The Girls on Rose Hill

by Bernadette Walsh

  Now I was the prisoner of Rose Hill. Aside from trips to the grocery and the drug stores, I rarely left the house. Day after day I spoon fed the hateful Peter, wiped the spittle from his frozen face, and lifted the dead weight of his body while he relieved himself in a bedpan. "Imagine you are caring for Jesus," Mother Superior had counseled before I left the convent. Giving the old bastard his daily sponge bath, it was hard to imagine Jesus' face in place of the man who'd beaten me senseless more than once.

  As weeks turned to months, my revulsion at washing his crepey flesh only increased. Kitty, the trained nurse, never once took a turn. Kitty, who would stick her head into the small room maybe once a day and shout a "How ya love" at him on her way out the door, had blossomed. My mother no longer had that haunted look. Her hair grew in, luscious and thick, and her cheeks became round and rosy. Me, on the other hand, I was as thin as a wraith. I looked like the middle-aged wreck while she looked like the carefree teenager.

  "Sorry, Rose," the aide said as she rubbed the rough sponge along my back, "I know this can be uncomfortable. I'm almost done."

  "Not at all," I assured her, shaking myself from my thoughts. "I know you haven't an easy job." I knew only too well how washing sick old flesh, day in and day out, could sicken and wither your own soul.

  She turned me over and smiled. "All done now. Feel better?"

  I returned her smile. "Yes, thank you." Ellen entered the room, her face like thunder, followed by the equally agitated Molly. I feigned sleep. After a while I really did doze, but then I, I heard the name Denis Lenihan. My eyelids fluttered. No, I must have misheard. Molly would never tell Ellen my secret. But my head was foggy and I couldn't help but release myself to the comforting oblivion of sleep.

  Chapter 10

  Ellen

  I circled the block one more time. A young Indian woman wheeling a baby carriage stared at me. Perhaps she thought I was lost. I smiled at her out my car window and made a left on Daisy Lane, a left on Daffodil Way and then another left back onto Bluebell Lane. Number 14 was a tidy cape cod with white aluminum siding and blood red shutters. While the last four times I drove past, its small front yard was empty, this time a tall dark-haired man in his early thirties dragged a dented garbage pail down its short driveway. I pulled in front of the house and rolled down my window.

  "Excuse me, do you know Denis Lenihan?"

  He looked up, his dark eyes curious. "Yes, I'm Denis Lenihan. Can I help you with something?"

  "Oh," I sputtered, "I'm sorry. But, ah, the Denis Lenihan I'm looking for is in his sixties, at least."

  "That would be my dad."

  "Is he around? I'm Bobby Connelly's niece, you know, his ex-partner?"

  His expression warmed. "Sure, I knew Bobby. He was the captain at the Eight-Four when I was a rookie. I'm sorry, but my dad's out in California this week visiting my sister. You wanna leave a message?"

  "No, that's okay."

  "You sure?"

  "Yes, I'm, uh, doing some research and my Aunt Molly thought he might be able to help me."

  "He'll be back next week. Give Molly my regards."

  Research? How stupid did that sound? I'd never make a good spy, that's for sure. As I drove past the curious Indian woman one more time, tears slid down my cheek. God, I needed to get hold of myself. I'd waited forty-three years to meet my father, surely another week wouldn't make much difference.

  I turned left onto Hempstead Turnpike and drove past endless strip malls. How was it possible that my mysterious father lived among such mundane surroundings? As a child I'd pictured him as a Texan ranch hand, an international spy, even a mountain climber; someone who's exotic profession prevented him from visiting me. Visions of him driving his kids around in a station wagon and stopping at the local supermarket for milk was a bit of let down.

  I drove the twenty minutes to Centerport and suppressed the urge to head to the airport; part of me wanted to hop on a plane and track my father down in California. I pulled into my mother's driveway, cranky and annoyed.

  "Ellen!"

  Lisa puffed her way up the slight incline from the boat house to the driveway. Without the energy to be civil, I snapped, "Yes?"

  Out of breath, Lisa asked, "Did you get my messages?" For the past week, Lisa had left me almost daily messages, but I deleted them as soon as I heard her voice.

