“Dad, it does feel right. It’s where my life is.”
“Does it, though? Does it feel right?” He turned to her, his eyes bright as if someone had momentarily lifted a veil.
Colleen didn’t answer because she wasn’t sure anymore. Doubt had been creeping in for days. But this wasn’t the time to disagree with her dad. It was the time to listen.
“Dad . . . go on.”
“I don’t know what I was saying.”
“That there is a reason we must be on the river.”
“Yes.” He nodded, his jowls moving against the tight collar of his shirt. “Yes, indeed.”
Then he was gone again, off into a land of nonsense and time travel, something about a baseball game he was late for and a shipment of kegs that hadn’t arrived.
“Dad.”
“Yes?” He looked at her and smiled.
“Thank you for loving me so well.”
He gazed at her with utter tenderness and reached out his hand to take hers. “Lena, my little lark, never let your fears keep you from living your life or from loving. You can’t run from who you are without losing your soul. Don’t do it.”
“I’m not running from anything at all. I’m just building a life away from here. Just like you did.”
“Ah, yes, but are you building it out of fear or love? That’s the difference.” He leaned forward and took her face in his hands. “Do not settle for the mediocre to avoid pain.”
“I hear you, Dad. I promise I hear you.”
This seemed to satisfy him. The frenetic look that had flickered across his face mellowed and he was there again, her calm and amiable dad.
Colleen almost heard the ticking of the world’s clock, the metronome of time passing, taking with it all that was precious of her dad’s memories. But the damn clock’s dark hands could never touch the essence of who he was with her, of the love that bound them together in ways Colleen had only dimly understood, in ways that her sister and her brother would never know, in ways that could never, even in memory’s demise, be broken.
They sat back in the chairs. “Dad?”
“Yes?”
“You know how to speak Gaelic?”
“Yes, some I do.”
“Why did we never know this?” she asked.
He rested his head back on the chair with a slight grin on his face as though she had just told him something lovely. His hand, with veins prominent under the wrinkled skin, the freckles evidence of his hours in the sun and the knuckles scarred from hard work and a few stray fishing hooks, held tight to hers.
“We all have our secret places, Lena. You are my a stór, a mhuirnín,” he said and closed his eyes. “My treasure; my darling.”
Yes, secret places indeed.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Lord, keep my memory green!
Charles Dickens, The Haunted Man and the Ghost’s Bargain
THREE DAYS UNTIL THE PARTY . . .
The next afternoon Colleen spent hours on the second floor of the small bookshop downtown, catching up with the owner, Mimi, and wondering how the elderly woman still managed to run a bookshop. But then she’d understood when she’d met her new assistant, Piper, a spitfire of a girl who was both funny and knowledgeable. Colleen had bought a pile of memoirs and started skimming them. She would take them home and look for the threads that bound the good ones together.
Piper had told her, “Well, to me, the good ones are the ones that tell the truth without ever blaming anyone else—just saying it like it is.” Then she’d leaned forward conspiratorially, her small nose ring winking in the sunshine that fell through the tall windows. “I’ve read them all. I know it means I’m a nerd, but ask anything you want.”
Colleen had thanked her, and thought that she could hang out in this store for just as long and happily as when she’d been a child. Because now, yes, now Colleen had a memoir to write—one about mothers and daughters and where you really came from. It did involve the ten tips, but so much more—it was about the journey of learning who she was.
She was also hiding. Hallie had made the quick and decisive decision to move to the Donohue home and today was the day. Shane had hired a crew and while Walter was out of town they were packing boxes and bringing them to May River. Walter knew they were leaving, but Hallie jumped on the chance to take what she needed without him over her shoulder begging her to stay or, alternately, cursing her for taking whatever it was she took. Colleen didn’t want or need to be in the middle of that. Shane had hired enough men to get the job done. But this didn’t stop her from thinking about it, from probing softly into the places that opened up with all the changes and realizations that had come into their separate lives.
If Colleen had married Walter, if she hadn’t walked into that church alcove and seen what she’d seen, their demise would have happened anyway. In some other place. In some other time. With someone else as the woman who came between them. Eventually he would have cheated on her. She understood that now.
This was Walter’s way, and perhaps it always had been. His bright and vivid charm had hidden a darker side, a need to sneak off for quick and furtive desire, a desire that burned and damaged. Colleen had had no choice but to see the truth in stark clarity that wedding day, but Hallie, she must have been living in the shadow lands where the truth was as elusive as a ghost. A rush of tenderness washed over Colleen and it was for her sister, for the exhausting futility of living in denial while clinging to an illusion.
Full of wonder at these new insights, Colleen began to feel the first inklings of what felt like gratitude. It was not she who must face Walter’s excuses while protecting two young children and figuring out a way to keep the family together.
She had lost what she’d believed was the love of her life on her wedding day; but she’d also been saved. She was not only grateful but also thrilled that she hadn’t ended up with Walter.
What if someone had come to her at some point and said, “Look, here is what you escaped”? Would she have opened her heart again? Forgiven? Moved on? But no one had done that. Why hadn’t she trusted life enough to know it was true?
