Rain and Revelation (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

When I arrive at the Clew Bay Hotel, Fiona is sitting on the outside patio wearing oversized sunglasses and smoking. She flaps her arms. “Darling, here!”

The people at the next table lean in and whisper while staring at Fiona, who is displaying her taste in low-cut apparel.

Fiona hugs me while holding her cigarette high. “I got it,” she whispers in my ear. “No one saw me.” The server brings two pints of ale that Fiona apparently ordered. She grips the glass with her manicured nails. “Good idea to meet here. No one knows us.”

“I actually stayed here last night. With the rain and all.” Another grey-haired couple wearing sweats and trainers joins the people at the next table. I ask, “How’d it go?”

Fiona pats her bag as her eyes dart around. “It was exciting sneaking in.”

“Any problems?”

“No. It was right where you said it would be. I waited until Weird Willie left on his bike with that damn dog. I had to talk to Mrs. O’Reilly at the chemist until he was far gone.”

“Did she see you go to his house? Did anyone?”

“Not a soul.” Fiona lowers her voice and points her cigarette at me. “I just walked down the street minding my own business and pretended to knock on his door. I tested it, and it wasn’t locked. Quiet as a bloody church mouse I was.”

Fiona reaches into her bag and pulls out the manila envelope fastened with a string. “There was nothing else there except the yearbook you told me about.”

I take the envelope and hold it like a fragile egg. “Did you open it?”

“That’s fucking insulting. Don’t you trust me?”

I narrow my eyes. “Not since Mikey.”

“Kiss my arse. How many times do I have to apologize?”

I look away.

Fiona lights another cigarette and flips her hair back. “I could have looked, but I told you I wouldn’t. You’re worse than me mother.”

Even though I’m not sure she’s telling the truth, I say, “Okay. I’ll believe you.”

Fiona leans forward. “Jaysus, Eliza. What’s inside?”

My hands are sticking to the envelope. “Dunno. I just remembered seeing it in the bedside drawer when I was staying there after the surgery. I’ll look at it later.”

Fiona blows smoke out the side of her mouth. “You think it’s important?”

I shrug. “It’s probably nothing, but for some reason it bothered me that I never looked inside. It was with the yearbook that had Ma’s pictures in it.” I rub my fingers over the bulging envelope.

“Let’s open the bloody thing.” Fiona reaches for the envelope, but I tuck it inside my bag and pull it close. She sinks into her chair and pouts. “After all that I did for you?”

“You’re a love. Really. Sorry I bit your head off. But it’s nothing.” I lean forward. “Besides, I want to know what happened with Jake. And Hunter. How’s he?”

“Who knows?” Fiona takes a long gulp of the ale. “But Jake’s a can of piss. I made a holy show before they left. You should have been there.”

“Wish I was. But you’ll find someone else.”

“Bloody right.” Fiona flags the server and orders another round. “Remember that fat American staying in the cottages who bought my bra his first night here? Well, let’s just say I have my bra back and didn’t have to pay a thing.”

“Not even one night of mourning?”

“Turns out his da is a big shot at Coca Cola. He’s swimming in money and more than happy to spend it on me.” Fiona flicks her ashes over the side of the table onto the path rather than into the glass ashtray. “Jake can kiss my arse.”

Fiona rails on Jake, and I keep nodding while my mind drifts to the envelope. It’s probably nothing, I tell myself. Just papers. He probably won’t miss it. A part of me feels guilty. Then I think of Ma. I start to get warm and take off my jacket. Wrapping my hands around my glass, I listen to Fiona blather on about Jake. When I say she can do better, she flies off, recounting all his faults.

Fiona says she has to pee. After she goes inside, I take out the envelope and unwind the string. I peek inside. There are three bundles of letters and cards separated by binders.

I lift out one pack of letters. I recognize Ma’s writing. I look up and don’t see Fiona coming so I unfold the first one. It’s not dated. Ma wrote, “It’s nice having someone to share this with. I can talk to you. You listen and don’t judge me. Thank you for being my friend. Annie.”

The next one reads, “I’ve never had anyone be so kind to me before. You don’t think I’m weird or treat me like a child. I hope I can be there for you if you ever need anyone to listen to you. It must be hard to listen to everyone. Thank you for being there for me. Annie.”

