by Darcie Chan
Behind her dark sunglasses, Rose rolled her eyes. First her son, now the cop, and there was no way she could explain that the word in her lawn was no damned compliment.
“You know, Ms. Frye,” he continued, “your sister filed a vandalism report with us not long ago. One of the tires on her car was slashed. Would you happen to know anything about that?”
Even though she was an expert liar, she could see when she looked the officer square in the eyes that he would not be taken for a fool. The fact that they hid her black eye nicely wasn’t the only reason Rose was glad she was wearing the sunglasses.
“No. I saw her changing a flat tire a while ago, but I have no idea how she got it.”
He stared at her without speaking for a few seconds and then nodded. “Okay, Ms. Frye. I’ll go see your sister and see if she has anything to say about this, but there’s really not much for us to go on here. At least now you’ll have this incident on file, in case you have any further trouble.”
“Fine,” Rose said. “You wouldn’t know what causes grass to do this, would you?”
The officer looked down at the yellow, wilted letters and shrugged. “I’m no lawn care expert, but I’d guess that somebody sprayed it with Roundup. It’s a fast-acting herbicide, and you can buy it pretty much anywhere. If you want to hide the letters, you could probably spray the whole area so everything turns yellow like that within a day or two. Then, you can just turn the soil over and replant.” He ripped one of the pages from his clipboard and handed it to her. “Here’s a copy of the report. Give us a call right away if anything else happens.”
“Thank you,” Rose said as she accepted the piece of paper. She watched the officer walk toward Emily’s house, and then she went back through her own front door to get her purse. It took a lot of willpower to ignore her growing need for a double-strength rum and Coke, but that would have to wait until the afternoon. Right now, she had to get to the Home Depot, and fast.
Alex was still standing in the entryway. “Get your shoes on,” she said as she passed by him. “We’re going out.”
ONCE FATHER O’BRIEN HAD SAID GOODBYE TO THE LAST OF HIS parishioners after Sunday Mass, he tidied up the sanctuary and changed into more casual attire. While he ate lunch in the parish house, he looked over some paperwork relating to the town’s new Hayes Memorial Park and Recreation Area. The plans for the land that had been Samuel Hayes’s horse farm and Mary’s childhood home were coming along beautifully. It was a stunning piece of property, tucked away down a country lane just outside of town. The perimeter had been fenced, and the playground equipment and basketball court would be installed soon. There would be other sports facilities, too—a baseball diamond and two tennis courts. A purchase order had also been submitted for two picnic tables.
Most special of all, he had arranged for a monument to be crafted for Mary’s grave site, a marble embodiment of his memory of her as a young woman. His memory of the funeral service he had conducted for her was far more bittersweet. Mary had been laid to rest on top of the hill where her father’s old farmhouse had once stood. It was a fitting location, beneath a cluster of sugar maples and with an expansive view of the whole property. He took comfort in the fact that Mary herself had helped shape the plans for the new park, which would soon be open for everyone to see and enjoy.
Slowly, on account of his arthritis, Father O’Brien rose from the table, put his few dishes in the sink. There were two wrapped packages on the kitchen counter, courtesy of Ivy. He made sure to take one of them with him as he left the parish house.
Outside, the warmth of the sun soaked into his shoulders and soothed his knees, and he knew his joints would limber up as he walked. There was only one other thing on his schedule for the afternoon—a counseling session of sorts—but the person he intended to counsel was not aware of his impending visit.
As he crossed Main Street, he thought of the phone call he’d received from Ivy Collard two nights ago. “I’m thinking that it’s time I take you up on your offer to talk with the girls,” she’d told him. “Emily says that they’re not working together or talking much, and it’s almost August. I’m afraid they’re going to run out of time. And I have something for you to give each of them, from Josie. She prepared a little message to each of the girls, just in case they needed it.”
He rounded the corner onto Maple Avenue just in time to see Kyle Hansen exit Emily’s house. He was in uniform, and the police department’s Jeep was parked alongside the curb. Kyle smiled as he approached.
