Retreat to Love (17 page)

“Who?” from Rafa.

“Angelica and Brandon,” I said. Caleb’s half-hmm told me he hadn’t mentioned that part. But it’s not like it would have remained in any way discreet. “Apparently they’re missing together. Theo was looking for her, at his cabin.”

After I recapped Angelica’s FireWind relationship history, Rafa laughed. I’d never heard him laugh before—it was both deep and sardonic. “Guess you’re next,” he told Caleb.

“Huh?”

“Three down, one to go. Unless she picks Lizzy, too, and she just might.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Why, has she already made her nocturnal visit to you?”

To his credit, Caleb recoiled. “God, no. But,” he glanced at us ladies to see if our delicate constitutions could handle more information. I crossed my eyes at him. “But, when, man? She and Theo were joined at the pelvis.”

“Not the first night they weren’t.”

Wow. Okay. Interesting dynamics.

Wren was shaking her foot rapidly against the chair leg. “Are you just fucking with us?”

“No. I wish I was.”

“Well, you mind me asking what the hell? Does Theo know?”

“I doubt it. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It was pretty obvious she thought she’d moved on to better things. She didn’t miss a chance to flaunt it in front of me.” He leaned back, taking the chair onto two legs in a way that would have given Margie a nervous fit. “Why did you think I never stuck around when she was around?”

Wren looked as red as I felt. Caleb, however, shrugged. “Just thought you had your own shit going on.”

And Wren smiled sweetly at him. “And you wanted out of k.p. duty.”

He laughed again, less sardonic this time. I was in danger of liking the guy. “Fair shot. That was obnoxious of me. But you sure as hell put me in my place, siccing Military Margie on me.”

I grinned. “We call her Sargie Margie.”

“Good one.” Rafa stood and bussed our mugs. “I’m gonna get back to it.”

“Night.” I paused. “Hey, are you gonna show us your stuff tomorrow or not?”

“Not.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“See ya.” He left.

“Well, a night of surprises,” Caleb stated obviously, as the three of us headed down the porch steps.

“You’re telling me.” But Wren didn’t sound so at ease. The dark night hid her expression.

“Wren?”

“You want me to walk you two back to Caleb’s place?”

“Wren, come on.”

“You come on, Ash. You’re the one so full of this honesty shit.”

“I never lied to you.”

“Two in the morning! You weren’t exactly a hundred percent, were you?”

“You didn’t want to hear it.”

“I didn’t want you to fucking play me, either.”

“Hey Ash, Wren, don’t,” said Mr. Congeniality.

“I’ll say what I damn well want.” She stopped her furious fast striding at the fork. “You asked me to be up front, I’ll be up front. You two can go off and screw each other every night until dawn if you want, but you can’t explicitly tell me there’s nothing like that just to appease me, when there is. You’re not lying to be kind; you’re just trying to make it easier on yourselves.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“Shut up for once, okay, Ash? You were not truthful, and I could give a damn about you, Caleb, no offense, but you can screw whoever you want, it’s up to you. But if the two of you are honest about being my friends, you don’t pretend there’s nothing happening when there clearly is. It doesn’t give me any credit whatsoever for being able to handle things like an equal and an adult. I am not going to break down in tears over some guy, but I am going to be pretty damn annoyed if my supposed friends aren’t letting me make my own emotional realizations, instead of making them for me.”

By the light of the low path lamps, I stared her down. “You done?”

“Is that an apology?”

“No, it’s a question. Are you done?”

“For now.”

“Okay. Then listen to me?” I drew a breath, hoping to soothe the stings running rampant in my chest. “I didn’t tell you this was going to happen, and we knew it would. But I didn’t lie. And I’m sorry, okay? Take it or leave it, but I’m sorry we pissed you off, sorry you feel mislead, and sorry you found out like this instead of through us talking about it.”

I took another breath, while Caleb muttered, “Hey, I’m sorry, too.”

“But I think we should just not talk more tonight. I don’t mean to put you off, but this whole Theo thing has me wiped out, and yeah, you’re right, I am going back to Caleb’s for the night. We can talk all you want tomorrow, okay?”

“Maybe. Maybe we will. I damn sure don’t want to tonight.” Her tone wasn’t quite enough to put my heartbeat back to normal, but it wasn’t nearly as sharp.

“Okay.” I nodded. “Okay. Do you, um, need anything?”

“No, I’m outta here. Good night.”

