“Are you okay?”
Kathleen simply nodded.
They stood there, holding each other for ages. Blossom came over and sat, leaning against their legs. They both reached down to pat him.
Reluctantly, Molly let go. Kathleen quickly wiped her cheeks. Putting her glasses back on, she turned to look at the paint swatches.
She turned in place, studying the samples on each wall, and pointed to the swatch in the middle.
“I think I like that one. What’s it called?”
Molly picked up the can. “Sea Foam Summer.”
“Sea Foam Summer,” Kathleen repeated. “That’s the one.”
Molly raised the can in a toast. “Merry Christmas.”
Chapter 11
WITH A FLOURISH, KATHLEEN hit Send and, like magic, felt lighter. That manuscript gone, all pending book covers completed, she typed an “Out of Office” message on her email indicating that she would be unavailable until after the New Year. She did one last back-up—something she admitted she was a bit obsessed about ever since a computer crashed years ago—and powered everything off.
“We’re going low-tech for a couple of weeks,” she announced to Blossom, who thumped his tail in agreement.
They went outside where an early dusk was falling.
“Longest night of the year, Blossom. Might just be the best night of the year.”
She stacked more wood on the back porch for the fireplace. Blossom chased a rabbit into the woods before trotting jauntily back, proud to have done his duty.
“You’re full of yourself,” she said.
She tossed a stick. Blossom just stared at her.
“Whatever.”
She went back inside and lit the oil lamps, setting them around with bowls of Christmas potpourri.
“That looks and smells romantic, doesn’t it?”
Blossom raised a back leg to lick himself.
“Why do I even ask you?”
He followed her upstairs where she smoothed the quilt on her bed, the scent of new candles from Siobhan’s shop filling the room. She went down the hall to Nanna’s room. She’d started dismantling it to get ready to paint. The linens were stripped from the bed, curtains down and dresser drawers emptied. It had been a little sad to bag up all of Nanna’s clothes, her bottles of perfume and little bit of jewelry. She made a mental note to ask Jenny how to get donated clothing to a charity come spring.
She turned the lamp on and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the nightstand.
The top drawer held reading glasses and a few books, including Nanna’s Bible. She carefully boxed those items. Inside the middle drawer, she found more old photos, some framed, some in small albums. She amused herself flipping through the pages of the albums, chuckling at images of Nanna with Olivia and Louisa when they were all in their twenties. She set those aside and reached for the last drawer. It stuck. She had to yank hard to get it to open.
She was surprised to see that it was nearly empty, holding only a small bundle of envelopes, tied with a faded blue ribbon. She tugged on the ribbon, unfurling it. Leafing through the envelopes, they were almost all in Nanna’s writing, unopened and addressed to her father, marked “Return to Sender”.
The postmarks were all dated in the two years after that summer, and they were stacked in reverse chronological order. The bottom envelope in the stack was addressed to Nanna in her dad’s small block letters with their Philadelphia return address. Her fingers trembled a little as she reached under the loose flap and pulled out the letter within.
Mother,
Please stop calling. Your apologies mean nothing to us. Nothing you say or do will ever make up for your utter carelessness with the life of our son. Christine is devastated, and I am beyond words.
We will not ever come to the island again. If I could, I would wish that place and all of you on it to hell for all time.
Our boy, the light of our life, is gone forever, and that rests fully on your shoulders. We should never have trusted you with our son.
Michael
Kathleen read the letter over and over. A faint buzzing sounded in her ears, and it was hard to breathe.
“Why couldn’t it have been you?”
She clapped her hands over her ears, but the voice was inside her head, where nothing could stop it. She pushed to her feet, scattering the envelopes over the floor.
Rushing down the stairs, she paused only to grab her jacket. Outside, she saw dots of light. Candles and lamps. The solstice. People were walking to the cemetery and the stone circle. Dimly, she remembered that she was supposed to meet Molly there.
