Remember, It's Our Honeymoon

by Mairsile Leabhair

  “You…, you did that?”

  “I did. And I’m taking him to court once I get back from my honeymoon. Now don’t get me wrong, I was terrified. The vision of him on top of me is as clear today as it was fifteen years ago, and I’ve looked over my shoulder in fear, ever since.”

  “You’re taking him to chúirt?”

  “Yes, if that means court, and in fact, his daughter is going to testify with me against him…,” Vicky’s face hardened, “By the way, his name is Harold Cassidy, Aidan’s adoptive father. The same man that the Senator made reference to this morning.”

  Oh, my God! Brigh screamed in her mind, it can’t be true!

  *

  Across town, Aidan was sitting in the leabharlann, the Irish term for library, with books stacked all around her, with a laptop to the side of those. What she couldn’t find online she was hoping to find in old books. She thought they had somehow kept her mother’s identity off the internet, a fantastic feat in its self, but what’s already printed in books are hard to hide. She combed through the Irish encyclopedia first, learning that she needed the correct Irish spelling of their names if she was going to get very far. She learned that her aunt’s first name is spelled as Peig, not Peg. So, starting with Senator Peig O’Malley’s biography, she searched, but only found superficial information about her voting record while in office. That was the same information she found online. So Aidan looked through the Irish family records until she found the O’Malley name. Making copious notes, she spent the next hour cross referencing different books, until she could find nothing more. All those leads she thought she had found only came down to just one, and that one would lead her to her mother’s home town.

  Aidan pulled out her cell phone, made a goofy face and took her own picture, then she texted it to Vicky. Vicky’s return text was a picture of her sticking her tongue out at the camera. Aidan had to laugh. She hoped they would never grow up, because they were having too much fun.

  She turned her attention to the ring next. So many people seemed interested in that ring, and she had to know why. Finding no reference of it in the books, she left the library and went to the closest jeweler. He didn’t recognize the ring, but appraised it at just over one-hundred thousand dollars. Fuck me! He explained that the diamond was a flawless cut with absolutely no imperfections. That, coupled with the weight of the five carats, would set the appraisal at such a high amount. He also explained that with further examination, such as the history of the ring, it could in fact be worth much more than that.

  Aidan was dazed. As cheap as her father was, she knew he would never pay that much money for a ring. And if he had, he would have sold it a long time ago, because he was always in need of cash. Why would a money grabbing bastard like him, hang onto something so valuable, for so long? He didn’t even know it was missing when she stole it as a child! Maybe he didn’t know what it was worth? Yet it was the only thing he kept of her mother’s. And the most puzzling part of all this was that he recognized it on Vicky’s finger just a few weeks ago. It was like he panicked at the sight of it. Damn it! More questions than answers.

  *

  Brigh made the introductions when they got to the hospital.

  “Ms. Montgomery-Cassidy, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Donal O’Toole, Chief Executive, of Dublin’s largest hospital, greeted them at the front door of the infirmary.

  “Please, call me Vicky.” As much as she loved hearing someone calling her by her married name, business people always offered their first name in friendship.

  “Very good, Vicky, and please call me Donal.” He showed them into the lobby. “Welcome to St. Patrick’s Medical Center.”

  He gave the two women, Vicky and Brigh, a tour reserved for royalty and high profile dignitaries, complete with a four course luncheon, where Vicky was introduced to all the clinical and ancillary staff available, including the Chief Medical Officer.

  “Brigh, why are they doing this, I’m nobody?” Vicky asked, a little overwhelmed by it all.

  Brigh forced herself to smile, “They know differently, Vicky.” I’ve got to have more time with Aidan, alone, but how? “They just want to make you feel fáilte roimh, welcomed. A lot of us saw you on the Oprah Show, so we know how you and Aidan single-handily stopped the al Qaeda terrorist.”

