The Shuttered Ward
Page 23
Could this really be happening?
“Take care of yerself, me Maeve.” Joey cleared his throat as he spoke and swallowed hard. Fighting tears, he said, “Find the O’Malleys in County Mayo and ye will find….”
He coughed and cleared his throat again with his closed fist at his mouth. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded paper.
“Use this map to find the O’Malleys in Claremorris. It will lead you to everything you’re looking fer. And maybe you’ll find some answers. Bring ’em back to me, will ya? Promise me.”
The simple map, drawn on a page ripped from a notebook, sat folded in my hand, small, but it held so much. Its weight made my hand drop slightly. A chill quaked my shoulders, making me shudder. I hoped I wouldn’t let him down.
“Maeve….” I turned toward the echoing voice behind me.
The emptiness of the room crushed in on me as my eyes bulged out of my head, searching for the unseen source.
I shot my gaze back to Joey, though he remained unaware.
Movement at the window made me flinch. A black bird perched on the narrow sill. It stepped to the side, exposing its regal red shoulder. A red-winged black bird. My mind filled up with thoughts of Mom. That was her favorite bird.
I ran into Joey, hugging him with all my might. Half for the sorrow of missing Mom, half for saying goodbye. His chest heaved against my head as he took quick, shallow breaths.
“God bless, me Maeve. I’ll miss ya, dear.” His voice cracked, barely audible, then he released me to lumber into the backyard and vanish into his shed.
I stood in the same place he left me. Self-doubt crept in to dampen my spirit, adding at least twenty pounds to my self-burden. What was I doing? My grandparents needed me. This was my home. I was happy here…and safe.
But was I happy here? Was I safe?
No.
I wondered, though, if I had what it took to actually do this. I was pretty much a coward up until now, like the shell of a real person. I couldn’t realistically expect that to change any time soon.
I straightened, took a deep breath and grabbed the handle of my suitcase. Time to find out.
~ ~ ~
“I’m not sure this is such a good idea.” Gram’s reluctance seeped out of each syllable as she took the exit for Logan Airport.
“Gram, it’s fine. We have it all planned out. I’ve got a place to stay and everything. No worries.” Don’t fail me now, Gram. But regret shined out from deep within her guarded eyes—regret about my trip before I had even taken it.
“It’s too uncertain. Anything could happen. It’s too dangerous.” Her voice trembled with worry. She started to veer out of her lane from distraction.
“Gram, it’ll be no different than here,” I protested. “I’m signed up for those courses you wanted me to take. It’ll be fine.” I rubbed the back of my neck, frustrated about agreeing to take a couple of college classes while I was there. It was Gram’s one demand so I wouldn’t lose focus on my education, blah blah blah.
She frowned at me after hearing my flippant tone, but after a second she steered back into the correct lane.
I looked at my documents as Gram parked the car in terminal E and opened my newly assigned passport. Maeve Grace O’Malley was printed next to what looked like my mug shot. The blank pages begged for their first stamp.
“Check-in. Aer Lingus.” A man in a green uniform ushered me into the corral ropes in the terminal. Gram followed.
But before we could reach the check-in desk, Gram stood up tall, straightened her jacket and said, “No. Ya should be comin’ home with me.” She looked back, but people were already queuing behind us. Her eyes darted around. She held the charm on her necklace and rubbed it between her fingers, then she took my elbow and began to turn me around, ready to push through the people in line. “It’s fer your own good.”
I planted my feet to my spot, pretending I didn’t notice the pulsing, burning on my chest. The exact same painful sensation I felt after running out of the cemetery back home.
“Gram, no.” I left no room for negotiation. “I need to do this. This is about who I am. You need to let me go. I know you’re worried. But I’ll be okay. I promise.”
I rubbed my chest to soothe the rising burn, but my breathing became shallow as my blood pressure dropped, making me dizzy. My heartbeats had slowed to a pace where I heard their dull lollops in my ears, fading out all the other sounds.