  "Yeah, I meant to call you."

  "I know you have so much on your plate right now, but really, the neighbors are going to start talking."

  "The neighbors? What are you talking about, Lisa?"

  "The lawn. I mean look at the state of it. The Historical Society's Annual Tour is next week."

  "So?"

  "So, how can you expect to be part of the tour with the garden like that?"

  "Okay, now you've lost me, Lisa."

  Lisa placed her hands on her ample hips. "Rose's house and Barbara Conroy's house, along with the Feinstein's house down the street have been part of the tour for the last four years."

  "Oh, for the love of God, nobody will expect us to be part of that now."

  "The flyers have the house listed. I saw one last week, as I said on my message. Listen, why don't I send my gardener over. He can get this cleaned up in no time."

  Out of pique, I stupidly said, "No, Lisa, I've got it. In fact, I had planned on doing some gardening this afternoon."

  "Some gardening, Ellen? That grass looks like it's at least a foot tall."

  "It's not that bad. I need the exercise anyway." I moved toward the front door. "Well, I'd better get started."

  Lisa looked baffled but I ignored her and walked into the house. I waited until her minivan drove away before I stepped outside again. How could I be such an idiot? I reluctantly made my way to the shed. The small midges that always swarmed the front garden at low tide attacked my bare arms. I eyed the ancient hand mower and wondered how was it possible that my family owned a hardware store, yet this mower was older than me? I pulled the rusted mower from the shed and scraped my elbow against the rough wooden door of the shed. Drops of blood landed on my white t-shirt. I dragged the mower over to the lawn and pushed it with all my might, which given that I hadn't been to the gym in weeks, wasn't much. The grass was so high I couldn't mow more than a foot or so before I had to stop and pull ropes of grass from the mower's dull blades. After an hour, not even a quarter of the small lawn was cut. My white t-shirt was almost transparent with sweat.

  "Hey Ellen, how ya doing?" I heard over the hedge.

  "Fantastic, thanks to your mother and that goddamned historical society."

  "Whoa, what's going on?"

  "I'm trying to cut this fucking jungle with a scissors, that's what's going on."

  A few moments later, Billy appeared on my lawn, dressed in a tank top and a pair of well worn, and snug, jeans. "Why don't you go inside and get me a beer?"

  "Get you a beer? I'm a little busy here."

  "Get me a beer, Ellen. I like to drink a beer while I mow."

  "You don't need to..."

  He eyed my t-shirt and smirked. "Just go."

  My arms throbbed and my face burned from exertion and the beginnings of a sunburn. Like a petulant teenager, I threw down the handle of the mower and stomped inside. The hallway's cool air felt good against my sweat-soaked skin. I stripped off my wet t-shirt in the kitchen and grabbed a wrinkled, but clean, blue t-shirt from the dryer. I splashed some water on my face before I slipped on the shirt. Feeling marginally better, I grabbed two cold beers from the fridge and walked back outside. In the meantime, Billy had gotten his mother's gas mower and had already started on the lawn. I walked over and handed him the beer. He smiled and took it from me without breaking his stride. I got out of his way and returned to the steps and drank my beer. Less than twenty minutes later, the lawn was done. Billy switched off the mower, walked over to me, his jeans now slung low on his hips and said, "That, Miss Murphy, is how you mow a lawn. Now get me another beer and I'll help you weed."

  "Really
, Billy, you don't..."

  "Beer. Now."

  I returned to the kitchen and brought out two more beers. Billy finished his in two long gulps. In another hour, the two of us cleared the flower beds of their weeds, and if the garden didn't look the same as it did under Rose's watch, it at least looked respectable.

  "Not bad," he said. "Tomorrow I'll help you with the back."

  "You really don't..."

  "Tomorrow I'll mow the back," he said firmly with a smile.

  I laughed. "Okay, okay, I won't bother arguing with you, but, I need to repay you. Let me buy you dinner."

  "I have a better idea. I was supposed to meet a buddy of mine an hour ago. Why don't you buy us a pitcher of beer at Gunther's."

  "A pitcher? I don't think I've bought a pitcher of beer since law school."