She turned to the woods behind the cottage. Her vision blurred by tears, she stumbled along the path. Branches scratched at her face and bare hands. A heavy layer of fog had moved in, obscuring the stars and moon, hiding the trail. Her foot caught on something and she tumbled headlong down a ravine.
Dazed, she lay there, crying, her head throbbing. When she pushed up to sitting, her vision was blurred. Her hand, when she touched it to her forehead, came away sticky. She knuckled the blood out of her eyes and felt around for her glasses. She couldn’t feel them anywhere.
She staggered to her feet and pushed through heavy underbrush. She had no idea where she was or which direction the trail was, so she simply continued downhill, climbing over fallen trees and rocks.
The droplets of moisture from the fog condensed and were soon dripping from her hair. She had to keep wiping blood out of her eyes. Everything was blurry, but she couldn’t tell how much was from the fog and how much was from her nearsightedness.
Some part of her realized she was disoriented and shivering, but her feet kept moving.
The woods suddenly thinned and she found herself on the path that led to the beach. A heavier layer of mist hung here near the water, undulating and swirling as if it were alive, a thing that could swallow her and take her away from here.
The sand crackled along the water’s edge. Icy waves washed onto the beach, sloshing over her shoes.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, her feet in the sea, the fog wrapping around her with its cold caress, when a voice spoke from the darkness.
“I tried that. Doesn’t work unless you go all the way in.”
She turned, squinting to see who had spoken. A figure moved near the boulders that formed the sea wall.
Aidan appeared out of the mists, a bottle in one hand. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Fell.”
“No shit.” He came to stand beside her.
She turned back to the ocean. “Why aren’t you at the solstice thing?”
Aidan hoisted the bottle in a toast. “Kumbaya isn’t my style.”
For some reason, Kathleen found that funny. She giggled rather hysterically. “Mine either.”
She eyed him as he took a long pull.
Aidan looked at her through bleary eyes. “You gonna lecture me on the evils of drink?”
“Nope.” Kathleen took the bottle from him. “I’m going to join you.”
She tipped the bottle to her lips and coughed as the whiskey burned going down.
“All right then.” He took her by the elbow and guided her back to the rocks where they sat side by side.
She held the bottle up, watching the amber liquid inside slosh around. “This was my mom’s answer, too. My dad’s drug of choice was work. As much as he could, as far away as he could. But my mom found hers right here. This and pills. Anything to make her numb.”
Aidan didn’t say anything, just took another swig before passing the bottle back to Kathleen.
She took a big drink. It wasn’t so bad this time. Didn’t burn as much. “No one remembers, but the day you and Bryan—It was my tenth birthday. So every fucking birthday since then has been just another reminder. As if anyone needed another reminder.”
“I didn’t know,” Aidan mumbled.
Kathleen waved her hand, splashing a little whiskey from the mouth of the bottle. “That
first summer after… My dad was gone, of course. I spent the day alone. I thought Nanna would remember and send a card. I was watching TV when my mom called me. I went to her room, thinking maybe she remembered it was my birthday, and maybe we would do something together.”
Kathleen swiped her jacket sleeve across her runny nose. “But I was wrong. When I went in, the room was dark. She was sitting in her chair. I remember the only light was the glow of her cigarette. She took a drag, and the end lit up, and I saw her eyes. Her eyes, just watching me from the dark. You know what she said to me?”
She turned and looked at Aidan, though she was having a little trouble focusing. His eyes were locked on hers. She leaned over and bumped her shoulder against his.
“She said, ‘Why couldn’t it have been you?’”
Aidan’s eyes were wide. “Jesus.”
Kathleen nodded. “Yeah.” She tipped the bottle back again. The burn felt good this time. “Why couldn’t it have been me?”
“I think you’ve had enough of this.” Gently, he tugged the bottle from her grasp. “You’re cold and bleeding. Come with me.”
He helped her to her feet and, together, they staggered into the dark.
“WHERE’S KATHLEEN?”
