I hope that when you wear this, you’ll think of me – my lips at your throat. My heart pressed to yours. Our love tangled together like the threads of this necklace.
Margaret was quite certain her face had turned sixteen shades of red before she stuffed the card into her desk drawer.
But she found herself wearing the necklace every day, running her hands over the stones, daydreaming of his touch. She always felt foolish when she caught herself in a daydream, and worked even later hours to make up for her lapses in concentration during the day. As the days wore on, Margaret worked harder, ate less, and slept in spurts. Her clothes began to hang on her; Margaret wondered if she needed to take them to a tailor.
“Did you open it?” Katie, her bubbly assistant, peeked into her office.
“No,” Margaret said, turning to look at her.
“Do you need some scissors?” Katie asked, tucking her stick-straight blonde hair behind her ear, her eyes wide and excited. It had been hard to keep the fact that she had an admirer from afar from Katie, and soon Katie had been rushing to greet the UPS man each week, hoping for another installment in the long-distance love affair.
“No, I don’t,” Margaret said. What she needed was some gumption to open the huge package that sat across the office from her. Margaret knew her walls were beginning to crumble, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready for whatever lay beneath the brown paper.
“Have you called him yet?” Katie asked, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms over her chest as she eyed Margaret.
Margaret just shook her head sadly, not knowing what to say.
“You need to call him. That necklace alone had to have been really expensive. The least you can do is thank him,” Katie admonished her and Margaret felt her shoulders hunch.
“I’ve sent him a thank you note for every gift,” Margaret protested.
“A politely worded thank you note. He sends you declarations of love and you send him a corporate thank you,” Katie pointed out, having been privy to a few of Sean’s messages.
Margaret felt guilt creep up her spine.
“I don’t know what to say,” she finally said.
“Say what you feel,” Katie insisted.
“That’s what I’m having trouble figuring out,” Margaret murmured. It was true. Her feelings for Sean were so conflicted she didn’t know what to say to him. And as time went on and more gifts and sentiments rolled in, Margaret found herself being swayed by his pleas. But then she wondered if it was just the distance between them that was making her soften her outlook on things. It was all so confusing and jumbled in her head. She’d never felt like this before – in her orderly world, messy emotions had no part.
“Why don’t you hold my calls for a bit?” Margaret asked.
“I will. But make sure you open this, and take some time to think about what you want to say to him. I suspect this is going to be even more dramatic than your last gift, judging from the size of it alone,” Katie said as she closed the door behind her.
“Now or never, I suppose,” Margaret said, standing and wiping her suddenly sweaty palms on her now-baggy black dress pants. Crossing the room, she examined the package, finding the plastic slip where a card and shipping note were concealed. Pulling the card out, she couldn’t help but feel the pulse of love that came from the envelope.
Yes, she could feel things from inanimate objects, too. Margaret wondered how Sean would feel if he knew the extent of her abilities. Sliding her fingers beneath the envelope flap, Margaret pulled the card out.
This is us. I know what this means.
'This is us'? Margaret felt her heart begin to pound harder in her chest as she put the card down. She pulled at a corner of the brown paper, the sound of the tear seeming to echo across her office as she pulled the paper away from what she now saw was a painting.
“Oh…I just…” Margaret held a hand up to her mouth as tears leapt to her eyes.
The painting was done in dramatic acrylic paints, the blues of the water and the sky contrasting with the tan sand of the beach and the greys and greens of the cliffs jutting out proudly above the water.
It was the cove, glowing brilliantly for all to see, with the faint outline of a couple locked in an embrace on the beach.
Margaret knew instinctively that it was Aislinn’s work, and she wondered when Sean had asked her to paint it.
How oddly appropriate that her daughter’s half-sister would paint the most important moment in Margaret’s life for her. The irony wasn’t lost on her. But in it, there was beauty as well. The painting wouldn’t have had the same impact if it had been done by another artist. It seemed to scream to her – see? Can’t you see that we are all connected?