“Next.” The Aer Lingus attendant called for me.
Gram had wilted, like a frail, thirsty flower, unable to build a solid comeback to my defiance.
I dragged my bags onto the scale and handed my passport and ticket to the woman as my heart rate finally normalized.
“But what if something happens t’ya?” Gram wiped a tear from her cheek fast, as if it could go unnoticed.
If I turned back now, I would be a prisoner to my awake dreams, waiting for judgment day, never knowing what truly happened to my mother. I would lose my mind, literally. I had to face it now. Find any answers that might be hiding in Ireland because I surely wouldn’t find any answers here, sheltered like a wallflower in Boston.
I was going.
“I love you, Gram.” I hugged her, but winced as the burn on my chest hit a new level of agony. I pushed my face into her shoulder to hide my pain, biting my lip.
“I love you, me Maeve Grace.” Her voice broke as she struggled to regain her composure, unaware of my condition. Then she said, in a low, foreboding tone I hadn’t heard out of her before, “Goodbye, m’loov.”
Actually, I had never heard more harrowing words in my entire life, and they knocked the focus off my burn. I didn’t know what it was in her goodbye, her choked voice or the finality of her tone, but it sounded like she was saying goodbye to me today, and forever.
My grandmother knew something. She was afraid.
But now was not the time to push her about it. I was one step away from the gate. So I just nodded, gave her one last pat on the shoulder, and stepped into the beginning of my journey.
Chapter Three
Turf War
Waiting for Aer Lingus flight E132, I held my foam coffee cup as if it were the outstretched hand of someone trying to save me from a fall. The burning on my chest had faded but left me with an uneasy chill in my heart. As I moved in for my sacred first sip, I looked up, only to be met by a girl’s direct gaze, right in my face.
“Oh my God! Where did you get that?” She plopped her designer bags down, lifted her Chanel sunglasses, and eyeballed my coffee like she was going to steal it from me.
“Um, right over there…at that stand.” I pointed with a weak wrist toward the kiosk with a larger-than-life coffee banner above it. “I’ll watch your stuff if you want to….” I said to her back as she was already barreling toward the coffee cart.
Minutes later, she dropped herself down in the seat across from me. She pushed her blunt-cut, perfectly straightened hair behind her ear, crossed her loafered feet at the ankles, and took a moment to worship the warm cup in her hands. She was smitten, inhaling the scent with a look of true love on her face.
“I’ve been waiting all day for this.” She used a low, throaty voice as she smiled dreamily into the cup. Her perfect manicure managed to make even the foam cup appear dignified.
“Me too, actually. All my life even.” I exaggerated the simplicity of my existence, speaking into my cup, referencing more than the coffee.
She burst out with a thunderous laugh, shocking for such a proper-looking girl, and it made me laugh too. Her stiff, straight posture released as she slumped in her chair.
“I’m Michelle, by the way. I’m studying abroad in Ireland for the year.” She’d clearly just burned her lip on the hot coffee but was going in for another attempt anyway. “I’ve been dying to get away from Tufts. Okay, and my family.” She rolled her eyes. “Too stuffy. This is my chance to go to the school of my choice. Far away. Finally.” The words blew out of her in one long exhale.
We sipped our coffees as a guy shuffled past us with a larger-than-life carry-on, bumping Michelle, hard, nearly spilling her cup.
No apology. A total jerk.
She turned to me, eyes bugging out of her head. “Oh my God. He’s gorgeous! Did you see him?” She leaned out of her seat for one more look. “I hope he’s sitting next to me on the plane. Maybe he’s Irish.” She lifted her eyebrows and pouted her lips.
I had to admit that, though she seemed a bit flighty or like a bull in a china shop, I wasn’t sure which, I already loved her carefree spirit and honesty. She had no filters at all, like she wasn’t afraid of anything.
“Last call, boarding flight E132 to Shannon.”