  “Well, it’s very nice, but certainly not necessary,” Vicky concluded, as she was shown to the head table where the executive team sat. Vicky pulled out her cell phone and sent a text to her wife, just to make contact. About to give a speech, unless you’d like to give it for me? She grinned, knowing the answer before she even hit send. Aidan’s reply was a resounding, HELL NO! And then in all caps she text, ILY, the abbreviation for I love you.

  Whereas Aidan had panicked and needed a speech to read from, Vicky was accustom to speaking to a large crowd and had no qualms about addressing her new friends from Ireland. She praised them on how quickly they could put such a stunning luncheon together, with only a few hours noticed. Then she express gratitude for their dedication to the sick and infirmed, and marveled at some of their technology, which she intended to look into when she got back to the states. She talked of the dedication of their employees, much like her own employees, who give all for the wellbeing and safety of their patients. She referenced Oprah and President Trenton and the terrorist because she knew, that’s what they really wanted to hear about. But she didn’t go into graphic detail, sufficed to say, she gave all the glory to God and the heroism of her employees. By the end of her speech, she had touched the audience so deeply that they gave her a rousing standing ovation. Afterwards, Vicky posed for pictures and signed autographs, and felt so unworthy in doing so. This is just unreal, she thought. But also very exciting. I can’t wait to tell Aidan all about it.

  “I didn’t know you’d be here today? How fortuitous that I was visiting a friend and got invited to hear you speak.”

  “Mrs. O’Leary. What a pleasure to see you again. I trust everything is well with you?”

  “Yes, thank you, everything is fine.”

  “I’m glad.” Vicky leaned in and whispered to her, “I was worried for you.”

  “You’re very kind, but you needn’t be.” Now it was her turn to lean in and whisper, “I plan to leave my husband soon. You see, there’s someone else.”

  “Oh? Oh, I understand, and I wish you well.”

  “Thank you, my dear.”

  On the ride back to her hotel, Vicky and Brigh sat quietly, each looking in the opposite direction. Vicky was trying to come up with another way to draw her out, and Brigh was thinking about how to persuade Vicky to leave Ireland.

  It was Brigh who spoke first. “I’ve noticed that you never leave Aidan’s side. Even when she’s not with you, you’re on the phone with her. Now it’s not my place of course, but that’s a very short leash you have her on.”

  Vicky was shocked at her bluntness, but replied as pleasantly as she could, “If you’d been through as much as we had, you’d understand.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I just know that the Senator is worried. Some things need to be said between them, but she doesn’t feel comfortable talking in front of you. Not yet anyway. Not until she gets to know her niece first. You understand of course?”

  “Oh…, I didn’t realize.” What was it Aidan said? I remember, she said she couldn’t wait to get her alone so she could ask her about some things.

  “Perhaps Aidan could come back to Ireland in a few weeks, and spend some time with her, where it’s just her and the Senator?”

  Vicky thought for a minute, and knew there was only one answer, “Or perhaps I could leave without her. Give her some time alone with her aunt.”

  “You’d be willing to do that?”

  “For Aidan? Of course. I’d do anything for her.”

  Vicky asked to be let off at the next corner, and explained that she wanted to walk a bit to see some of the sights. The site she was most interested in seeing was the Catholic Church sh
e had seen from the balcony of their hotel room. Árd Eaglais Naomh Pádraig, the translation underneath read, Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. Founded in the twelfth century, this church had witness many miracles in its time, and Vicky was hoping for one more. If she hadn’t been distracted by her thoughts, she would have enjoyed the majesty of the church, as well as the history. But she was there for one reason, and one reason only. She needed answers.

  Walking inside, she genuflected before the Blessed Sacrament, then sat down on the pew and knelt on the foot pedestal. Clasping her hands and bowing her head, Vicky began to pray. She prayed for guidance so she could make the right decision. Was she right in thinking she needed to leave Aidan behind in Ireland? If so, should she tell Aidan the truth and risk making the Senator look bad? Or should she lie? No, lying was out of the question.

  “Please, God, what should I do?” Vicky said out loud.

  “My daughter, you seemed troubled.”