A car speeds past, invading my lungs with a trail of dark fumes and sending me into a coughing jag. The people at the next table curse the driver. There’s no more ale to wash the taste out of my mouth and no sign of the server or Fiona.

The next undated letter reads: “It must be hard being married when you’re so misunderstood. Thank you for sharing your feelings. I’ve never had anyone tell me that they love me. Please don’t think that I left because I didn’t want to be with you. I just never had anyone touch me in such a tender way and I panicked. I was afraid someone would come in and see us. Next time I will be prepared. I hope to see you soon. Love, Annie.”

Rapidly I flip through the other letters while peeking up to see if Fiona is coming. Most are short messages from Ma about her love and longing for Mr. Walters. I can’t tell if Mr. Walters was writing notes to Ma based on what Ma wrote. It’s all about her feelings for him.

The sun dips behind a cloud. I take off my sunglasses to read the last letter in this bunch. It appears to be written shortly before school ends, as Ma talks about her friends leaving for university while Granda refuses to pay for her to go. She writes: “I can’t see you anymore. I need to decide what to do. I might go away. You know I want to travel and start over somewhere. Maybe this is the right time. I will always hold you dear. Love, Your Annie.”

My breath lodges in my lungs, trapped.

Fiona slides into her chair. “What is it?”

Stuffing the bundled letters back, I say, “Nothing important.” I refasten the envelope and stuff it into my bag as the server arrives with our ales. “I want to hear about your new love. What’s his name?”

Fiona scrunches her freshly painted face. “Bloody hell. I forgot the bloke’s name.” She then blathers on about Jake not telling her that he was engaged.

My mind wanders to the letters as I listen to Fiona prattle about the love she lost but never really had. A text message comes in from Ryan. He’s off work early and wants me to come by sooner. I mutter disparaging comments about Jake to pacify Fiona. Then, after one more drink, I tell her that I have to go.

“But we need to go out for great craic before you leave.” Fiona starts gathering her things.

I set my money down. “That’d be grand, but I have to head. Told Ryan I’d meet him.”

Fiona rolls her heavily coated eyes. “He’s
so
dull.”

“Everyone’s dull compared to you.” I stand up, pull on my coat, squeeze around the chairs, and hug Fiona. I promise to let her know where I end up. Even before I’ve made my way to the street, I hear Fiona’s high-pitched voice; she’s already on the phone.

My ankle feels stiff as I’m walking to the car. I clutch my bag. A part of me had doubted Mr. Walters until Ma’s words confirmed the twisted reality that now was part of mine.

And now I am heading for his nephew’s flat.

As I walk back to my car, I stop at a liquor store for a bottle of wine to bring to Ryan’s. Across the street is the laundromat. I cast a glance. Then I stop. Through the window, Jake’s unmistakable nose, hooked and looming on his narrow face, catches my attention. Fiona had said they were leaving. Had she said they were in Westport and I missed that? Hunter’s back is facing the window. There’s no mistaking his broad shoulders and muscular arms.

I step behind a street lamp but it doesn’t hide me. My breath is rapid, and I grip the bottle tightly. I sneak another look. Hunter is stacking folded clothing and Jake is transferring it into a duffle bag. I step forward, determined to cross the street and speak to Hunter. But what is there to say? Panicking, I scurry toward my car, hoping they haven’t seen me.

When I arrive at Ryan’s flat, he opens the door wearing his running shorts. “I’m afraid I thought I had time for a run when you texted that you were with Fiona and would be by later.” His pale, freckled skin looks rosy. “I haven’t showered yet.”

His skin glistens and tastes salty when he kisses me. Immediately I’m aware of the alcohol on my breath. I wave him away. “Go ahead. I’m fine.”

He says, “Make yourself at home. Relax and put your ankle up.”

The sun beams through the large windows and bounces off the daffodil colored walls. A breeze filters in through an open kitchen window and circulates through the spacious flat. My hand brushes the back of the soft leather couch as I walk by.

Pictures hang on the wall bordering the flat screen television. Ryan in running shorts and a numbered racing bib, posing with other runners in front of the Roman Colosseum. Ryan playing his guitar in a pub with his mates.

Across the room, his guitar is still propped in the corner. Fresh flowers adorn a table. On it, there’s a framed picture of a woman with long, silky black hair and dark, exotic eyes. I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at that picture when Ryan comes up behind me. I turn. He’s dressed in a linen shirt and khakis. He says, “I thought you’d be resting with your ankle up.”

