Retreat to Love (11 page)

Lizzy looked at me and mimed a pregnant belly. “But no one ever claimed they weren’t married, right?” she asked the front seat.

“Not in so many words. It was a tragedy, his dying. The O’Connors were just happy to have young Matthew to love. That boy was the image of the doctor.”

Pappa had come to Galveston from Liverpool. And many of the places of Dalkey he’d described were mirrors of Dub’s stories; people, too. Still, there surely could have been another Dr. Matthew O’Connor with a son last seen in the late ‘30s. Or would Pappa have assumed the dead man’s identity? No, that was a worse tangle than deserting his pregnant girlfriend. I sank back into my seat, eyes closed. In what possible twist of fate’s knife could my Pappa be a man who’d left a pregnant girl behind and run away to Texas, letting his own parents think he was dead?

No one spoke until we’d pulled into FireWind, though I could see Dub and Lizzy both silencing themselves. As Agnes pulled up in front of the Main House, Lizzy started to give her directions to my cabin. I stopped her, said I’d like the walk. Summoned up thanks to her parents for lunch.

“Well, it was lovely to meet you, dear,” smiled Agnes as she got out of the car. “I only wish ....”

“I know, it’s okay. It’s not what we expected to happen.” I gave her a little hug. “Have a good trip back. Thanks for everything, Dub,” I added, turning to shake his hand. He leaned forward and down to kiss my cheek.

“Thank you. And if there is anything you need, other questions,” he paused. “Well, our Elizabeth will pass it along, I’m sure. We’re happy to help if we can. After this.”

I nodded. “See you later, Lizzy.”

“You’re okay back?”

“It’s a hundred steps. I’ll be fine.” I was already walking towards ValeSong.

Climbing my porch, I caught motion out of the corner of my eye. It was Caleb, saddled with a couple of cameras and in the process of adjusting a lens as he walked through the trees. He turned my way as the keypad beeped with my entry code, but without looking back I stepped over the threshold and shut the door.

Someone knocked on the cabin door around dusk. Sounded like Lizzy. I stayed in my studio; I had unhung
Chains
and folded it away, and was sitting at the drafting table scrawling random patterns, detailing each one more and more until the gray lines of the pencil obscured the design, then starting over on a new sheet. I switched to colored pencils, but every sketch devolved into brown mush, until I finally stopped and just sat, rubbing at the accumulated graphite on my fingertips and along my palm’s Mercury line.

Time for a bath. Or a shower. But since the shower head didn’t have quite as much pressure as the situation required, I poured a mug full of white wine and a capful of bubbles, which in FireWind goes by the name ‘Spirit Rejuvenating Bath Foam,’ and sank into the moist heat.

I emerged after giving in to the steam and a good cry, and went for another mug of wine. I was going to have to take everyone’s orders again soon so Zach would have time for an alcohol run before coming up Friday. On my drainboard was a plate of pasta salad and a bowl of dried fruits and nuts in strawberry yogurt. There was also a note from Caleb: ‘You promised me a date tonight. Come by later?’ Except instead of the word ‘date’ he’d taped an actual date to the paper.

I sank onto the sofa and picked at the food. Before I could decide whether to go see him, Lizzy knocked again.

“Can I come in? I saw your studio light was off now.”

“Sure.” I stood back. “Did your parents make it off okay?”

She nodded. “They said to tell you of course they’ll be discreet back home, not tell anyone or anything.”

“Oh crap, I hadn’t even thought about that.”

“It’s not a problem, them being quiet about it, you know. Yous all laugh at me for being a gossip, but I didn’t get it from them.”

The rundown of news from home earlier kinda belied her statement, but I let it go. There wasn’t much I could do about it regardless.

“You know,” she started carefully, watching my face, “it has such a stigma even now, abortion. Even out of wedlock births—not so much in our generation, but we all grew up hearing how shocking it all was. Even my friends with younger parents than mine, it was practically top story of the news if someone they knew had an early birth. It would have been a lot for them to face.”

I let her talk, unsure though why she thought some sociology would negate this total inversion of Pappa.

“I could do some research on it, you know, if you want.”

Now I shook my head. “Thanks, Lizzy, I know you’re trying tot help, but I don’t even know what I want right now, I couldn’t begin to tell you how I feel about it all. I should sleep on it, I guess.”

She started. “I should let you go, I’m sorry.”

“No, no. I just meant later.”

“But you obviously don’t want to talk about it.”

I shook my head again. Sitting down, I noticed my plate and bowl next to the sink. “Do you want a drink?”

