by Russ Durbin
“I’m sorry to hear that. I really liked her.”
“And she liked you, Patrick.” Mary Kate paused for a long minute before she continued, “And she gave me a message for you.”
“What? What message?”
“She told me that if I ever saw you again or talked to you, I was to tell you that everything would work out the way it is supposed to.”
How strange to receive an encouraging message from an old lady that I had met only once twenty years ago.
“Thank you, Mary Kate. I hope she is right.”
Over the excellent meal and a bottle of a truly fine French Bordeaux, we gradually caught up with what had happened in our lives since last we saw each other.
“Oh, Pat, I’m so sorry about your wife leaving you. How devastating, and to lose custody of your children, too. I knew how much you loved them and how proud of them you were.”
“Well, I’m still proud of Beth and Jon. They have survived a very difficult time in our lives and have done well. And Jon’s wife, Adriana, is truly a delight. I’m a very fortunate man.”
“Do you mind my asking what happened with your marriage? Or is that too painful to talk about?
“Not now. It was at one time. But it has been a long time since Kerri left me.
“For one thing, she had been having an affair for nearly a year before I met you. She was incredibly discreet, and I simply had no clue. Len was her boss and she finally married him, although I understand they now are divorced. She has gone on to her third husband who, incidentally, holds an even higher position in her company than Len did.
“Second, Kerri was nothing if not motivated to succeed, even when she played sports in high school and in her academics in college. So when she got the opportunity to move up in her company, she was driven to be ‘the best’ and to be with the best.”
“But at what cost?” Mary Kate asked.
I nodded, remember the heartache, the tears, and the angry shouting matches we had. Caught in the middle were Jon and Beth. We got counseling for them. To Kerri’s credit, despite her driving ambition, she was a good and loving mother during this difficult time. Both of us made as sure as we could that the kids understood they were not to blame and that we both loved them very much.
“Anyway, they are now well adjusted adults and have moved on with their lives.”
“Tell me how you became a writer. As I remembered, you worked for a chemical company that was building a plant here in County Cork. What happened?”
“Like a lot of companies during the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, our company was acquired by another firm. Oh, officially, it was called a merger but those of us inside knew who was taking over. In their corporate wisdom, they – meaning the board of directors – decided that the company would be more profitable if they let 30% of their workforce go. I was just one of those gobs of middle management people they thought they could do without.”
“What did you do?
“Well, I had been a good journalist for The Bulletin, a very good evening newspaper in Philadelphia before it went out of business. And I had done some free lancing as a writer. I had always loved writing. So I decided to take control of my future and turn to writing again, this time fiction.”
“And just like that you become a successful author, right?” We both laughed.
“Well, yes…after a godawful number of rejections by literary agents. I couldn’t even get to publishers. Then, out of the blue, a woman named Jamie Lipchitz called me and voila! As they say in movies, the rest is history and we – my agent and I —lived happily ever after on my novels and short stories of the old West.”
Mary Kate clapped and said, “That’s wonderful! But how did you happen to come back to Ireland?”
I looked somewhere over her head, reluctant to meet her gaze and answer her question. We sat silent for a few moments, listening to the clink of silverware and glasses from the other diners.
“I wrote a love story set in Ireland. It was published – mainly because I kind of forced the publisher to issue it – but it didn’t sell well in the U.S. Then Jamie called and said she had an Irish publisher who was interested and that there could be a movie possibility as well.”
“What prompted you to switch from writing westerns to writing a love sto….” She stopped in mid-sentence. Realization dawned in her eyes. “You wrote about you and Maggie didn’t you? It’s your love story.”
Finally, I looked into her very blue and accusing eyes and nodded.
“Yes.” This was the first time that Maggie’s name was mentioned since our phone conversation that so shocked me the other day.
