Rain and Revelation (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Granda stands before me, dressed in a starched white shirt and navy pinstriped suit, and bearing a Mediterranean tan from his holiday in Italy. I feel like my legs are going to buckle. His jaw drops. “Eliza! What are you doing here?”

Clara grabs my elbow and ushers me to the chair next to her at the rectangular conference table. A coffee carafe and Belleek china cups and saucers sit in the center on a silver tray with cream and sugar.

Granda takes a step forward, furrowing his thick brow. His voice booms. “What’s this about?”

Clara says in a firm tone, “Business.”

“What does Eliza have to do with business?” Granda’s eyes dart between me and Clara. They lack all the softness I knew as a child. “You said there was a proposition you had been asked to present on behalf of an important client.”

“This
is
my important client,” Clara says. She sits down and waits for Granda and his stout solicitor to do the same. Her eyes never leave his.

“Are you going to tell us what this is about,
Miss
McShane?” Granda’s grey-haired solicitor demands.

“Why yes, I will,
Andrew
.” Clara splays her manicured nails on top of a file. “Let me begin by stating that I do appreciate your coming in for this meeting, Mr. O’Donnell—or may I call you Edward?”

“You can call my client,
Mr. O’Donnell
.”

“Absolutely, Andrew.
Mr. O’Donnell
, my client has engaged me to present a business proposition for your consideration. We fully expect that you will consent to the terms, so let me lay them out for you.” She glares at the two men. “S
it down
.” Granda and his solicitor exchange glances and sit.

Clara says, “First, my client would like you to sign over the titles to the cottages she manages for you, including the one she lives in, to her mother, Annie Conroy.”

“What? Are you crazy? Why would I do that? Have you gone mental, Eliza?” Granda narrows his eyes and snarls, “Where is this coming from? Who has put you up to this?”

My gut contracts, and I look down. Clara warned me not to speak.

“Second,” Clara continues, “My client would like you to sign over the title to the home in Naples, Italy, as well to Annie Conroy.”

“You’ve got to be kidding! Why the hell would I do that?” yells Granda.

Clara holds Granda’s gaze. “My client fully recognizes that you may wish to continue to occupy the residence in Naples, and she’s agreeable to your paying rent to her mother based upon the prevailing rates, to be reviewed on the first of each calendar year. Should you decline the rate presented, you and your wife will have thirty days to vacate the home.”

“This meeting is over.” Granda’s solicitor stands and Granda starts to get up, too.

“I don’t think you want to leave until you hear all the terms,” Clara says.

They scowl and fold their arms over their chests. Granda shakes his head disdainfully. This time, I don’t look away. He runs his hand through thick red, grey-tinged hair and glances at his solicitor who nods slightly. Finally, they sit.

“As I was saying, those are the first two terms. The next terms involve money being paid to Annie, Eliza and Seamus Conroy. Each of them. Separately. The sums are clearly outlined. Finally, you will assume all legal fees.” Clara pulls documents from the file folder and slides them in front of Granda.

The solicitor snatches the documents and begins reviewing them. “This is ridiculous! Why in God’s name would my client even consider entertaining these propositions?”

“Well, there are several very good reasons that Edward, I mean
Mr. O’Donnell
, would seriously consider and sign the documents.” Clara pulls out the envelope, then the photographs. She spends considerable time looking at each one. As she does, her expression grows graver. Then she hands the stack of photographs to Granda’s solicitor.

I can barely breathe. I watch Granda for a reaction. His mouth twitches slightly. Nothing more.

His solicitor says, “What the hell is this about? Do you care to share?”

“Oh, pardon me. I forgot that perhaps your esteemed client may not have shared all aspects of his life with his trusted advisor.” Clara slides the photographs over. “Would anyone care for something else to drink?” When no one responds, she pours me a cup of black coffee.

The sound of Clara drumming her nails on the polished conference table echoes through the room as Granda’s solicitor looks at the pictures and lets out a soft gasp. My hand shakes as I lift a cup of coffee to my lips. I almost gag on the bitter brew, but swallow it. The china clinks as I lower my cup onto the saucer.

Granda’s broad shoulders droop as a deep breath escapes his pursed lips. He closes his eyes.