“She’s lovely.”

“Yes. She was.” He wipes some dust off the wooden frame. “Monique and I met when I was traveling in France. My parents thought I’d stay there.” He sighs and stares at the picture. “They were right. I would have.”

“What happened?”

“She got sick. Ovarian cancer. Doctors said it was too far along. So I helped her parents care for her until…” His voice softens. “We thought we’d have longer.”

“I’m sorry.” I touch his arm.

Ryan sighs and says, “You never know when people you love will be gone.” He adjusts the picture. “That’s when I came home and went back to school so I could join my da at the clinic.”

“I can’t imagine coming back to Ireland after living in France.”

He says, “We all make choices.”

“I feel like I need to take care of Ma. Except I don’t know what I should do, or can do, to help her.” I walk to the couch and sit down. Picking up one of the brightly-colored throw pillows, I run my fingers over the silky fabric. “So I find out who my father is. Where does that get me? And how does it help her?”

Ryan joins me. “You don’t need to figure that out right now. Take one thing at a time.”

I look up at his narrow face. “It’s nice of you to let me stay here.” With the dark eyes and cowlick, he looks nothing like his uncle.

“As long as you like.” He starts kissing me, softly at first. Then harder, more urgently. I remind myself that he’s related to Mr. Walters only by marriage and pull him closer.

Then I push him away. He looks confused. I smooth my hair and button my blouse. “I’m sorry. It’s just…you still seem to have feelings for Monique.”

Ryan tilts his head back and closes his eyes. “I’ll always have feelings for her. You don’t stop loving someone just because they’re no longer here.”

“She was so beautiful and I…”

“You’re beautiful, too. And you’re here.” He tries pulling me closer, but I stand up and tuck my blouse into my jeans. He lets out a heavy breath. “Can’t we just see where this goes?”

“I know where this is going.”

“You were okay with it last night.” He teases. “Quite.”

“I don’t need this distraction.” I look toward the door. “Not now.”

Ryan stands, grabs me around the waist, and says, “Maybe that’s just what you need.” He kisses my neck. Warm. Soft. Tempting.

“No.” I turn my head and drop my arms to my side, but don’t move away. “You don’t get it. He’s your uncle and he…”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “I’m not him.” He takes my head in his hands and holds my face close to his. I can smell his sweet breath. “I didn’t do anything to you. Or to her—other than try to help.”

His hands cool my flushed face. I tell myself that a distraction isn’t the worst thing. Just for tonight. No commitment. Like Hunter, who is on his way back home, I’ll be on my way soon. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him hard and long. When he leads me into the bedroom, I offer no resistance.

Later that night, as Ryan sleeps next to me, I stare at the ceiling. All I can think about is Ma. How’d it start with Mr. Walters? How’d they keep it a secret? Did anyone else know? Wouldn’t Ma have told Linda? Why’d she end it? What if he is my father? If so, have I been sleeping with my cousin?

I can’t stay in bed any longer. It’s dark in the room except for a sliver of light peeking through the crack in the curtains. Stepping over my clothes, which are scattered everywhere, I grab Ryan’s robe hanging over the back of a chair. I slip it on and tiptoe to the other room.

There’s no sound coming from the other flats. Even the birds are quiet. I stand by the window and stare out at the parked cars. Then I find my bag, sit on the couch, and turn on the lamp. Taking out the bundle of Ma’s letters again, I read each one. Then I read them again. And again.

The words sink in, but the story’s incomplete.

I dig out another bundle, which is mostly cards. It’s not Ma’s writing. A person named Camille signs them. In one, she laments how she misses spending time together since the end of the play. She writes in the handful of cards, none of which are dated, about how special he makes her feel.

I’m cold and I pull the robe closer as I reach for the last bundle.

There is a series of letters written by a girl named Marie. She writes about sneaking into Mr. Walters’s office after school when others were gone. And about losing her virginity just before final exams. The details in each letter turn my stomach. Her last letter unleashes a torrent of anger and despair over Mr. Walters ending their relationship. I flip through the letters again. None are dated.

With the cards and letters scattered next to me, I hug my legs close. Were these girls from Ma’s class as well? How many girls had Mr. Walters comforted or made to feel “special” over the years? How many others offered their virginity to him in exchange for his love?