“Father, how are you?” he asked. “You picked a good day for a walk.”
“Hi, Kyle. It is beautiful today,” he agreed. “I’m actually here in my official capacity, and I suppose you are as well. I hope everything is okay.”
“Ah.” Kyle’s smile disappeared and he shook his head. “I don’t quite know what to think, Father. These two …”
“The two DiSanti girls, you mean?”
“Yep. They’re like oil and water, and living next to each other isn’t helping. Rose thinks Emily’s the one who’s vandalized her lawn,” he said as he motioned toward Rose’s house.
Father O’Brien turned and saw the wilted yellow letters in the grass. “Oh, dear,” he said.
“I know. Emily denies any involvement. Of course, there’s no way to prove anything.”
Father O’Brien sighed and shook his head.
“I think each of them has serious issues,” Kyle continued. “Maybe you can talk some sense into them.”
“Maybe,” Father O’Brien said as he patted Kyle on the shoulder. “I’ll do my best.”
Emily’s surprise at seeing him on her porch was readily apparent. “Father O’Brien! Come in,” she said when she opened the door. “Gus, back up, boy, and let the father through.” As she held the door open, she glanced past him and down the street, as if she had expected someone else had rung her doorbell. “What brings you by?”
“Good afternoon, Emily. It occurred to me that I was long overdue in welcoming you back to town, and I wondered if you might have time to chat for a few minutes?”
“Sure,” she said with a smile. “Come on in. I was just about to indulge in a little ice cream. Could I interest you in some?”
“Well, that depends,” he said as he followed her. “What flavors have you got?”
“Butter pecan and chocolate mint,” she said.
“Oh, my,” he said. “I don’t think there’s any way I could refuse a little butter pecan.”
“You got it,” she said. They passed a small room off the center hallway that looked like a den, and Father O’Brien couldn’t help but stop and stare. The room had been spectacularly transformed into a glasswork studio. There was a table in the center of the room covered in sheets of glass and spools of a copper-colored metal foil. Smaller pieces of glass that had been cut into shapes lay on the table as well, along with a torch and various hand tools.
What had first caught his attention, though, were the large windows in the room. The center window was clear and open, letting in fresh air. But, the windows on the side were almost completely hidden by various framed, finished stained glass pieces that had been propped against the window panes and hung from the ceiling. The sun shining through the windows passed through all of them, sending colored beams of light in every direction.
“My goodness,” he said. “That is beautiful.”
“Oh,” Emily said as she backtracked to him. “It’s my little hobby.”
“I didn’t know you did stained glass work.”
She shrugged. “Just something I picked up over the years. I got into it when I started renovating houses for a living. I really enjoy it. In fact, I’m starting a new project for the McAllister mansion. I’m helping Ruth and Fitz convert it to a bed-and-breakfast.”
“Ruth mentioned that to me when I last saw her,” Father O’Brien said. He was still mesmerized by the beauty of the pieces in the windows.
“Father, would you like to see what I’m planning?” Emi
ly pointed to a side table, where a pattern was positioned on a light box and beneath a large sheet of glass. When she turned on the lights, he could see that the illuminated pattern formed a scene of horses grazing in a field, surrounded by hills and trees.
“Ruth told me that Mary McAllister used to keep horses on the property, in the stable down behind the house, and that her father raised Morgans. I thought that would be a nice image to have in the house—something involving horses and the Vermont scenery, I mean.”
“It’s a splendid idea,” he agreed. “I used to go riding with Mary. She had a black mare named Ebony who was very gentle … and very patient with inexperienced riders like me.” He smiled, and Emily saw his eyes glaze over just for a moment as he reminisced. “She had a copper chestnut mare named Penny, too, and a red bay gelding named Monarch. They were all beautiful animals. I’ll look forward to seeing this when it’s finished.”