His solicitor says, “I suppose you’re going to tell me what these photographs have to do with my client?”

I hold my breath and watch Clara lean forward. Her hair and makeup are as perfect as her posture. “Edward, would you like to explain, or shall I?”

Granda shifts in the chair and looks out the window at the cloudless sky.

In a raised tone, Clara says, “Your client sexually assaulted his own daughter and fathered my client.” She gathers the pictures and returns them to her file. “Is this now clear?”

Granda’s solicitor says, “You can’t prove that!”

“Is it possible you haven’t heard about me? Didn’t you do your research? I expose secrets. The worst kind. The Church’s. Now yours.” She narrows her eyes. “You would do well to
not
underestimate me.”

Granda’s cheeks redden as Clara speaks. He refuses to look at her. Or at me.

Clara reaches back into the file. “DNA testing is a marvelous thing.” She pulls out a plastic bag and turns it over in her thin fingers. “Especially when your client leaves his own pubic hair.” As I take another sip of coffee, she takes out a sheet of paper and holds it up with the text facing her. “Would you care to read the results?”

Granda buries his head in his large hands. A low, guttural sound rises from his chest.

Clara ignores him. “You might be interested to know that I did my own research on your client, Andrew. I wonder if the fine people of Louisburgh know that he is related to one of the most powerful families in Ireland, albeit not as closely as he’d like, I’m sure. You might even say they’re quite distant relations, but, I’m guessing, equally touchy about their reputation. Or perhaps I’m wrong?” She lowers her voice to a purr. “It seems there are many sides to Edward.”

Granda’s solicitor tugs at his tie, then folds his stubby fingers, and casts a sideways look at Granda.

Clara gathers her files and stands. “We are going to leave you two alone to discuss our terms. I will return in five minutes with a notary to ask for Edward’s signature on the documents.” She touches my arm and I follow her out.

Together we walk, our steps in sync until we reach her office. There, I burst out crying. Clara hugs me. “You did beautifully. I know how hard that was. Go ahead and cry. It’s almost over. You will never have to see him again. I have prepared a document that states that he is not to have any unsolicited contact with you, your mother, or Seamus going forth. If he does attempt to contact any of you, he’ll pay for each such contact.”

Between sobs, I ask, “Do you really think he’ll sign them?”

“Yes, I do. Did you see his face when I mentioned the DNA testing?”

Shivers creep up my spine. “I don’t think I can face him again.”

“You won’t have to. It’s time to sign the documents. I’ll take care of that. Even if he wants to speak to you, I’ll decline the request. You stay here. I predict we’ll be done shortly.” Clara pats my hand and marches from the room like a warrior to battle. Even without conclusive DNA testing, she won. They never called her bluff.

I collapse on the couch, shaking. It took every ounce of energy I had not to cry or scream vile things at Granda. My mother’s rapist. My father. Tears soak the pillow I’ve clutched to my face.

Within fifteen minutes, I hear the elevator ding and Clara clip down the hall. She’s wearing a wide grin as she plops in the chair across from the couch. “He signed each one and wrote the checks. Damn, I should have asked for more. Well, your mother doesn’t have to worry about money now. She’s free to move on and try to rebuild her life as best as she’s able.”

I put the pillow down and wipe my eyes. “Did he ask about Ma?”

Clara shakes her head and adjusts her jacket. “No. He didn’t.”

“I still wish we could make him really pay. And I’m not just talking money.”

“You’ve exposed the truth. There’s nothing he can do to undo or repair the damage, but he can make reparations. Each time he has to write a rent check to your mother, he will remember what he did.” A smile spreads over her face. “I expect that’ll kill him.” Clara explains the process for transferring title and other matters that I need to discuss with Ma when she agrees to see me. If she does.

“What do I do now?”

“You and your mother have a chance to make your lives what you want. Figure out what you want to do and who you want to become. Travel. Go to university. Hell, even become a solicitor.”

Nikki comes in announcing the next appointment. We rise and move toward the elevator. Clara stops me and goes to her desk. “I almost forgot. Here’s the other thing we discussed.” She hands me a sealed envelope. “Let me know if you need any assistance in this regard.” She hugs me and releases me to an unknown future.