I get it now, Margaret thought. I get it.
None of it really mattered, the past, what had come of it. What mattered was the now, and who they were. Had they not tumbled onto the beach that night, none of this would have happened.
A soft knock at the door had Margaret’s head whipping around and she quickly dashed the tears from her eyes.
“I asked to not be disturbed,” she called.
“I know; it’s just that you have a visitor. Oh wow,” Katie breathed as she caught sight of the painting. “That’s fantastic.”
“Yes, it is,” Margaret said, not knowing what else to say. “Can you tell my visitor to schedule an appointment? I would like to be alone this afternoon.”
“Um, I can’t really do that,” Katie began and then Margaret’s eyes shot to the door when she heard a voice.
“Sure and you don’t think she’ll turn her own mother away?”
Chapter 39
“Well, isn’t this lovely?” Fiona said, pushing past Katie to stand by the painting, hands at her hips. Her grey hair was combed neatly and she wore a white button down and khakis, much like every other day in her life. The only thing missing was her straw hat on her head and a bag of garden tools at her side.
“Mother!” Margaret said, feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of her. She rushed across the room to bend and give Fiona a hug, struggling with tears again as they embraced.
“I’ll just leave you two. Would you like some tea?” Katie asked.
“That’d be lovely,” Fiona said with a bright smile as she pulled away and scanned Margaret. A furrow formed in her brow as she examined Margaret’s face.
“Why didn’t you call me? It’s clear that I’m needed,” Fiona admonished.
“I’m fine,” Margaret said automatically, causing Fiona to bark out a laugh.
“Fine? You’ve easily lost a stone. Your clothes are all but hanging on you. And I walk in to find you sobbing over a painting of the cove. You, my dear, are anything but fine.”
“I’ll just leave this here?” Katie asked tentatively from the doorway, crossing to set a tray with two cups on a small side table.
“Thanks, Katie,” Margaret said, striding after her to close the door. “Mom, you can’t just say stuff like that. I don’t want the people at my company to think I'm losing it.”
“Well, you’re human aren’t you? You’re allowed to have a crisis once in a while,” Fiona said as she sat in one of the soft grey leather chairs by the tea. “Come, sit.”
And I’m being ordered around in my own office, Margaret thought with a sigh. Realizing that she actually wanted nothing more than a cup of tea with her mother, though, she sat and accepted a mug from Fiona gratefully.
“Beautiful office,” Fiona said cheerfully and Margaret had to smile.
“It is. I love this building,” she agreed.
“Yes, it’s quite welcoming, while also making clear how powerful you are.”
“Thank you – wait, back up. Why are you here?” Margaret asked, shaking her head in confusion at Fiona.
“You needed me,” Fiona said simply and Margaret rolled her eyes.
“I would have been happy to fly you over – first class in one of those new sleep pods, too. We could have had Keelin come and
done a nice girls' trip. I have no problem with you coming to visit. I just would have planned for it.”
“You told me to come whenever. So I came whenever,” Fiona said, smiling contentedly at her daughter.
“Well, I’m happy to have you, even unexpectedly. I’ll have to rearrange a few appointments is all,” Margaret said, crossing to her desk. “How long are you here for?”
“Two days.”
“Two days? Why so short?” Margaret said, growing increasingly confused.
“I’ve herbs to cultivate. Things to do,” Fiona shrugged, not really answering the question. One thing that Margaret knew is that Fiona was the queen of evading questions if she so chose. Shaking her head, Margaret scanned her appointment book for the next two days.
“Katie, can you clear me for the next two days? Except for the appointment on Thursday with Jan.” Jan was the vice-president of Margaret’s real estate company, and had also grown to be a close friend through the years. Margaret never canceled meetings with Jan.
“Will do,” Katie sang back through the intercom. Margaret straightened and looked at her mother beaming at her.
“What?”
“I’m so proud of what you’ve built up,” Fiona said.
