales for thatching the roof. 3. Making a home.

  —R. Dirane, A Binding Love

  The next day, Rebecca slowly rode the red bike into town. She didn’t feel quite in a rush anymore, for she wasn’t leaving and there was much on her mind. How should she tell Rowan about Fionn and getting married to him? How would she help Rowan feel better about moving to Dublin, away from Siobhan? How would she finish her book living away from the island? She thought about it all, but none of it worried her. Her only concern, as the sun warmed her back, was the memory of a steaming pot of tea on the table and no Fionn in the bed beside her when she awoke.

  Turning the corner to Hernon’s Shop, Rebecca found Father Michael at his garden gate.

  “Good morning, Rebecca! You missed Mass.”

  “I don’t attend, Father,” Rebecca replied with a warm smile. “Have you seen Fionn?”

  “Perhaps,” the priest replied. “I have heard you’re getting married.”

  “He’s been by, then.”

  “Aye. Very early. For confession and then Mass.”

  “Confession?”

  “He was not right with what you two were doin’ last night.”

  “What?” Rebecca exclaimed.

  “You have something to confess?”

  “I’m not Catholic. What’s he telling you our—private—”

  “It wasn’t sitting right with him. So you’ll be getting married Saturday next, then?”

  “No. W-we haven’t set a date,” Rebecca stammered.

  “The invite says Saturday next.”

  “What invite?” Rebecca whispered, shaking her head.

  Father Michael trotted up the steps into his kitchen and returned with a small card. He held it out for Rebecca. She didn’t take it.

  “You want to look?” he asked.

  “No.” Rebecca sighed. “I’ve been through this before.”

  “He said he’d leave you to tell Rowan.”

  “Thanks,” Rebecca said and stepped onto the pedals.

  “So Saturday next, then,” Father Michael called after her. “Here in the church.”

  Rebecca stopped the bike. She peered over her shoulder.

  “I’m not getting married in the church, Father,” she stated clearly, staring into the priest’s eyes.

  He met her steady gaze. “We’ll have the Mass on the steps, then, Rebecca. G
ood day to you.” The priest turned on his heel and bounded up his kitchen steps.

  “Father!” Rebecca called.

  Father Michael paused at his door.

  “It’s Becky, Father. My family calls me Becky.”

  “Ah!” Father Michael grinned. “Saturday next, then, Becky.”

  “On the steps.”

  The priest laughed as he disappeared through his door. Rebecca stared at the empty doorstep and then up to the crystalline sky above her. Not a cloud tainted the blue of the Irish heaven. A low chuckle rose in Rebecca’s throat and she pedaled over to Hernon’s Shop. Maggie opened the door.

  “You’re getting married.”

  “Yes, Maggie, I am.”

  “To an O’Flaherty.”

  “Small town. Not much to choose from.” They laughed. Rebecca glanced up to the sky again.

  “Becky?”

  “Aye?” Rebecca replied, returning her gaze to Maggie.

  “What are you lookin’ at?”

  “Maggie, I feel that I need to take some control of this situation.”

  “So what’s new?”

  “What are you doing today?”

  “The usual.”

  “Come to Galway with me. I need stuff for wedding favors.”

  “What are wedding favors?”

  “Gifts given at weddings. I have a feeling that these will be a necessity.”

  “What are you talkin’ about?”

  “Come with me to Galway.”

  “All right. I’ll have Mum watch the wee ones.”

  “You can bring them. I’m taking Rowan. I’ll meet you at the ferry.”

  Rebecca handed the bike to Maggie and trotted toward the Blakes’ house. As she rounded the corner, she found Siobhan and Rowan racing toward her hand in hand, with Annie and Paddy bringing up the rear.

  “We’re staying! We’re staying!” Rowan yelled, smiling like the sun.

  “Yes, we are!”

  Rowan and Siobhan flew into Rebecca’s arms. Rebecca looked over their heads to Annie and Paddy.

  “Sorry, Becky. Siobhan got to the invite before Paddy and I realized it had been slipped under the door.”

  Rebecca shrugged and turned to Annie. “I need to go to Galway. Can you and Siobhan come?”

  “Aye. Need to get a dress?”

  Rebecca let go the girls and stood. “No. Stuff for wedding favors.”