“Night, Wren,” Caleb said, and I echoed him.

She headed up towards RiverSong and I finally slumped against Caleb. Mighty chivalrously, he exuded solid security as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. I never think of myself as needing protection, but I didn’t mind, leaning there against him, that I felt very safe indeed.

We collapsed into his bed—my eyes were void of moisture. I felt like a sandbag. It was an unpleasant counterpoint to the silky beach he’d had me envisioning the night before.

“I’m wiped out,” moaned Caleb.

“Yeah.” And after a moment, I managed, “Did I screw up? With Wren?”

“Uhmm. Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t think you handled it badly, though.”

I rolled over and tucked myself against his side. “Yes, well, you have to say that. You’re my boyfriend.”

His silent laugh brushed against my nape. “Oh, am I?”

“You are.”

“Mmm. Good.” He kissed my hair, softly. “Very good.” He might have continued, but I was too asleep to notice.

We missed breakfast, and before we got to lunch, Wren had provided a less than gentle answer to Angelica’s ‘I suppose Theo’s going to leave me with all the cooking again tonight’ whine, which left us basically fending for ourselves that evening. Angelica and Brandon set a platter of sliced veggies on the sideboard, along with the bread and peanut butter, then left together. Since Rafael didn’t show, we shared his revelation with Lizzy, the better for the four of us to gossip. Wren wasn’t speaking directly to me, but she did participate in the conversation, and stopped herself from sitting in the chair next to Caleb as I moved to the table with my sandwich.

“And Sargie’s not back?” Lizzy asked.

Caleb shook his head. “She went in the ambulance, so I’m sure she spent the night there and will have to catch a ride back.”

“Talk about freaky.”

“No kidding.”

“Don’t tell Brandon or anyone about Rafa, though,” I cautioned Lizzy, who snorted. “I know, but it’s better I say it.”

Wren harrumphed a little, which I chose to ignore.

There were so many soap opera permutations, it was hard to know where to start—the break-up with Theo, the sleeping around, the ickiness of actually going to bed with Brandon and his greasy dusty white-boy dreadlocks, and of course Theo and his need to react to it all with a bottle of analgesics. We barely touched on Sargie and her potential relationship with this Fred Lynn guy.

Brandon stomped past us, on his way to the computer room. “Where’s Angelica?” Lizzy demanded, and he just glared and tossed his head.

“Lovely,” Wren shot at his departing back.

Margie made it back before we were done eating. “Theo will be okay,” she reported. “They will keep him there another night, for monitoring, and evaluate his release in the morning. I’m not sure if he will return to FireWind, though. It will not be decided today.”

She didn’t elaborate on whose decision it would be, and told us she hoped we’d all keep the will to live for the next several hours, because she was going to get some sleep.

“Lovely,” Wren muttered again as Margie slammed the door behind her.

Caleb laughed as he volunteered to wash up, and then we were three.

Lizzy glanced between Wren and I. “So you had words?”

I smiled. “You’re just a terrible gossip, my friend.”

“I know. But I want yous to get along, so I’m being presumptive.”

Now Wren smiled. “Okay, okay, I forgive her. And I admit I’m jealous. But not envious, if that makes sense.”

I nodded. “It does. And I know I need forgiving.” I added, “Thanks.”

Lizzy took our hands. “Good then. We can go back to usual.”

“Thank the Goddess,” I said, “cause if I didn’t have you two I was gonna be stuck being pals with Angelica, which, nothing personal, just didn’t quite work for me.”

Lizzy snorted. “I can imagine.”

And we digressed into chat about Angelica again, and about her twisted work, and about our work, and my quilt of Gran. I had to explain the news about Pappa to Wren, who looked at it from a different direction, namely: what value would it add to anyone’s life to learn about this Irish half-uncle of mine?

It made me think.

I planned to tell Gran, and debating how to do it, and if I could go over it with Zach first or if it would be a betrayal, to not give her a chance to dictate who else would know and when. But Wren’s question stopped me cold.

“I don’t know,” I finally concluded. “The reasons keeping quiet most appeals to me are all to do with sparing me the discomfort of laying it all out for her. I don’t know if that’s making me like your idea too much for the wrong motives.”

“Look at it this way,” said Caleb, who’d rejoined us mid-conversation. “Pretend it’s not you who has to tell it, or you know Gran wouldn’t care, or something. Remove the painful telling factor. Do you see the logic still? Is anyone gaining by knowing, and if so, what?”