Margaret immediately felt self-conscious. The part of her that had always wanted to prove to her mother that she could be successful on her own crowed in delight, and then the other part of her that had difficulty accepting compliments blushed.
“Thanks, Mom. That means a lot,” Margaret said softly, crossing the room to sit and pick up her mug of tea again.
“I’ve always been proud of you, Margaret. But sometimes as a mother, you have to know when to let the birds fly on their own, so to speak,” Fiona said, reaching out to pat Margaret’s arm.
“Is that why you’ve never come to visit?” Margaret had asked this question before, but for some reason it still bothered her.
“You never wanted me to,” Fiona said gently and Margaret knew that she was right. Too many buried feelings that Margaret hadn’t had time to deal with when she was building up her empire and raising Keelin.
“I suppose you’re right,” Margaret said, as she smoothed a wrinkle in her pants.
“We can’t change the past, my dear. All we have is now,” Fiona said, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Speaking of now. Would you like to come to my place? I can get you set up in the guest bedroom and then we can explore a bit.”
“Yes, that’d be nice.”
Already thinking about where they should go for dinner, Margaret stood and caught sight of the painting again. It seemed to hum with energy, the sway of the waves and the thrust of the light seeming to brush against her skin. She itched to be back on that sandy shore, cradled in her lover’s arms, the exuberance of youth shrouding her good sense.
“That’s quite a gift,” Fiona murmured, coming to stand next to Margaret as they examined the painting.
“It is at that,” Margaret said, her heart beating faster even as she looked at the painting.
“This is a gift of love,” Fiona observed.
Margaret shrugged, unable to deny her claim, but not quite ready to say the words.
“He’s backed you into a corner,” Fiona said on a laugh.
“Excuse me?”
“Sean. He’s backed you into a corner. There’s no way you can ignore something like this.”
“Try me,” Margaret grumbled, striding over to her desk to grab her purse from the bottom drawer. “Let’s get out of here.”
“If you insist,” Fiona said with a smile, casting one more glance over her shoulder to where the painting stood, a clash of color and movement in the serene office.
Margaret suspected that Fiona would have more to say about the painting. Pulling the door closed behind her, Margaret shot Katie a look.
“Nobody is to go in my office on penalty of being fired.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Katie said, all but saluting as they breezed past her, Fiona’s chuckle making Margaret’s cheeks burn.
So what if she wanted to protect the painting? It was a nice piece of art. It certainly had nothing to do with her employees prying into her love life.
She didn’t have a love life, Margaret reminded herself. Period.
Chapter 40
“Do you mind walking? It’s about a mile and half,” Margaret said, then caught herself trying to convert the distance into kilometers for her mother.
“I walk every day, Margaret,” Fiona said and Margaret imagined her mother striding across the hills and climbing into the cove. A walk across downtown Boston wasn’t going to faze her.
“So, this is the Charles River. My apartment is on Beacon Hill which overlooks the Commons, a main park here in town,” Margaret rattled off as they began to walk from her office down a crowded sidewalk, where everyone was finishing up their day and leaving for after-work happy hours in the sun.
Margaret tried to see Boston through her mother’s eyes. The crush of the after-work rush of people on the sidewalks, the honking from impatient cars stuck in traffic, and the distinct smell of city all combined to make this early spring day a chaotic image of a bustling metropolis. Where Margaret saw the latest in street fashion, Fiona probably saw the annoyance of having to push past people on the sidewalk.
“It’s happy hour,” Margaret explained as they walked past a cabbie leaning against his car and talking into a Bluetooth headset, a Red Sox hat pushed low on his head.
“It’s a lively town,” Fiona said.
“That’s a kind way of putting it,” Margaret said with a smile as they came upon the Commons. “Much busier than you're used to.”
“Different people crave different lifestyles. I’ve always found great comfort in being close to nature. Not all do,” Fiona said, smiling as they waited for a walk signal at the intersection.