  Vicky looked up to find a priest standing at the end of the pew. He was an elderly gentleman, with gray hair and wrinkles in his wrinkles. He had been walking by and overheard her plea. “Father, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  The priest sat down beside her and said, “Perhaps it would help to talk about it?”

  “Thank you, I…, I would like that.”

  The priest sat back, as Vicky began explaining her dilemma. She told him everything. He listened, without judging, and then offered a suggestion.

  “So you’re not sure whether to leave without her, or whether to lie to her to protect her? Or is it both?”

  “It’s both, Father. She desperately wants to find her family, but it seems that I’m in the way of that. I know she won’t stay here without me, and I don’t know if I have the strength to leave her behind.”

  “Child, I can feel God working in your heart. He is also doing his work through you, for a higher purpose. You must be still and hear him, and you will have your answer.”

  “But, Father, how will I know for sure?”

  “Peace will come upon you, my daughter,” he said, and then left her alone with her prayers.

  A higher purpose? Be still and listen. Okay, I have faith, God, tell me what I should do. Vicky sat there for a few minutes until her eyes fell on two children who walked in with their mother. She thought they might be poor because of the tattered clothes they wore. She watched as the mother herded her children up to the prayer candles, where they stood quietly, their hands clasp in prayer, as their mother lit a candle. Vicky couldn’t hear what the mother was praying for, but still, she asked Jesus to hear the woman’s prayers. After the mother finished her prayer, she sat the children down on a pew a few rows up from where Vicky was sitting, and instructed them to be quiet and sit still, while she went into confession. Vicky thought they were probably five or six years old, but she was impressed with how well behaved they were, even when left alone.

  The older child, at least it seemed to Vicky that she acted older, was sharing what looked like a biscuit, with the younger one. Seeing that reminded Vicky that she had some candy in her purse, so she pulled it out and walked over to the kids. At first the older one said no, but the younger one started to whine, so she relented and accepted the candy. But she refused to open it, not until she could share it with her mother. At that moment, in that child’s face, Vicky knew she was looking on the face of God. And at that moment, he was talking and she was listening, and instantly Vicky was at peace. Her realization was that that there was no perfect solution to her problem, so whatever she chose to do would be the correct choice. God was working through her heart for a higher purpose.

  Vicky opened her purse and pulled out all the dollar bills she had in her billfold. She stuffed them into the child’s hands and said, “Share this with your mother as well.” And then she left.

  Watching the stranger walk away, the child looked down at all the money in her hands. Vicky had given her just a little over five hundred dollars. If she could have, Vicky would have given her the shirt off her back, too.

  Walking out of the church, Vicky’s phone rang. It was Aidan.

  “Baby? Everything all right?”

  “Yes, darling, everything’s just fine… now. I’ll be there in just a few minutes.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Son of a bitch!” Joyce shouted out of frustration. He was right, she was a doctor and she knew she was speaking out of fear. She laid Ellen’s head gently on the ground, and reached her hand out, feeling her way to the drunk man.

  “Mister, what’s your name?” She asked the stranger who had been helping her.

  “My name is Michael.”

  “Okay Michael, my name is Joyce. Now tell me about his wounds.”

  “It looks like he has a gash on his head, and he’s bleeding pretty badly from his chest.”

  “Okay, put something on his head, I’ll look…, I mean I’ll feel his chest wound. Any chance there’s some alcohol or rubber gloves around?”

  Another onlooker shouted, “Here, can you use this? I found it in his car.” He handed a bottle to Joyce and she could smell, even before she unscrewed the cap, that it was whisky. Her hands trembled from the rage boiling up inside her again. How ludicrous it was that she try to save this man’s life using the very thing that caused his injuries.

  “Thank you. That will work just fine. Now if someone will get his shirt open,” she said as she poured the liquor on her hands, “I’ll take a look, uh, so-to-speak.”