“I don’t think it’s a matter of ‘gaining’ really. Unless knowing some more relatives is a boon, which is debatable—I mean, how much contact would we reasonably even have with them, supposing they do accept us as family?” I sighed. “I sure as hell haven’t gained anything by knowing it, except for my elevated blood pressure.”

“But do you wish me Da hadn’t told you?”

“No,” I answered instantly. “No, I’m actually glad he did.”

“Why?”

“That’s it, isn’t it? I’ve no idea why. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I suggest,” suggested Wren, “it’s because if the knowledge is there to be had, you’d rather be with than without.”

“That’s the human impulse,” added Caleb.

“Yeah, but, that leaves me telling Gran, doesn’t it?” They nodded. “Well, this’ll jar my preserves for damn sure.” They laughed, but Lizzy wanted to know how come I was so sure Gran didn’t already know. There wasn’t a chance. “Gran can’t abide deceit. If she knew, she’d never have let Pappa tell the stories about Ireland the way he did. She may have let him hide it, but his background would have had to fit a little better with this truth.” I closed my eyes and they immediately welled with tears.

“Poor Ashlyn.” Caleb rubbed my back. “Do you want me to go with you tomorrow?”

I shook my head. “I’ll have Zach. But thanks. It’s just not gonna be great.” Wren was watching my body sinking towards Caleb’s hand. I sat up. “And Bernadette’s sure to complain about my ruining her big birthday surprise, thanks very much. Always growing older but never growing up.”

So Zach pulled up by eight on Friday morning, which I recognized as being a remarkable feat by actually having my clothes on and overnight bag packed.

Caleb wandered outside to greet him, and I chose to double-check I had Bernadette’s quilt rather than watch Zach wonder why Caleb had ‘come over’ so early. Caleb, obviously a man never overprotective of a little sister, reached an arm around my waist as I joined them. Maybe Zach was tired, but he resisted pulling me out of Caleb’s grasp. He just slammed the trunk on my bag and said, “Hey, let’s hit the road while traffic’s light, ‘kay?”

“Hasta,” I kissed Caleb—what the hell, the gig was up anyway—and he smoothed my hair before telling us to drive safe.

Zach’s car had crunched down the driveway and spat the last of the shale bits onto the blacktopped main road before he managed to give me a glance and say, “So?”

“So indeed. So, Caleb and I are in couple-land. What’s new with you?”

“And I guess you’re happy about it?”

“No, it’s torture, whadaya think?”

“You know, he’s going back to San Jose in a month.”

“Five weeks, we’re aware. I’m neither an idiot nor a child.”

He slowed to turn onto the highway. “God, Ash, chill. Did you think I wouldn’t ask?”

I rolled my eyes at him and he laughed. “Okay, okay, Mr. Need-To-Know. Here’s the scoop. We were just friends, you know the whole Wren thing, and I finally figured out he wasn’t wearing the aftershave for her benefit. And I thought about it and we kissed, and it was one of those rom-com moments, fireworks and jubilation, and here we are. And no, we haven’t talked much about the end, and yes, if it keeps going like this, it’ll be an issue, and no, I have no idea how to resolve it. Anything else?”

“You wanna stop and get some coffee?”

“Yeah, but if you can hold out until Luling we can hit that bakery.”

He shoved towards my head and I ducked. “You’re so damn bossy. Remind me to tell Caleb.”

I laughed now. “Give me your phone, I’ll put it on your calendar.”

It wasn’t until we’d returned from our bathroom breaks and broken open the package of pecan rolls that Zach quit holding out on me. “I’ve a little romantic news of my own.”

I squealed like a Beatles fan in the front row. “You dirty dog! Out with it. I can’t believe you just drove forty miles without saying a word.”

“Humph. I thought you cared about my Rick situation.” Rick was a co-worker who kept weaseling in credit for other’s work and getting away with it; we’d discussed him
ad nauseum
for months now. I did care, but not that much.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Who’s the dame?”

He confessed all. Her name was Rebecca but she hated being called Becky and she was a fellow techie nerd who he’d gravitated towards at a cafe one poetry night. They had approximately a jillion things in common including the desire to learn aikido, so they were taking a class two nights a week and going to the movies, book stores, or work-type functions two or three other nights a week.

“Why didn’t you bring her along?”