As I leave the building, I dig out my sunglasses, tuck the envelope into my bag, and hold my head high. It’s time to return to Louisburgh to finish what I need to do.

Chapter Thirty

Driving on twisting roads through green pastures, I think of Ma’s past that is my heritage: violence, pain, and lies. I think of my choices and what needs to be said and done before I’m free to live my life.

When I arrive in Louisburgh, I drive to Mr. Walters’s house. The late afternoon sun beats on a weed patch in the small yard along the path to Mr. Walters’s door. I knock. There’s no answer and no dog barking. Next to the door, with a flat tire, is the three-wheeled Schwinn with the basket on the back. Peeking in the side window, I see dishes piled in the sink and a newspaper lying open on the table next to a teacup and saucer.

I drive back to the town square. Mr. Walters can’t be far.

Cars line the streets while dogs roam looking for scraps or a rub behind the ears. I wonder if Maeve is keeping busy at the B&B and consider stopping by. Then I see Mr. Walters hobble out of the chemist carrying a small white prescription bag, with Johnny unleashed and trotting by his side.

Turning the car around, I drive back to Mr. Walters’s house to wait. When he arrives, I step out and take off my sunglasses. “I was hoping to find you home.”

“Well, I dare say, Eliza, I thought you would wander far from home.” Mr. Walters walks up the path, through the gate. “Yet you return.”

“Sometimes we come home because there are things unsaid or undone.”

“I just received a letter from that DNA place, but haven’t opened it yet. Are you here to tell me the news?”

I say, “You’re not my father.”

He walks toward the door. “Now we know.”

“There’s a matter we need to discuss,” I continue.

Mr. Walters turns the doorknob, then stops and looks at me. “What could that be?”

“Your resignation.”

“I have no intention of resigning.” He opens the door.

Before he can go inside, I say, “Either you resign or I’ll expose all the relationships you’ve had with your students, not just Ma.” I dig in my bag and produce an envelope. “I have a letter written by you to the headmaster announcing your immediate resignation. If you choose not to sign the letter, then I have one from my solicitor which I will bring to the headmaster notifying him of your transgressions over the years and including, as evidence, the many letters from Ma that I found in your house.” My voice is strong. I narrow my eyes and cross my arms. “And from other girls. It’s a fine package of letters you’ve kept over the years. What are they? Trophies?”

Mr. Walters bares his yellowed teeth. “Where did you get those?”

“You left them in the drawer near the bed. I found them when I stayed here after my surgery.”

Johnny whines and looks up at Mr. Walters. With flaring nostrils, Mr. Walters swipes his hand at the dog’s nose. “Shut up.”

“This is what I can’t figure out. Why did you leave them in the drawer in the room you put me in? Did you
want
me to find them?”

“It was a long time ago. I didn’t remember they were there. And they’re nothing.” He avoids my eyes. “Many students become infatuated with their teachers.”

“You exploited their trust. Their secrets.” I hold out the envelope, this time closer to Mr. Walters’s face.

“You don’t have it in you.” He steps forward.

I block him from going inside. “You’ll resign. Or I’ll tell.”

Mr. Walters snarls, “What makes you think the headmaster, or others, will believe a girl traumatized by her mother’s attempted suicide?”

“Are you going to sign this or not? If you don’t, the headmaster will receive a letter from my solicitor.”

Mr. Walters glares at me. I refuse to look away. Finally, Mr. Walters snatches the envelope. He opens it and reads the letter for his signature. I dig out a pen and hold it up. Without meeting my eyes, he grabs it. Using the door as a hard surface, he scribbles his name. Then, he flings the letter at me. I catch it before it falls into the dirt. He walks inside with Johnny and slams the door shut.

I stare at his signature before returning the letter to the envelope. Holding my head high, I get into the car and drive to the school, just a few streets away.

As it’s the beginning of summer break, the school is unlocked but quiet inside. A light is on in the main office. Mrs. McCune’s half full mug of tea sits next to the computer with its screensaver scrolling past. I call her name, but there’s no answer. Along the back wall is a copy machine. It’s turned on. Taking out the letter, I place it on the glass and make a copy and put it in my bag. Then I slip the original letter back into the envelope and seal it. Just off the main office is the headmaster’s office. It’s dark inside, but the door’s ajar. I put the sealed envelope on his desktop and then walk out of the school without seeing anyone.