The crackling announcement jolted us to reality. How had we missed the previous boarding calls? We darted urgent looks at each other, grabbed our things and raced to the gate. At least fifty apologies and excuse-mes parted the crowd for us as we bounded through.
Out of breath and giddy, we flew down the gangway toward a green plane with a shamrock on its tail. We stepped through the open door and made our way down the narrow aisle of the airbus. Michelle stopped early and I continued on, deeper into the tight rows.
When I finally found my seat, I slumped into it with a disappointed sigh. We were miles away from each other. I looked at the guy next to me, out of the corner of my eye. His suit, wedding ring, and laptop separated us like a stone wall.
I watched Michelle hunt down a flight attendant and after a brief exchange the stewardess made her way down to me.
She looked at the businessman and said, “Are you interested in an upgraded seat, sir? We have an open spot in first class.”
He was gone in a flash. Michelle came bouncing down the aisle and threw her bag into the overhead bin.
“I’d much rather sit here with you than those stiffs in first class. My mom’s such a snob. She thinks it’s safer up there for me.” She made air quotes around the word “safer” while rolling her eyes at the wasted expense. Or at her mother.
Another flight attendant checked our buckles and gave us extra blankets. “More college students, yeah?” Michelle nodded at her. “The flight’s full of ‘em. NUIG must have arranged for all of ye to arrive at the same time.” She pushed crappy headphones into our seat pockets and moved up the isle to the next row of passengers.
“Are you going to NUIG too?” Michelle’s eyes begged.
“Nah. I’m actually supposed to be at BC right now, but I’m kind of ditching the full-time college thing for the moment.” I sounded like such a fail.
Michelle’s face fell.
“I’m taking two courses, though, at the National University of Ireland in Galway. My grandmother insisted.” My mouth pursed to one side, still unsure if that was a good idea.
“That’s NUIG! You idiot!” She burst out laughing. “Awesome!”
She pushed her fashion magazines into the netting on the seat in front of her. “I wonder if there are any cute college guys on board. We could get a head start.” She propped herself up to survey the cabin. “I swear. I’m going to hook up with whoever I want in Ireland. No one will ever know! Ha!” Her sinister smile went from ear to ear. “I hope you’re not tied down with a boyfriend. Tell me you’re single. Pleeeease.”
I side-smirked at her. “Yeah. I’m single all right.”
“Thank God.” She nestled down into her seat as if the problems of the world had been resolved. “I have a super-full schedule, five classes. Sucks. I have to get enough credits so I can graduate next year.” Her fist moved to her mouth as she contemplated her words, probably second-guessing if they were her own or her mother’s.
“Hey, did you register for that philosophy class? The one they force on every exchange student?” She held her breath for my reply.
“I don’t know. I think I’m in Irish history stuff.” I dug in my cinch sack for my travel binder. My course registration was in there somewhere. I didn’t pay too much attention to what the classes were when Gram and I were enrolling. I only cared that they were back to back on the same days—to keep it simple, and basically get them over with.
Michelle’s eyes widened as I pulled the registration out. She grabbed it from my hands.
“Hell, yeah! Same class!” She pointed to the first one. “I knew it! She beamed as she repositioned herself in the small seat and lifted the plastic-wrapped blanket between two fingers, examining it. She flashed me a cheesy smile and added, “And you totally have to help me with my mission to find myself a gorgeous Irish lad.” She laughed at her plan but shot me a look like she totally meant it.
“I…I’m not so sure I’d be….”
“No.” Her finger shot up to silence me. “You’re helping me.”
~ ~ ~
Six hours to Ireland flew by. Though we left Boston in the early evening, it was now early morning the next day in Shannon.
“Passports.” The customs official sounded like a robot as he reached for my documentation. Michelle passed hers to the official at the adjacent desk. I dug into my cinch sack and rifled around but my passport wasn’t where I left it. I pulled the bag open so I could see inside.
“Leave no bags unattended.” The overplayed announcement boomed in my ears. “Keep all belongings in your sight and report any unusual characters or events.”