If this memoir was to be written, she would have to understand the mother who was not her mother, and the woman who had given Colleen life while losing her own. Again she focused on her work. After what seemed like just a little while of writing and taking notes, she was stunned to look up and see that hours had passed.
After a few hours, she threw the books in her bag, along with her notebook, and hustled back to May River, feeling slightly lighter and significantly clearer. The way she’d happily lost track of time like that reminded her of when she was a young child and she and Hallie had played jacks in the tree house or sat in the corner of that same bookshop poring over the comic books their mother wouldn’t let them buy.
Once home, Colleen came up short as she entered the living room. Stacked against the walls and piled four high in the middle of the room were brown corrugated boxes that had once held liquor and beer.
“It looks like we stole all the loot from the pub,” she said.
Hallie and Shane stood next to the boxes, sweating in the August heat. Rosie and Sadie ran around in the playground maze, stumbling and laughing, their voices high in frantic need to ignore the reason they were actually there.
As Shane wiped the sweat from his brow with a blue dish towel, their dad’s voice came from behind Colleen. “Hallie is moving in.”
Colleen turned to see her dad in his work clothes, a pair of worn shorts and a white T-shirt whose every stain seemed to tell a story: when he’d painted the work shed; when he’d hung the wallpaper in the hallway; when he’d laid the bricks of the front walkway. In his hand he held a knife. He bent and zipped it across the top of a box. “Let’s get you settled, my darling. Let’s not be dragging this out and making you miserable.”
Colleen gl
anced around the room. There was more here than would possibly fit in Dad’s small house. “Did you bring everything? I mean . . .”
“I had to.” Hallie’s voice was strong. “We can shove it in the storage shed or garage or whatever. I left him all the furniture for now, but I had to get what I could or Walter would have . . .” She glanced at her little girls, who had come to a standstill in the living room.
“Is Lulu in a box?” Sadie asked in a small voice.
“Yes, sweetie. The box is labeled. I’ll find her.”
“She can’t breathe in there. Get her out. Get her out right now.” Sadie’s voice rose higher and she began running from box to box, pulling at the tape, throwing aside her wand in an effort to save whoever or whatever Lulu was.
“It’s okay.” Hallie stood in front of Sadie and took her by the shoulders. “I put Lulu in a special box with oxygen. She’ll be fine and she’ll be waiting on your bed tonight.”
Sadie accepted this and ran off with her sister, having been granted permission to draw with sidewalk chalk on the driveway, as long as they stayed away from the river.
Gavin walked around the room ripping tape off each box, peeling back the flaps and then moving on to the next one.
Hallie motioned for Colleen to meet her on the screened porch. When the door was shut behind them, the afternoon heat pressing down hard, Hallie said, “I haven’t asked you. How were they at the movies yesterday?”
“Angels.”
Hallie smiled. “I don’t believe you, but I’m so damned tired I’ll just have to accept it.”
“No, really they were. They are truly adorable, and smart as little whips. I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry I missed so much of their lives.”
“Well, you’re here now.” Hallie touched her empty ring finger. “I stayed as long as I could, Lena. This lie—he told me you were wrong about seeing him with that woman—was the last lie I will live with. To stay would be to betray myself and my girls.”
Colleen’s heart tripped over itself, landed in the pit of her belly. What had Hallie endured even before the humiliation of learning about his infidelity and the heartbreak of moving out of their home? Damn him. Two sisters. One man. Two little girls whose home was broken. And enough heartbreak and betrayal to sink them all.
Colleen took Hallie’s hand. She was disappointed in her own reactions to what had been dealt her, what that river of life had brought to her and where it had carried her. She hadn’t trusted it, not one little bit. She’d taken things into her own hands, hardened her heart, set herself apart.
Was it too late to forgive? To become someone different? To love Hallie again?
Colleen reached through that sticky space between herself and her sister, to wrap her arms around Hallie and hold her close. It was a relief, holding her sister after pushing her away. It was a jump into a cool river on a steaming day; it was an exhale after holding your breath; it was falling asleep when you thought you might not. Colleen held her tight, held her just as she’d wished someone had held her many times during the past decade.
Hallie took a breath before asking the delicate question. “Haven’t you wanted a family? One of your own?”
“Oh, Hallie. I have, yes, but each time I thought about actually doing it, I panicked. I was terrified of choosing unwisely, of being betrayed again.”
“Then it’s my fault.” She closed her eyes, dropped her chin to her chest in prayer or confession.
“No.” Colleen tapped her sister’s chin until she looked up. “We each make our own choices; we each choose how we spend our hours. That’s what I chose. Of course I’ve thought about it, but I’ve also been really, really good at avoiding thinking about it. When I’d have a birthday, I’d wonder, ‘Is it too late now?’ and then I’d move on.”
“Don’t.” Hallie shook her head. “Don’t move on anymore.”
Colleen took a breath, wanting to find something wise and smart to say but understanding somehow that her sister had already said it.