“No, I’m just after cleaning up back there, I don’t want to see any more dishes for a while.”

“It’ll be strange to have all this free time again, I think I’ll appreciate it more. And I know I’ll appreciate being able to sleep in. Finally.”

“Uh-hum.” She toed the note, where I had left it on the coffee table. “And I, well, noticed your food partner was looking out for you tonight.”

One of those moments—should I leave the note, or stuff it into my pocket? It was folded over so just my name showed, so I left it. “Did ...? Did Wren notice, too?”

Lizzy stared me down for a minute before pushing her glasses back up her nose and answering, “No. He got the food after she’d left.” She paused. “But I did.”

“Yeah.” I went to make myself some tea. “He wanted to talk to me tonight. I guess he was just trying to wile his way into my den with food, but I must have been in the bath when he came.”

The coffee maker heated the water. Lizzy still didn’t say anything. “I ought never to have told any of you my door code,” I added.

“You’re bluffing. Or at least covering. So I get your point; it’s none of my business. Just that, you have to remember I’m not dense and I don’t think Wren is, either. And you’re both my friends. So don’t expect me to cover for you if it comes up. And knowing Wren, the subject of Caleb Kendall is going to come up, soon.”

I put out my hand to stop her standing up. “Oh, Lizzy, don’t. I’m not trying to deceive you, I just don’t know the answer to the question you’re trying not to ask.”

“What question?”

“Do Caleb and I have something beyond friendship going on.”

“And do you?”

I shrugged. “No. Not, well, explicitly, anyway. And between Wren and my Pappa, I wasn’t going to go over like he asked to find out.” She simply looked at me—well, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have gone over. It wasn’t a complete lie. “He wasn’t asking me so we could start something. He had a question. Something related, I think, but not about us. We haven’t either of us said anything about us.”

“But there’s been enough, shall we say, non-verbal communication between you to hint at it, hasn’t there?”

I thought of the note, and the gesture with my hair this morning. Other moments, other touches. Other looks. “Yeah.”

“And this thing he wants to talk about?”

I shook ‘no’ at her. “It wouldn’t be fair to him to tell you. I’ve probably already said more to you than he would like me to say.”

She nodded. “Okay. But I’ll just say this—if you’re to the point of protecting his feelings when he’s not here, and hedging around your friends, I’d say you have a better idea of the nature of your relationship, or your intentions, than you’re letting on.”

Sinking back and closing my eyes, I said, “Lizzy, don’t be hurtful. He’s my friend—our friend—first and foremost so if I won’t betray his confidences you should take it as a good sign of the kind of friend I am, not some indication of a plot we’ve cooked up. I’ve admitted there’s something, maybe, in the wind between us. And that I’m trying to keep it from Wren for now. What am I supposed to do, go to her and say, hey, I may be interested and he may be interested in me but neither of us knows for sure so I’ll fill you in later? For all we know, what he wants to tell me tonight is he thinks I’m sweet but he’s more inclined towards her and am I terribly disappointed?”

I flushed a little as I said it; before, I hadn’t realized I was half-fearing he would say something like that. But Lizzy didn’t seem to particularly notice—she was getting up and making for the door.

“Okay, Ash, I’ll try to just stay out of it. I suppose I’m just a bit curious, and worried for Wren’s sake.”

“I’m not setting out to hurt her.”

“I know.” She stood by the door. “Are you headed over there now?”

“No. I’m not planning to.” Not definitely.

With a hug she said, “You’re a good girl, Ashlyn. You please yourself, now, you’ve had a rough enough day without my meddling.”

I laughed. “You’re a good girl yourself, Lizzy. Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

“See yas.” She left.

The person I most needed to talk to was Gran. It was always Gran—even when I had to weep out my fears about Bernadette’s comparative lack of interest in me, it was to Gran I talked. She taught me about the Bernadette who I, being her daughter, couldn’t see. But I couldn’t return the favor, try as I might. Not that Gran was a know-it-all, just that she perceived the whole dynamic between myself and my mother. I had a tendency to misappropriate all of our difficulties to my own personal failings, where Gran saw them in a much more complex light. Bernadette had always been a tomboy, had always and forever been Pappa’s girl. She loved Gran, but wasn’t the kind of daughter who was dependent upon her mom. And I, by a long shot, had never been a tomboy. Bernadette tried, but couldn’t share my pride in the things I was good at—my drawing, my sewing, even my nascent cooking skills. And I never could get interested in playing ball with her and Frank and Zach, or their heated political and social debates, and I hated camping. We were just coming at each other from the wrong angles. But with Gran’s help, I learned to not blame myself for the lack of a bridge across the divides.