Inside my car, I open all the windows. The air whirls through the car as I drive to our cottage.

When I arrive, Da’s car is parked in my spot. Without knocking, I push open the door and step over Da’s muddy boots. His jacket is flung on the back of a chair. From the kitchen comes Da’s rich, but off-key, baritone voice. Without calling out, I walk toward the kitchen. Unwashed dishes fill the sink. He’s at the stove stirring something that smells like it is burning. There’s an opened can of beans and a box of instant potatoes on the counter.

I clear my throat. Da’s hand bumps the handle of the pan. It crashes to the floor and beans scatter on the floor. He wipes his hands on his pants and steps over the mess. “Eliza.” He hugs me tightly. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”

Da’s cheek is rough and his grip is tight. I close my eyes and inhale his scent. Then, I pull back. “Sorry to startle you. I need to talk to you.” I walk into the living room.

He tucks his shirt into his wrinkled pants and follows me. The drapes are partly opened. His tackle box is open on the coffee table.

“It’s about the test.” I sit on the lumpy couch.

Da’s face falls as he sits on the chair opposite me. He says, “I don’t give a damn about the bloody test. We burned the envelopes. Didn’t even open them.” There are ashes in the fireplace. The peat bin is empty.

“Right. Well, I wanted a proper goodbye.” My finger brushes over the faded, worn fabric of the couch and rests on one of the burn spots from Da’s cigars. I say, “And to tell you that I’m okay with Paddy. With the two of you.”

Da’s eyes mist. “It’d be easier without the bloke.” He rubs the grey stubble on his chin.

“There are other places where it’d be easier being together.”

Da shakes his head and wipes his eyes with his sleeve. In a low voice, he says, “We can’t leave Louisburgh. It’s our home.”

I look at the pictures on the mantel. Each one is still in its place. I rise. “I’ve got to get back to Dublin. I’ve got a job there now.”

“That right?”

“And a new phone number.” I dig out a scrap of paper from my bag and write it down. I leave the number on the end table next to the ash tray.

Da hoists himself up and follows me toward the door. He picks up a shoebox from the side table. It’s covered with a layer of dust. “Your ma called a few days ago and asked me to send her some photographs. I was going to mail them, but maybe you can give her the box?” He lifts the lid, picks up one and grins. “Aye, you were a cute wee one.”

It’s a picture of the three of us sitting around the kitchen table. There’s a layer cake with white icing and two candles. A bright yellow bow holds back my straight red hair and I’m wearing a puffy flowered dress. Ma’s face is close to mine, and Da is standing behind her. We are all smiling.

It dawns on me that Paddy took the picture. Our invisible but ever-present extra family member.

“Why don’t you keep it? I’m sure there are others for her. And for me.”

Da sighs. “Your ma’s probably not coming back.”

I say gently, “No. I don’t think so.”

Concern is etched into the lines of his face. “But how will she manage?”

“She will. I’ll see to it.” I take the box and grab my bag. “Granda has decided to give the title to the cottages—all of them—to her. You can manage them for Ma.” I dig into my bag and hand Da a check. “This is from Granda. For you.”

Da stares at the check. “What the bloody hell?”

“He wants to help Ma and you.”

Da squints and cocks his head. “Doesn’t seem like something he’d do.”

“I hired a solicitor. She was brilliant and convinced Granda it was right to help take care of Ma. And, repay you too.”

“
You
hired a solicitor? Shite, he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

“If he bothers you in any way, let me know.”

Da shakes his head while fingering the check. “I don’t understand.”

“In this case, you don’t need to.” After taking one more look around the cottage, I grab the shoebox and my bag. “I have to go.”

I open the door. The flower box remains empty, but the smell of the sea floats in on the breeze and the sun sneaks behind a cloud.

Da says, “You’ll come back to see me, won’t you?”

I nod. He grips me in his massive arms and holds me tight. In a choked breath, I say, “Love you, Da.”