In the kitchen, Emily prepared a generous serving of ice cream and handed it to him. “Here you go. Spoons are right in that drawer next to the stove.”
“Thank you.” He set the wrapped package on the table so that he could accept the ice cream and, with some trepidation, he pulled open the drawer she mentioned. For a few seconds, he stared down into the silverware tray, admiring the sturdy tablespoons and the smaller, delicate teaspoons that were stacked there. A few mismatched serving spoons of various sizes were tucked in outside the silverware tray, too, and even these were attractive.
So lovely, and such an opportunity, he thought, but since Mary’s death, he had kept his promise and found the strength to battle his addiction. As he tentatively picked up one of the tablespoons, he could see Mary’s face in his mind, nodding her approval and smiling with encouragement.
“Have a seat, Father,” Emily said as she sat down at the kitchen table. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I’m getting the feeling you’re here to talk about more than my arrival in Mill River.”
“Well, there are a couple reasons, actually,” he said. He pulled out a chair and joined her. Quickly, he took a bite of the ice cream and smiled at her. “This hits the spot, by the way. Thank you.”
Emily smiled and nodded in return, waiting for him to continue.
“I suppose the first thing I wanted to ask you was whether you and your sister have discussed any sort of burial for your mother.”
“Oh, no,” Emily said. “No, we haven’t talked about that at all. In fact, we really haven’t talked all that much about anything. I feel bad about it. I know Ivy still has Mom’s ashes, which puts her in an awkward spot, but we’re no closer to deciding anything about her burial than we were at her wake.”
Father O’Brien nodded. “It’s important that her remains be placed in consecrated ground. Just know that I’m happy to help whenever you and your sister are ready. I’m sure Ivy doesn’t mind keeping the ashes until then, seeing as how she loved your mom so much. Ivy did mention that she was concerned about Rose and Alex because she suspects Rose is drinking again.”
“Oh, I’m sure of that,” Emily said with a bitter edge to her voice. “I don’t think she ever stopped.”
“Addiction is a terrible thing,” Father O’Brien said. He swallowed another mouthful of ice cream as he ran his thumb up the smooth, polished handle of the spoon in his hand. “I’m convinced that the only way anyone can overcome it is if the decision to stop drinking, or smoking, or whatever, comes from within. It’s troubling, though, to think that Rose has her young son with her if she’s still struggling with alcohol.”
“I know,” Emily said. “But, I’ve been sort of keeping tabs on Alex, and he and I have gotten to know each other a little. Rose has been letting him do a lot of what Mom asked of us, and he’s actually done a good job so far. He’s an amazing little boy, smart and kind and loving, despite his mother. I get the feeling that he takes care of himself most of the time, and I think he takes care of Rose quite a bit, too. I can totally sympathize with that.”
“How do you mean?” Father O’Brien asked.
Emily snorted. “The whole time we were growing up, I was the one covering for Rose, lying to Mom about where she was, taking care of her when she came home drunk after sneaking out or was sick with a hangover in the morning. I did the cooking and the dishes when Mom always had to work long hours. Rose did whatever she wanted, and I don’t see how that’s changed. Alex seems starved for his mother’s attention and approval, but based on what he tells me, she’s passed out on the sofa a good part of the time.”
“Do you think a call to the authorities would be in order?”
“I actually threatened her with it already,” Emily said, “but I don’t see how it would change anything. Rose is good at hiding her drinking and putting her best foot forward when she has to. Alex doesn’t show any outward signs of abuse or neglect. He’s well fed, has nice clothes and a nice place to live, and is so smart and loves her so much that he wouldn’t say anything to implicate her. I think a social worker would be hard-pressed to find anything wrong.”
Father O’Brien was quiet for a moment before he spoke. “I know Ivy’s worried about him, too. If what you say is true, even if Alex seems fine, the whole situation just strikes me as one where a child slips through the cracks and where something awful could happen when we least expect it. But you’re probably right that an official visit from the county would probably be pointless right now. I do intend to talk with Rose myself, though, and soon.”