So I’ve always and forever been Gran’s girl. The one she’d never truly had, with her two boys and her tomboy. She named me. Held me in my first hours, the first ones in which I didn’t wail, and called me her ‘vision of babyness’ and gave me the American version of the Irish for vision. Bernadette relinquished me to her at an early age, which to Bernadette was the happy medium between loving me but not ‘being on the same wavelength’ as me, as she often put it. In many ways, it was.

But I still missed my mommy at times.

And now would be a very good time for me to have my mommy. I needed someone to tell me if I should tell Gran about Pappa. I needed someone to tell me if I should believe it was true, if I should somehow verify it first, if it would break her heart or if she’d probably known for years but kept it secret.

But Bernadette was still her daddy’s girl. We were all crushed when he’d died, back when I was sixteen. But for Bernadette, the grief stopped with her. Zach and my uncles and I were devastated at losing Pappa, but also concerned for Gran and how she would manage to live on her own for the first time in her life. I spent days sitting, her arthritic hands in mine, talking about their life together. Talking about how they met, and the mistakes they made when they first bought the farm, and the stories about two trouble-prone giraffes Pappa spun for his children. But Bernadette didn’t even commiserate with Gran, at least not that I saw, and I woulda seen.

So here I was again in my life, wanting my mother, and realizing again the mother I had was not the mother I needed. Gran, who had such insight into people and the knack of delving right to the heart of a problem, was who I needed to talk to. I’d never had much call to talk to her about her problems, though. And I wasn’t eager to start with this.

I sighed and stood and stretched.

It was full dark out. I figured I could safely wash my dishes without running into anyone, so I headed to the Main House. The computer room was deserted, so I went online. Some nice seller feedback from my online store. A cheerful note from Zach, with more hints about his upbeat mindset. It must be a woman—he wouldn’t bother dropping hints about anything else. Also, the e-invite to Bernadette’s birthday party, which credited me as a co-host. Sweet Zach, though Bernadette and Frank probably wouldn’t be any more likely to thank me for it all because of it.

I surfed around for an online phone directory for Dublin. There were eighty-four M O’Connors, three Matts, and a Matthew. Hardly surprising, or helpful. For confirmation of Agnes’ story, if that’s what I needed, I’d have to talk to this purported Matthew O’Connor, or his daughters (my half-cousins?), or get ahold of birth and marriage certificates somehow. I wondered which would be easier, logistically and emotionally.

When the door opened, I flinched.

“You’re going out of your way to avoid me, aren’t you?”

Caleb sounded lighthearted, but his eyes didn’t join in on the smile as he sat in the revolving chair at the next CPU. “What’s up?”

I gestured at the screen. “Trying to decide whether to break my Gran’s heart or not.”

“Huh?” He leaned in to read the monitor. “How exactly?”

“Never mind. Just had some strange news from the old country today, and I don’t know what to do with it.”

Sitting back, he asked, “Is that why you’re not coming to see me?”

God he looked gorgeous. Khaki button-down with those black jeans, hair brushed back, just a hint of after-shave. I had a little private shiver wondering if I merited such careful grooming. Less glum now, I reached for his hand.

“I’m sorry. I should have come by to explain to you—it’s just such a long story, and it’s—it’s family. Personal, you know? I’d tell you everything if it was just to do with me, but it’s a bit much to be dragging you anywhere near this mess with my family.”

He squeezed my fingers, then stroked the back of my hand with his thumb a while before he answered. “Don’t you trust me?”

I squeezed back, then took my hand back to shut down the computer. “Yes, I trust you. It’s not that. It’s just complex and I don’t know where to go with it and I know you have other things on your mind besides my grandparents.”

“Okay, don’t get mad.”

“I’m not mad.” He had walked almost to the door. “Caleb. I’m not mad, relax. I’m confused and I’m stressed and,” I sighed, “on top of that, if I come to you and talk about this, it’s presuming,” I stopped and crossed the room to him. “It’s presuming you want to be in the position of hearing me out and helping me with my confidences, and until I’m a little clearer about what’s happening here I don’t want to presume anything.”

He stared down at me, started to say something but stopped, and took my hands again. “Ashlyn.”

“Yeah?”

His lips barely moved but his eyes broke out in crinkles. Crow’s feet my hiney, Gran, these were something else. “Can I presume something?”

I closed my eyes and nodded.

As he wrapped his arms around me I looked up at him and smiled. A brief smile, because within seconds my mouth, and mind, were more happily engaged than they had been in quite some time.