“How could you?” Mary Kate was angry. “How could you tell the world about the love you and Maggie shared? She loved you so much; I think she would have gone crazy if I hadn’t been there. But no one but me – and, perhaps, Fionna – ever knew how much she loved you.” She shook her head. “Your story almost seems like a betrayal.”
I took Mary Kate’s hands in mine. “It was the story I had to write. Oh, much of it was fiction, but it was the only way I could keep the love Maggie and I had alive. Frankly, I never cared if even one copy of the book sold. It was my way of keeping her close to me. I have never loved anyone the way I have loved Maggie.”
“Then, you are still in love with her.”
“Yes!”
We both sat silently looking at each other. Mary Kate reached across the table and patted my hand. Her accusing tone was gone. “Pat, if it is any comfort, Maggie has always loved you and still does.”
“But you said she is married. Someone named Boyle, I think. How did they meet?”
“Oh, Sean had been an engineer for Ford when it built its first manufacturing plant in Ireland,” Mary Kate explained. “After his wife died, he retired from Ford and started farming a small plot west of Cork. Maggie and I used to go to his farm to get fresh vegetables. He noticed how sad Maggie was and tried to cheer her up. He used to stop by her house and bring her fresh flowers. He was kind and thoughtful; I guess he was attracted to her and offered to marry her.”
“And he has been a good husband to her?”
“Oh, yes. Sean was wonderful to her and she took loving care of him. He finally sold his farm and moved to her house on Western Road. That’s why you couldn’t find her in the directory. The phone is still listed in his name.”
“I see!” Now, more than ever I realized that Maggie was not mine and could never be. Sad as I felt at that moment, I also was grateful that Maggie had found a man who loved her and who took good care of her.
Our table had been cleared and our coffee had grown cold. It was time to leave. It was time for me to leave Ireland and go home to the United States.
Our return to Cork was in silence. Even the twinkle of the city lights as we topped the hill failed to raise my low spirits. I let the car coast to a silent stop in front of Mary Kate’s home.
“Do your sisters still live with you?” I asked. “No. They moved away and are scattered in Ireland and England. Would you like to come in?”
“Thanks, no, Mary Kate.” I pleaded a bit of indigestion and said I needed to go to the hotel to lie down.
As we stood at her front door, I had to ask one more question.
“Did they have any children?”
“Maggie has a son, Dennis. He is away at college. He is a very bright young man. He’ll be coming home soon for Christmas.”
“Thanks, Mary Kate. It was been wonderful seeing you. And thanks for…” I paused. “…for bringing me up to date on Maggie.” I started for the car, then turned and said, “Could you do me one favor? Would you tell her that I still love her and will for the rest of my life?”
“Why don’t you tell her yourself? She’ll be back from a visit to her sister who lives near Youghal. Her sister has been sick, and Maggie has been helping with the household for a few days. I expect her tomorrow or the next day.”
“Sorry, no. Not now. It wouldn’t serve any purpose for me to see her. Goo
d-bye.” I almost ran to the car.
At the hotel, I packed, paid my bill and headed for the carpark to drive through the night to Shannon Airport. I would stay at a hotel near Limerick and return the rental at the airport. I could book the first flight out for the states tomorrow morning. I couldn’t leave Ireland soon enough.
Chapter 14
A FORTUNATE DELAY
But plans sometimes go awry. In my case, I started to back out of the parking space and realized that something was wrong with one tire. Getting out, I saw that the tire was virtually flat. At the desk, I phoned the car rental company to report the flat.
“I’m very sorry, Sir, but our roadside service is not available until nine tomorrow morning. We will be happy to send someone then to fix your tire.”
“But I need to catch a plane at Shannon in the morning. Can’t you do something? Bring me another car?”
“Sorry, but it’s too late at night,” the voice on the phone repeated, this time more firmly. “Just stay the night at Jury’s, and we'll have someone on the job first thing tomorrow. Good night, Sir.”
So much for my plans. One more night in Cork and then I would be gone. I re-booked my room for the night and collapsed on the bed. I felt exhausted, but couldn’t sleep.