“I guess I was just always drawn to a busier way of life,” Margaret said as they crossed the street and entered the gates of the garden side of the Commons.
“Nothing wrong with that,” Fiona said, turning to marvel at the flowers in the gardens. Concrete pathways roamed through manicured lawns, past ponds, and through carefully landscaped beds of flowers.
“This is my favorite part of the Commons,” Margaret said as they walked.
“I can see why,” Fiona said. She gestured to where a bench sat across from a small pond. “Let’s sit.”
Margaret couldn’t help but think about the last time she had sat on this exact bench. Keelin had come to her for answers about her past. Now she wondered if she would do the same with her own mother. Stretching out her legs, she leaned back and let herself absorb the tranquility. It seemed like she hadn’t slowed down or left work early in months. This was a welcome break.
“Thanks, Mom. For coming here. I don’t think I realized how much I needed you until I saw you,” Margaret said, surprising even herself with her words. She kept her eyes trained on the pond, nervous about what Fiona would say.
“I think we’ve left some things unsaid that need to be worked through,” Fiona said and Margaret jerked her head up to meet Fiona’s eyes.
“I thought you were here to talk about Sean.”
“I’m here to talk about a lot of things,” Fiona demurred, watching Margaret’s face.
“I don’t know. I thought we had a pretty good talk at the cove,” Margaret said, shrugging her shoulder.
“We did. But there’s more to that talk that we didn’t get through. Most notably one of the reasons you ran at the time – your power. My power. And, now, Keelin’s power.”
Margaret grimaced, not wanting to have this conversation, already working to put her mental shields up. She looked up when Fiona’s hand touched her arm. Instantly, a wave of comfort washed through her, and she smiled at her mother.
“Thanks,” Margaret said.
“I see you’ve come to terms with the power of touch,” Fiona said, referring to her gift of healing.
“What o
ther choice do I have? Both you and Keelin have this ability. I’ve fought it for a long time, but at some point, you just have to accept it.”
“Why fight it at all?” Fiona asked, tilting her head to study Margaret.
For the first time, Margaret felt like her mother was seeking to understand why Margaret had reacted the way she did, instead of just trying to force a way of life upon her.
“It scared me. There’s always been a part of me that craved a normal life. That was before I even understood how you could heal, though. Just knowing about my own ability – that I was different – made me desperately crave the normal. I used to pore over magazines about the States, and dream of one day leaving the tiny cottage in the hills and becoming this fancy metropolitan woman. And, well, here I am,” Margaret said on a half-laugh as she looked down at her baggy pants. “Typically more well-presented than now, of course.”
“What was it about accepting your gift that scared you so much?” Fiona leaned back, bringing her arm to lie across the back of the bench so her hand brushed lightly across Margaret’s shoulder.
“I…I’m not good with feelings. Surprise, since I’m the empath,” Margaret shrugged. “I find emotions to be messy. I’m not good at communicating them, I’m not good at responding to them, I’m just...closed down, I guess. So being handed this gift where I feel so much – well, it was hard to swallow. Is hard to swallow. I did my best to hide it, tack it down, not use it. I’m not sure if I will ever really accept it.”
“Why do you have to accept it?” Fiona asked, causing Margaret’s head to whip up.
“You always told me we have to use our gifts. That we mustn’t turn our back on our powers,” Margaret shot out.
“Maybe you don’t have to accept it to use it. Maybe this is more about learning to live in peace with it,” Fiona said gently, and Margaret turned back to study the water again.
“But I thought Grace O’Malley gets all angry if we don’t use our power.”
“Grace is but a spirit. She’s only love. You have to know that. Whatever choices you make in this life – so long as you can live with them – are yours to make. Not mine, not Keelin’s – not anyone’s but your own. If you feel that you don’t want to explore your gift and would rather not actively use it, by all means, go on with your bad self.”
The Mystic Cove Series Boxed Set (Wild Irish Books 5-7) Page 14