“Good luck with that,” Emily said. “If you’ve got a suit of armor, you might put it on, just in case.”
“My armor is a spiritual one, and it’s always with me,” he replied with a smile. “I’m still alive and kicking, so I think it’s protected me very well so far.”
“Father, could I ask … well, it’s a little awkward, but I wonder how it is that you’ve stayed here, in Mill River, for so long? I thought priests were moved around quite a bit?”
“Yes, that’s true,” he replied. “Most priests are moved every five years or so, and most Catholic clergy are required to retire at age seventy. I was granted an exception to those rules long ago by a bishop who obtained a papal dispensation on my behalf. To make a long story short, my presence was needed here to help care for someone who could not survive on her own, and I agreed to stay to keep a promise I made to provide that care.”
“You’re talking about the Widow McAllister, aren’t you? After the last town meeting, Mom called me up and told me all about it. She was so touched by what Mary did for everyone here for so many years.”
“Yes. Her husband’s grandfather, Conor McAllister, was a man of considerable influence. When Mary’s husband died suddenly and the rest of the family turned against her, he was the only one who remained committed to her well-being. He was also on very good terms with the Catholic leadership in Burlington, and Bishop Ross was able to secure the dispensation for me at Conor’s request. I’ve been lucky and thankful that the church hierarchy since then has continued to honor it.”
“I hope that Mrs. McAllister’s death won’t jeopardize your staying here now,” Emily said.
“I don’t think it will,” Father O’Brien said. “Mill River is a small parish, and priests are harder and harder to come by. Even though I’m far past the normal retirement age, I expect the current bishop of Burlington will let me serve this community until I no longer can.”
“It sounds like you’re safe, then,” Emily said with a smile. “I’m glad. I think my mom would’ve been glad, too.”
He smiled at her and worked on his ice cream for a moment, which was melting faster than he was eating it, as he debated with himself how to broach the next subject. “Could I ask you a somewhat awkward question?” he finally said. “Your aunt Ivy mentioned that you and Rose have basically given up on working together on your mother’s directive, and she’s worried that you won’t come up with the hidden safe-deposit-box key before the deadline.”
“Ah,” Emily interrupted with a wry smile. “Now
I see what’s going on. Ivy sent you over here to talk some sense into me.”
“Ivy is very concerned,” he admitted. “In fact,” he said as he pushed the wrapped package across the table toward her, “she asked me to give this to you. Said it was something your mom wanted you to have when the time was right, and Ivy feels that time is now.”
Emily slowly reached out for the package with her brow furrowed, but she didn’t open it.
“I know very well myself how much it hurt your mother that you and Rose have been estranged for so long,” Father O’Brien continued. “I’ve also known both of you since you were little girls. There was a time when you were inseparable, when you loved each other very much. Your mother believed with all her heart that that kind of love never disappears, and I believe that, too. It can be compressed and overrun by negative feelings and horrible deeds, but it can’t be broken. I wonder if there isn’t some way you can discover within yourself a spark of that love for your sister, enough to find a way to carry out your mother’s final wishes?”
“I’m doing the best I can, Father,” Emily said evenly. “I came here for the summer because of what my mother said she wanted us to do in that letter. I thought being here would be hard, that I would constantly be thinking about what happened between Rose and me. I was right about that, but there’ve been good things, too. I finally feel as if I’m back where I belong. I feel close to Mom here, too, even though she’s gone. But as for Rose … I’m not sure what I feel for her, Father. For a long time, it’s been anger and resentment and disgust all intertwined, and recently it’s been getting worse. I’m pretty sure I don’t love her anymore, and I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.”
“If you still love her at all, you may not recognize it right now. But, I think you do, and that love is the key to forgiving her for what she did. I know it’s not an easy thing to do, but forgiveness is what will help you resolve all of those negative feelings you have. If there’s any hope of you two rebuilding your relationship as your mother hoped you would, you must forgive Rose first.”