The porch door creaked open and Gavin joined them. “Well, look what we have here. Now, let’s go inside and get you settled,” he said. “Let’s make sure we have this cleaned up before your mother comes home. You know how she hates messes in her living room.” He shook his head. “Good Lord, it’s not a mood I’m up for tonight, what with Mr. Jacob’s birthday party in the backyard.”
“We’ll get it cleaned pronto.” Hallie hugged her dad. “Promise.”
Gavin sauntered off, whistling.
* * *
• • •
Hours later, twilight arriving with its hues of golden light, the boxes had been either unpacked or moved from the living room; some were stacked in the garage and others in the back shed. Hallie and the girls would share Shane’s room for now. Colleen imagined her nieces eventually spreading into her room the minute she returned to New York, taking over the space and filling it with their frilly pink clothes, a new sisterhood in the same room.
Now the three Donohue children sat with Gavin at the kitchen table. The little girls had gone off with their daddy to dinner. He’d picked them up with a loud honk and they’d run out to jump into the backseat. Only Shane had risen to greet Walter, taking the girls’ hands to escort them outside.
After Walter was gone, Hallie told them her ideas. “So I’ve done some more research and there are exercises you can do, Dad.”
“Why do I need to exercise?” Gavin looked from child to child and then smiled. “Ah! I know what it is—I have that damned Alzheimer’s. What exercises?”
Hallie held out her hand. “So this.” She began tapping her fingers with her thumb, one-two-three-four, on each hand, back and forth. “Saying whatever mantra you’d like, Dad. Something in Gaelic if you please.”
Gavin began to tap his fingers, saying “anam cara” until his tongue tangled the words and his tapping turned to only one finger over and over. He looked at his girls, the effort to continue too much after only a few tries.
“What does anam cara mean?” Hallie prodded.
“Soul friend.” He turned away. “You know, sometimes I think if I grab the edge of a memory and pull it toward me, my life will stay with me.” He stood then, his hands in fists at his sides.
“Dad.” Shane kept his voice soft, to calm him, settle him.
“What?” Gavin answered, but suddenly he wasn’t their dad. He was angry, his face red and contorted, his hand raised as if to pound the table. Then he turned and walked to the back door and outside, slamming the door hard.
The siblings stared at the closed door. “The memory book will help,” Hallie said. “When we give him the book, it will help. I just know it. He can look at it and . . .”
Shane stood. “Maybe.” He didn’t look at his sisters but walked to the door and gazed outside its window as he spoke. “Or maybe I’m trying to convince myself I’m doing something, anything at all, when really nothing can be done. When really it’s all meaningless.”
“No.” Colleen went to her brother’s side and also stared outside. “It’s not pointless. It’s . . . Whoa!” Colleen froze, pointing out the window. “Dad is unmooring the boat.”
Shane shoved open the door and ran, full sprint, to the dock. Colleen was fast behind him, reaching them just as Shane took the ropes from Gavin’s hands. “Dad. Stop.”
“It’s my river.” Dad pushed back at Shane, not hard but enough to startle them all.
“Not now, Dad. Not now. It’s time to go to the pub. Hank has some questions for you.”
Colleen knew this wasn’t true, but if it kept their dad from the river, would a little lie matter? Was this what it had come to? Little lies to protect their dad’s safety?
Gavin stood straighter.
Hallie ran to the dock, meeting them at its edge. “Dad . . .”
Gavin’s face turned placid and a smile returned. He stepped forward,
carefully, looking warily at the dock’s splintered wood as if the boards were shifting and separating under his feet. He walked slowly, a shuffle more than a walk, until he reached his daughter. “When did you get here?”
“I’ve been here all afternoon. Remember? I’m moving back in.”
“You left?”
“Yes . . . I married and . . .” Hallie pressed her lips together into a straight line. The explaining, it was exhausting. She exhaled as if she’d finally realized the futility. “Yes, I’m here.”
Acceptance.
What an awful word, Colleen thought. What a giving-up helluva word. But it was the only one that applied.
She went to her dad then, put her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “I love you, Dad.”
“Well, my little lark, I love you, too.” And together they walked up to the house.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Sweet is the memory of past troubles.
Cicero, De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum (On the Ends of Good and Evil), I, xvii
Gavin sat in the middle of the pub, his booming voice echoing across the dim room. Nightfall brought dark cover to the windows. The bar hostess walked from table to table lighting the tea lights. Colleen sat with her sister at a corner table, both sipping frothy Guinnesses and unable to find what they wanted or needed to say. Shane bustled about keeping the pub running. Peaceful. But Colleen knew by now what a fragile commodity peace was, how easily it could be broken.
“Then,” Gavin’s voice echoed, “the Yanks swept the World Series.”
“What a night that was,” another, deeper voice responded.
Colleen sipped her beer, and Hallie smiled at her sister and motioned to her upper lip. “You have a beer ’stache.”
Colleen wiped at her mouth and leaned closer. “I know this has been a long and crazy day, but do you have the finished book?”
The Favorite Daughter Page 25