Zach didn’t even bother to do the sarcastic snort, he just looked at me. “Hi, Mom, happy birthday, here’s the love of my life and your future daughter-in-law.”

“Oh, Zach, do you mean it?”

“What?”

“The love of your life thing.”

He actually blushed. My very own big brother blushed. “Yeah, I do, I think.” He cut off my delighted babbles with, “And not a word, Ash, it’s early days, anything could happen and the last thing I need is the Frank and Bernadette May Third Degree experience sooner than I have to. She’s gonna have to turn out to be completely perfect before I subject myself to that.”

“You just said she is completely perfect.”

“I know, I know. And I’m right, just terrified it won’t work out cause she’s either hiding her past as a con artist or hiding her present revulsion for me until she can find the ‘right time’ to let me down gently.” He grinned. “And if it’s the con artist thing, if she’s repentant I may just be able to live with it.”

“Can I tell Gran?”

“I don’t get to tell her myself?”

“If you must. I suppose that’d be better, I just—oh, never mind.”

“What? What’s up with Gran?”

“Nothing, nothing. I just have to talk to her about something and it maybe kinda tough, so I was hoping to use your news as, like, an icebreaker.”

“Since when do you and Gran need an icebreaker? More like muzzles once you two get going.”

“Never mind. I want to talk to her first, so it’s not on talking to you about it yet, so just forget I mentioned it, okay? Tell me about Rebecca, is she going to move in with you?”

“Ash ....”

“I’m serious, Zach. I’m sorry, it’s just a real personal thing and it needs to be my way.”

“Okay. Just, let me know if you, I don’t know, need anything. I’d do whatever you asked, you know, and I can do it no questions asked if I have to.”

I smiled at him. He was such a protector, a fixer. No wonder I always put things on his shoulders, he’d been wide open to taking care of me since we were little. Rebecca was a lucky woman, and I was glad he’d found her.

Zach dropped me at Gran’s—I would stay the night with her and Zach would stay at Bernadette’s. She and Frank only had the one guest room now they’d converted my former bedroom into a meditation zone. At Gran’s, though, the spare room always had a couple of changes of my clothes.

Also, Gran’s had the expansive fabric closet Pappa had built for her. It was a miracle of color and texture and organization, that closet, and we’d both spent hours there, over the years, letting a project take shape in our minds as we gathered the fabrics that would become quilt blocks and backers and binding. Right away I found the brocade I wanted for
Patchy Men.
Soon I’d added some organza I might or might not want to appliqué, and began a pile of spearmint-hued calicos for a vague plan to do with images of women refracted through a tea-party setting. When I caught myself going over the pros and cons of taking a package of sewing machine needles, I knew I was avoiding talking to Gran about Pappa. So back to the kitchen I went, feeling grim.

And wimpy.

Instead of talking first, I gave her her quilt. Gran loved it, no surprise—my goal had been to touch her with this manifestation of my love for her. Her response, the way she took in the fine details and overall impact, the way she kept moving her arthritic hands across the surface, showed she knew what I was trying to do, both narratively and artistically, and her appreciation for
Chains of Love
was multi-leveled.

But mostly, she loved that I had made it for her—that she had been the inspiration for my work. As often as I said her teaching and her support had been the base from which I had launched myself as an artist, she still refused to give herself enough credit for the things about me which made her proud.

“It’s not like I never mentioned how much I love you, you know,” I laughed after her third or fourth round of ‘I can’t believe you did this for me, sweetheart.’

“Oh, sweetheart, I know you do, I’ve always known. Aren’t I the one who can read your mind since birth?”

“Or the one who I’ve wanted to, anyway,” I said with a kiss.

“And that being true,” she pulled me towards the breakfast room and we sat at her small vinyl table—the yellow with gold and brown specks had greeted me most dinners of my youth. I traced the dots that always looked like the outline of a duck to me. “Who is he and what has he done to give you that secret little smile?” Gran asked. “If you can tell me without being crude.”

“Gran!”

“I’m just asking, You’re not the only one who reads romance novels here.”

I laughed. “He’s just another guy at the retreat, his name is Caleb and he actually was at Berkeley with Zach.”

“As in, he still lives in California?”

“Get right to the heart of the matter, why don’t you? Yeah, he does. But, I don’t know, so far we haven’t talked about it but I have this, I guess, premonition it’ll be okay.”