  "Sorry, sweetheart, but they don't sell carafes of wine at Gunther's Tap House."

  I smiled. "Okay, okay. A pitcher it is. If you play your cards right, I may even throw in some peanuts."

  "That's my girl. Let's go."

  "All right, let me get my keys."

  He eyed my silver sedan. "I don't think they'll serve us if we show up in that thing. I've got my bike."

  "I can follow you."

  "Come on, Ellen, where's your sense of adventure? I have an extra helmut. You can ride with me."

  "Well, I, uh, I don't know."

  "What's the matter, El? You afraid?"

  "I'm not afraid. Well, not too afraid." I looked at the motorcycle for a moment. It appeared sturdy enough. "What the hell, let me get my bag and lock up." Running into the house, I quickly brushed my hair, slathered on some face cream to sooth the sunburn and grabbed my bag. Before I had a chance to reconsider, I found myself on the back of Billy's motorcycle, my legs snug against his, roaring down Rose Hill.

  The bike was steady and Billy was a good rider, although I suspected he was riding slower than usual for my benefit. I relaxed enough to enjoy the quick ride to Northport village. By the time we pulled in front of Gunther's deliberately dingy entrance, I was almost disappointed we'd arrived so quickly.

  "So you survived your first ride?" Billy asked as he pulled off his helmut and ran his hand through his shaggy hair.

  "How do you know this is my first ride on a motorcycle?" I struggled to undo the strap of the helmut. "Perhaps I have a wild and sordid past that you know nothing about."

  Billy smiled. "You forget, Miss Homecoming Queen of 1985, I was there for your past."

  "All right, you got me. Let's go get that beer." I tried to fix my hopelessly messy hair.

  "Here, let me." Billy patted the left side of my head. "There, much better. Oh, I meant to tell you, I like the new lid."

  "You do?"

  "Yes, it suits you. Now come on. If the guys find me out here discussing hairstyles, I'll never hear the end of it." He opened the flimsy screen door. "After you."

  It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dark interior of the bar. Not much had changed since Laurie Nolan and I, armed with the pathetic fake IDs we'd bought in Times Square, braved the local biker bar. I smiled when I saw the corner table Laurie and I had once commandeered and preened for the grizzled bikers, our big hair somehow defying gravity.

  "Bud okay?" Billy asked as we approached the crowded bar.

  "Do they have Amstel?"

  "Oh, I should have known. Fancy imported car, fancy imported beer." Catching the bartender's eye, he said, "Hey Jimmy, you got Amstel on tap?"

  "I got Heineken."

  "That okay?" Billy asked. I nodded, slightly intimidated by the amount of testosterone in the crowded bar.

  "One pitcher of Heineken, Jimmy. Hey Jimmy, you seen Vince around?"

  "Yeah, he left about twenty minutes ago."

  "Was that your friend? I'm sorry that you missed him."

  Billy smiled. "Don't worry about it. You're a much better looking drinking companion. Let's see if we can snag a table in the back."

  Billy carried the pitcher while I trailed him carrying two frosted mugs. I pretended not to notice the appreciative glances he garnered from the two pseudo biker chicks who leaned seductively against the battered pool table. We pushed against a crowd of preppy college kids home for the summer. Billy expertly maneuvered his way to the back where he found a small scarred table in the corner.

  "Here we go." He held out a small wooden chair for me.

  "It's pretty packed tonight."

  "Yeah, I usually avoid Friday nights here." He poured us both a glass. "I guess dive bars aren't exactly your scene anymore, huh?"

  "Not really, although it's nice for a change." I bravely ate a handful of trail mix from a small plastic bowl.

  "What do you and your husband usually do together?" Billy grabbed a large handful of the trail mix.

  "Not much." I didn't mean for that to slip out.

  "Oh."

  What the hell, I might as well come clean. It wasn't as if Billy knew anyone from my "real life" in D.C. I took a deep breath and then said, "We go to brunch occasionally and of course I make an appearance at certain mandatory spouse functions at his law firm. Brendan is a big fan of musical theatre, which I don't really love, so he usually takes one of his girlfriends."

  "Girlfriends?"

  "Yeah," I said evenly.