My blood pressure plummeted and I nearly crapped myself. Where the hell was my passport? Did it fall out in the plane? Think, Maeve, think. It was impossible, my mind already went into panic mode and I couldn’t think clearly enough to retrace my footsteps.
I looked back toward the official in his formal white shirt with badges and nametags and credentials all over it, my face blazing. Behind him, beyond the check point, more officials lingered, one with a dog standing at attention. With a lost gaze I turned to him and he was there holding my passport, tapping it on the counter, with an overly judgmental look in his eye to match his smirk. My water bottle and nuts were still right next to it, where I left them all.
“Oh. Right.” I scrunched my shoulders up to my ears and gave a toothy grin. “Thank goodness.”
“Where’re yeh from?” he asked as he flipped through my passport, looking for a blank page, realizing then they were all blank.
“Massachusetts,” Michelle and I said in unison. Then rolled our eyes at each other, in unison.
“Ah, two girls from Boston. What’s the nature of yer trip?” The customs official looked at me for an explanation.
I was caught off guard, still coming down from my “lost passport” heart attack and had no idea how to answer the question—which had actually grown into a full-blown interrogation in my mind. Crazy dreams, family secrets, ditching Boston College, lost, confused, deranged? It all sounded bad.
The two officers held stern glares, waiting for a response. With each passing millisecond I worried they were becoming suspicious and preparing for full-on terrorist protocol, which pressed my panic button even further. I looked to Michelle like a deer in headlights, begging her to answer for me.
She looked directly at the customs officers and said dryly, “Personal enrichment.”
The guard stamped my passport and leaned in, arms crossed on the counter. I looked up at him like a convicted criminal, wondering what my next offense might be.
He said, “Oh, and happy birthday, Maeve O’Malley.”
What? Oh, right.
“Th-Thank you!” A huge smile lit up my face. Today was my birthday.
Walking toward baggage claim, I grabbed Michelle and said, “Jeez, I had no idea what to say to those guys. I totally froze.”
“Not like it was a hard question, Maeve. Nature of your trip?” She teased me. “You gotta toughen up a bit.
And besides, all you had to do was bat those fabulous lashes at them and you’d own them!”
She gathered my hair at the back, twirled it into itself and tossed it around my shoulder to the front. “And one more thing.” She tilted her head at me. “Happy birthday.” She snorted a laugh and took my arm, leading me straight into our Irish futures.
~ ~ ~
My bus ejected me on iconic Eyre Square, the center of Galway City, alone. I nearly pulled Michelle’s arm off when she got out on the outskirts of town for her housing, but now, I was on my own. I watched the water splashing in the big fountain with huge sails rising out of the spray. The mesmerizing motion and sound held me to my spot, making it even harder to take my first step.
For a minute, I thought I was in an old movie or a throw-back episode of some kind. Everything was so nostalgic and historical, from the ancient architecture to the cobblestone roads. My eyes moved along the rows of attached buildings built right at the edge of the streets, mostly pubs judging from the Guinness signs hanging over their doors. The word “quaint” came to mind, more than once, but grand at the same time.
Like an obvious tourist, I opened my city map and oriented myself, using Eyre Square as my landmark. Bohermore wasn’t far. I turned, placing the fountain at my back and found my direction.
Overloaded with bags, I took my first step from the curb, looking left for a clear break in traffic. Before my foot even hit the road, a car horn blasted me, sending my soul right out of my body, leaving the shell of a crepe-paper human in its wake.
They were driving on the other side of the road! Burned into my memory was the long black and white license plate. My first true warning I wasn’t in Boston anymore.
“Céad míle fáilte, a hundred thousand welcomes, Miss O’Malley.” Mr. Flaherty, my landlord, greeted me by the fantastic bright blue door of 122 Bohermore. The brass knocker in the center added to its appeal. He removed his cap and smoothed his thinning, wispy gray hair as his eyes smiled at me. My flat was directly above his paint shop.