As I thought about my conversation with Mary Kate I began to wonder about something she said. If Maggie’s son was in college, he must be at least 17, 18, or 19. That means that she married this Sean Boyle very soon after I left. That thought made me angry. She hadn’t waited long after I was gone, had she? Maybe she hadn’t really loved me as much as I loved her. Maybe it was all a glorious dream in my mind that bore little reality.
I laced my fingers behind my head and remembered the time we made “a pilgrimage,” as she called it, to Gougane Barra where we knelt and she said the rosary before the little altar. I remembered the other times, walking around the Old Head of Kinsale in a driving gale and getting soaked; fumbling our way through the dense fog at Garrettstown; and reading the poetry of Yeats to each other at Crosshaven. And vividly in my mind was the image of intense love-making in her bed.
No, I was not wrong. She had loved me every bit as much as I had loved – and still loved – her. She deserved to have someone to love her and care for her. She deserved to have her family, too. I hoped that her son loved his mother as much I loved her.
Somewhere in my musings, I drifted off. I awoke to an insistent banging on the door of my room.
Sleepily, I opened the door to find…Maggie! Behind her was a smiling Mary Kate. Maggie rushed into my arms and began smothering me with kisses. All the while, she murmured, “Oh, my sweet, sweet love, you’ve come back to me. My prayers have been answered.”
I was flabbergasted. Here was my Maggie, in my arms, kissing me as if we had never parted.
Finally, holding her off for a moment, I asked, “How did you get here? I thought you were at your sister’s. And how did you get in? I thought the hotel was locked up for the night.”
Oh, mo gra, I couldn’t stay away once I knew you were here. I had to come right away; I even lied to the night porter to let me in and tell me your room number. I told him I was your sister and that our older sister was dying. He was very kind…,” she said with her crooked little smile, “…and very gullible.”
“But how did you know I was here?”
“Mary Kate. She phoned my sister’s house and told me you were here. She also said you still loved me, but she was afraid you were going to leave without seeing me. So she drove to Youghal and brought me here.”
We heard the click of the door closing; Mary Kate had done her job and was quietly disappearing, leaving us to sort things out.
Maggie kissed me again and then continued. “’When the porter said you had checked out, I thought I would die. I insisted he check the records again, poor man. He did and said you had checked out but had checked back in for the night. I…I couldn’t wait; I had to see you!”
“Oh, Maggie, my love, I am so glad you did.” I held her as tightly as I dared. She was whispering to me in Gaelic, but I couldn’t understand the words, only the meanings. We both felt the old stirrings of passion as we shared one long kiss.
Suddenly, I pushed her away. “Wait, this isn’t right.”
“What isn’t, mo gra?”
“You’re married; what about your husband Sean? This isn’t fair to him.”
“Didn’t Mary Kate tell you?”
“Tell me what?
“Sean died almost ten years ago, shortly after Mary Kate’s mother died. The pneumonia together with his bad heart and his lung problems from years of smoking were too much for him.”
“I’m sorry, Maggie. Mary Kate left out those details. It must have been awful for you, especially with a young boy to raise.”
“She told you about Dennis?”
“Yes, she said he was attending college in Dublin and would be home soon for Christmas.”
“You must meet him, Padraig. You must stay for Christmas. Yes, it was a sad time. Sean was a good, kindly man.”
“And you loved him?”
“Yes…as a daughter would love her father or a sister her older brother. You see, he was much older than I. Our marriage was something like a….” she hesitated as she sought the right words, “…a business arrangement. He would take care of me and my son if I would agree to care for him when he became sick. And I did. It brought back all the memories of caring for my Mum when she was sick.”
A thought was beginning to take hold in my mind. “You mean that Dennis isn’t his son?”
Maggie turned those mesmerizing green eyes I loved to me and said in a low voice, “No, mo gra. There is only one man I have ever loved, and he is the son of that man.”