  "And you're okay with that?"

  I shrugged. "I wasn't at first, of course. But, by the time I finally acknowledged Brendan's cheating, it had been going on for years and he wasn't about to change. I had three young children, who when he was around, adored their father. I had a choice to make. Either maintain my principles and leave him, destroying my children's childhood in the process, or stick it out. I know what it's like to grow up without a father. Brendan might not have been the best father in the world, but he was their father, and I didn't want to deprive them of that."

  "I'm divorced and I'm still a father to my son."

  "Yes, but that's because you're probably committed to being a father. As it was, even living in the same house, the children barely saw him. It would have been worse if we'd divorced."

  "So, do you two..."

  "No," I said. "Our, ah, physical relationship ended years ago." Well, excluding last week, but I didn't feel like being that honest with Billy.

  "Sorry, Ellen, I really don't mean to pry, it's just that I find it unbelievable that anyone would cheat on you. He must be either crazy or blind."

  "I put up with it so I guess I'm the crazy one."

  "No, Ellen, no." His large callused hand covered mine. "You're just a good mother."

  I shook my head. "You make me sound like a saint. No, since we're being completely honest, I have to admit that I get something out of the relationship too, such that it is. We travel in very exclusive circles, belong to a country club, live in a multi-million dollar home. I suppose part of me doesn't want to give that up, and admit that my picture perfect life is less than perfect."

  "I think you're being too hard on yourself."

  "No, just honest. For once." I sipped from my mug. "Hey, did Gunther put truth serum in this beer or what?"

  He laughed. "God, let's hope not, or I would've gotten into trouble a long time ago."

  I picked up the empty pitcher. "Are you up for another?"

  "Sure, why not."

  The bar had gotten even more crowded, but I was able to fight my way to the bar and grab bartender Jimmy's attention. As I made my way past the pool table, one of the young preppy dudes bumped against me and beer splashed on my shirt. One of the pseudo biker chicks who looked like she was about to pounce on Billy scowled at me when I pushed past her to take my seat.

  "Here we go." I poured the beer into the mugs.

  Billy laughed. "Hey, thanks for the foam. You obviously haven't poured a pitcher in a while." He took the pitcher from my hand. "Here, let me."

  "Sorry. I'm sure one of my sons can give me a lesson when I get home."

  "No worries." He expertly tipped the glass so that it filled with beer a
nd not bubbles. "I promise this will be the last personal question of the night, but if you and your husband aren't, how should I put it, intimate, then what do you do for, uh..."

  "Companionship?"

  "Yes. You're a beautiful woman."

  I laughed. "I'm covered in beer and sweat, so I'm not feeling particularly beautiful at the moment."

  "Don't look for more compliments, El, you know what I mean."

  "There was someone a few years ago. One of the divorced dads at my daughter's school. We were very discreet, but I don't know, it wasn't for me. I couldn't compartmentalize my feelings in that way. He wanted to take it further, wanted me to see him more openly, and I used that as an excuse to break up with him. I don't think Brendan wouldn't have cared if I saw someone, and even if he did, he certainly wasn't in any position to complain." I paused for a moment and looked down at my beer. "It was me. I didn't want to be the type of woman who had affairs. I didn't want my children to see me as that type of person," I looked up then into Billy's compassionate gaze. "Stupid, huh?"

  "No," Billy said, "it doesn't sound stupid to me. It sounds very lonely, though."

  "It is, at times. But, I have my children and my work." We sat together silently then, and sipped the cold sudsy beer.

  Billy smiled. "Hey, the pool table's open. You wanna play?"

  "Sure, although I'm not very good."

  "Come on." He took my hand and led me to the pool table. We played two college kids, and thanks to Billy's moves, we beat them and the next two contenders as well. I smiled as Billy talked sports with the first set of college kids, construction tips with the second, middle-aged group. Billy was unpretentious and friendly and I felt completely at ease with him in this grungy bar, despite my earlier confessions.

  Two pitchers later, I was ready to call it a night. I didn't want a repeat of my previous boozy evening. Billy gently placed his hand on my lower back and guided me through the still crowded bar. Once outside, I headed to the bike.