“Well, good girl, I’m glad for you. And I hope it works out to be everything you dream.” Gran always talked about my life in terms of dreams. My name—she named me—was adapted from the Gaelic for dream or vision, and she put a lot of store into the symbolism.

I got us some shortbread from the batch Gran had prepped for my arrival. Zach had obviously broken into it while I was lost in the fabrics, so I asked if he’d had a chance to chat with her.

“Yes, I got the news of his love life, too. I feel blessed both of you have found such happiness—you remind me of myself and Pappa sixty years ago almost, except we were in love with each other.”

I bit into the shortbread and looked at the duck again.

“What is it, Ashlyn?”

“Just, well, not nothing. Something. Something I need to talk to you about.”

“Goodness, girl-child, what is it? So serious all of the sudden.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I need to have a serious kind of talk with you, but maybe we should wait until later, after dinner. It’s not urgent.”

“Well you’ve got me curious. Can we not talk now?”

I glanced at the kitchen clock—it was closing in on four, and the reservations were for seven. We’d have to leave by six-thirty at the latest to avoid Bernadette’s sarcasm should we arrive after her, and I wanted to shower the patina of car trip off of me.

But mostly, I was avoiding it.

I hedged a bit more but Gran was having none of it, so I started in with the background of Lizzy’s parents. Gran, being from the land of everyone knows everyone else, remembered Agnes’s mother and aunt clearly from some school connection of her cousin’s. She didn’t know Dub but wasn’t surprised he knew of Pappa.

“And is this serious thing of yours about Dalkey seventy-odd years ago?”

I nodded. “Sounds silly, I know.”

“Maybe not.”

I glanced up at her. She was looking a tad wary. “Gran? Are you, um, aware of a secret from then?”

She sighed. “Just tell me what this Dub Murphy had to say, sweetheart. Just tell me.”

She couldn’t know already. Or, I’d been convinced until that moment she couldn’t. Gran wasn’t known for her poker face, but I was getting nothing from her. So I talked.

“Okay, he told me Pappa didn’t exactly come over here the way he said.”

Gran didn’t comment.

“He came the same route, I mean, through Liverpool, but not the same way with his family and all.”

Gran put her hand over mine. Faltered over the words a little. “I—I suppose he knows the sister?”

Meeting her gaze, I said, “He knew the doctor, your father-in-law, that is, and he knew the doctor’s, um, grandson. Matthew O’Connor.” Her eyes went dull and moist like wet slate, but still not a word. Damn this was rough; a thousand pinpricks and not a thimble in sight. I reached for the most straightforward words I could find to finish the story. “Well he, what Dub says anyway, is a boy, eighteen really, so a man, named Niall O’Connor who was the son of Dr. Matthew O’Connor went with his bride to England, and she came back saying he’d died on their wedding trip. And then she had a son, and the doctor and his family took them in and, well, that’s about it. I guess.”

I trailed off, and Gran was staring into the middle distance, and I paused before fumbling on. “The mom died already. So there’s no, um, proof at all. It mayn’t be true. You know the Irish and their blarney, and how many O’Connors might he be confusing Pappa with anyway.”

Gran patted my hand lightly so I shut up but she wasn’t talking. This wasn’t good—Gran had never run out of things to say to me before. I mean, of course we had our companionable silences, but usually when we were occupied—quilting or cooking or whatnot. Otherwise we were always talking; talking politics, talking history, gossiping about family and neighbors.

When I met her eyes again she was crying, which was enough to open the floodgates I’d been forcing closed for most of a week. So much for my theory the worst part delivering bad news was the anticipation.

“I’m sorry, Gran, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry if it’s true and I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

“No, no, sweetheart.” And to my shame, our hug became her offering solace to me. Of all the times to discover how like my mother I truly was.

No. I refused to be like Bernadette, sobbing across Pappa’s side of the bed after his funeral, Gran forced to comfort the daughter who had spent a lifetime telling her she wasn’t as valued as all the men in her life. First Pappa, then her brothers, or then Frank, and Zach. Or Zach, then Frank. No matter the order, it always went men first with Bernadette. Gran and I were tied for last.

But she was first for me, and I’d done my best to be first for her since Pappa passed.

I disengaged and reached to the center of the table to pluck napkins from a basket I’d woven back in middle school. After we’d wiped our eyes, Gran told me what she knew.

“It nearly cost us the wedding.” A minuscule smile graced her face. “A fortnight before the ceremony, and we were at a picnic, just the two of us. Talking about sex.”