I sat down in the chair, stunned by the knowledge that Dennis was MY son.
She nodded. “Yes, Dennis Padraig O’Connor is yours. I named him for you. I prayed that one day he might know his real father, but I never really thought that would happen.”
She smoothed my hair back from my forehead and kissed me. Putting her hand under my chin, she raised my face so I could look into those wonderfully expressive eyes.
“When I realized I was pregnant, I couldn’t let you know; you had your family in the States. I was in a panic and didn’t know where to turn or what to do. Of course, Mary Kate knew about my being pregnant with your baby, but she couldn’t really help. Then Sean Boyle, the wise and kind man that he was, guessed what was wrong and why I was sad. He said he would take care of me and my baby if I would marry him and take care of him when he needed me. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he had a bad heart. He was really a good man and a very good father to Dennis. We owe him a lot, Padraig.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Yes we do.”
I pulled her onto my lap and kissed her mouth, her nose, her neck and moved lower. At that, she stopped me and breathed into my ear, “Let’s go home, Padraig. Let’s go to my bed and find ourselves again.”
She felt my hesitation. “You, my love, are the only man who has ever been in my bed. You are the only man who has ever made love to me. You are the only man I have ever loved or ever will.”
The rest of the night was one of sheer delight and quiet passion for both of us. It was a homecoming literally and figuratively. As she slept quietly in my arms, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her face. She was so relaxed and so peaceful. I could hardly believe that less than 12 hours earlier I was ready to fly off to the U.S. without ever seeing her again. Thank God for that flat tire! Was it fate or was it God? At this point, it didn’t matter. We were together again. And I resolved that we would never again be separated until one of us died.
I smiled into the darkness, remembering that we had to walk from the hotel to her house because of the flat. That reminded me that I needed to do something about my room at the hotel. Should I cancel it and move in with Maggie? Or should I maintain some discreet distance? Her son might not like to arrive home for Christmas only to find some stranger li
ving in the house. I guess I should get used to saying “our son.”
There were lots of new things to get accustomed to. Maybe I was assuming too much. Would Maggie marry me when I asked? I definitely would ask. Would our son be upset to learn he was conceived before she was married? Should we be married by a priest? Maybe she would prefer a judge or whoever did that sort of thing in Ireland. And what would Jon and Beth think when they found out they had a brother in Ireland? I felt excited, just thinking about the future when all of my family in the states and in Ireland would be together.
“mo gra, what are you thinking?”
I hadn’t realized she was awake and watching me with those wonderfully expressive eyes. Her hair in the light of morning was the same golden red that I remembered with just a bit more of silver mixed in.
“I was just thinking about us.”
“And what, may I ask, about us?”
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes!” No hesitation on her part. “That was easy. What else?”
I couldn’t answer because she was kissing me. When we finally came up for air, I said, “I was thinking about Dennis when he comes home. How do you think he will take the news that he is not Sean Boyle’s son, and that his real father had suddenly turned up and, of all things, in his mother’s bed?”
She sat up, the covers falling to her waist. “He’s going to be fine with the news. You see, when he was born, I took the liberty of giving your name as the father; Sean was fine with that. So our baby was officially registered as Dennis Patrick O’Connor. He already knows that Sean was not his real father. He knows nothing more. Sean was the father you couldn’t be when he was growing up.”
She jumped out of the bed, taking the blanket with her and leaving me uncovered as she once had a habit of doing. “Oh, Padraig, I can’t wait for the two of you to meet. You’ll like him; he’s a beautiful young man and a loving son. When I couldn’t have you, he was my constant reminder of my true love.”
Chapter 15
CHRISTMAS PLANS
I moved in with her that morning. Our next few days were happy ones as together we decorated Maggie’s house for Christmas. Keeping with Irish traditions, we spread holly and ornaments on all the fireplace mantelpieces.