  Hearing the sounds of buttons being ripped from a shirt, Joyce ran her hands over the skin until she came to the wound. “Damn it!” she exclaimed. She tilted her head sideways, and dipped her hand inside the man’s chest cavity. She had a sudden déjà vu, remembering the surgery she had performed on the streets of Little Rock, after the tornado tore through the city. This time, with no eyes to assess the wound, she listened for a heartbeat and heard none, she smelled for disease, but smelled nothing, other than the booze on the man’s breath. Cautiously moving her fingers over the beating heart, she could feel that something was sticking out of one side. She gingerly felt around the heart and realized, after touching the object that it was a rib, but she could tell that it had not punctured the heart, it was just pressing against it. Joyce heard someone behind her, relieve themselves of their stomach content, as she began massaging the vascular organ, pumping the much needed blood through his body.

  “How’s my wife?” Joyce demanded, her hand still inside of the man’s chest.

  Michael turned around and looked at Ellen, who was very pale. He wasn’t sure what to tell Joyce so he just said, “About the same.”

  That’s not good, Joyce thought. She should be waking up by now. God, Joyce prayed to herself, I know we don’t talk much but I imagine it’s not a surprise that I’m coming to you now, begging for your help. I will promise you anything you want, just please, spare my Ellen. Tears began running down her cheeks as she continued to pray, please God, take away my eyesight, my job, whatever you need, just please, let Ellen live. Without her, there’s nothing I want to see anyway.

  Suddenly the drunk began to aspirate on his own blood, and Joyce had two seconds to decide whether to let him choke to death, or risk puncturing the heart with a rib, by rolling him over. She called for help, and as the bystanders rolled him onto his side, she pulled back on the rib until the bone cracked in her hand. Feeling the cartilage to be sure the bone was off of the heart, and not splintering into something else, Joyce was satisfied that she had resolved that issue for now. She returned to manually pumping the heart, and then asked that they position Ellen so her head would be resting on Joyce’s lap.

  In a macabre, horror movie type setting, Joyce, with her blood gorged eyes unable to see anything, had one hand in the drunk’s chest, pumping his heart for him, and the other hand on her wife’s neck, checking her pulse. I’m glad I can’t see this, she thought.

  Ellen’s pulse was still thready, and Joyce almost panicked when she felt a large we
lt on the side of Ellen’s forehead. She must have hit it on impact. This wasn’t just a bump on the head, it was a concussion making wound that if not treated right away, could have long term repercussions, not the least of which could be brain damage. Joyce knew she needed to rouse her spouse and assess the severity of her brain function.

  “Ellen? Baby-doll, wake up now. Do you hear me, it’s time to wake up now.” Joyce tilted her head up and cried, “Does anyone have a cold compress? A cold drink would do.”

  “I have a soda, will that help?” someone in the burgeoning crowd offered.

  “Is it cold? It has to be cold.”

  “Yes, it’s in a cup full of ice.”

  “Perfect, I need you to make a cold compress for her head. Pour it on a cloth and try to capture as much of the ice as you can.”

  He did as he was instructed, and then handed her a rolled-up T-shirt full of ice. With her free hand, she laid it over Ellen’s forehead and was visibly relieved when the coldness elicited a groan from Ellen. Joyce hoped that if there was swelling of the brain, the compress would help reduce it. Then she wondered if it was already too late.

  “Come on baby, wake up,” Joyce urged with every fiber of her being. “Please, wake up.”

  ***

  “Hi, Sam. Um, it’s Dakota.”

  “Dakota?” Samantha said into her cellphone, “Everything all right?”

  “Oh sure, I just wanted to call and um..,” Dakota thought it was a good idea to call, like the website suggested, but now that she had Samantha on the phone, she wasn’t sure what to say

  I think I know what she’s trying to say, and I need to set her straight before she does. “Listen, want to come over? We need to talk.” Samantha said with more severity than she meant.

  “Sure, if you’d like, I can be over there in ten minutes.” Dakota was still at work so it was a short drive to Vicky’s parent’s house.

  “Oh, hold on a second, will you?”