Molly had been keeping an eye out for her as most of the islanders gathered at the stone circle. Centuries ago, the shipwreck survivors had found that the First Ones already had some stone markers for the solstices, but they had shown them how to build one—a bit like Knowth or Newgrange—with stone arches positioned to catch the first rays of the sun at each solstice. Every solstice of her life, Molly had celebrated here on this spot.
A fire burned brightly inside the circle, flames to chase away the dark on this longest night, to see them through until morning. As dawn neared, the fire would be extinguished and they would all sit in the dark just before the dawn broke over the ocean horizon, its rays piercing the darkness to bounce around the interior of the circle. Even on cloudy mornings, it was a humbling sight.
She’d been looking forward to seeing Kathleen’s reaction.
Everyone she asked shook their heads. No one recalled seeing her this evening. Nervous now, Molly bent to crawl back under the low stone lintel.
“Mo?”
She turned to find her mother stooping to scramble out behind her.
“Do you think something’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure.” Molly searched the faces of the stragglers coming out of the mists. “I’m going to check on her.”
She pressed against the incoming tide of people and made her way out to the road. She couldn’t be sure this was the way Kathleen would come, but it seemed the most likely. The fog made everything seem surreal as trees loomed out of the murkiness. She worked her way toward the Halloran cottage and actually passed the drive before she recognized that she’d missed it. Backtracking, she trotted toward the cottage. She stopped abruptly at the mournful sound of a dog howling and sprinted the rest of the way to find the front door ajar, Blossom scratching frantically at the storm door. She burst inside, alarmed to see the oil lamps burning.
“Kathleen? Kathleen!”
She took the stairs two at a time and found the lamp lit in Maisie’s old room, the envelopes scattered on the floor. She picked up the discarded letter, reading it quickly before tossing it on the bed.
As if he understood that they were going to search for his human, Blossom skidded back downstairs to the front door.
“Wait,” Molly said, running to the kitchen, tearing drawers open, hunting for a flashlight.
She found one and quickly blew out the kerosene lamps before letting him out the door. “Find her.”
He raced around the house, into the woods. She followed as quickly as she could, the beam from her flashlight cutting a jagged path through the fog as she ran. Blossom left the trail, his nose low to the ground as he veered into the woods. Molly raised one hand to shield her face from branches that whipped at her out of the darkness.
“Kathleen!”
She stopped to listen but there was no answer. Up ahead somewhere, she heard Blossom rustling through the underbrush. The ground suddenly disappeared from under her feet, and she slid down a ravine. The flashlight flew from her hand, landing a few feet away. Cursing, she reached for it. Something gleamed in its beam. Glasses. She picked them up, recognizing them as Kathleen’s. She swept the flashlight back and forth, pausing when she saw a slash of red on a large rock. Dipping a finger into it confirmed it was fresh.
“Oh, God.”
Ignoring the sharp pain in her knee, she pocketed the glasses and jogged on, limping after Blossom who was barking up ahead. The sound led her back to the beach trail. Relieved that Kathleen had found her way there, Molly played the flashlight around. She couldn’t see anything. She called again, but there was only the sound of the surf washing up onto the sand. She aimed the flashlight at the sand and saw footprints. A small set—Kathleen’s, they had to be. But there was a larger pair as well. For a second, her heart leapt in alarm, but she remembered where they were. No one here would hurt her. She studied them more closely and saw both sets of footprints angling toward the rocks. At the wall, she picked up a whiskey bottle that was almost empty.
Aidan.
Blossom was running in frantic circles around the beach, his nose down, trying to follow Kathleen’s scent, but Molly knew where she was going now.
IN THE FIRELIGHT UP at the circle, the islanders huddled, their faces lit by the warmth as they cradled their children in their laps, just as their people had been doing for thousands of years. Soon, the stories would start—first the story of the shipwreck and the rescue. Every child heard that story every year on this night. It never grew old.
Jenny looked around restlessly. She hadn’t expected Aidan to come. He never did anymore. But Molly hadn’t returned, and she knew Kathleen had been anticipating this night.
She’d learned long ago that she had some extra ability to sense disturbances in the atmosphere of the island—as if it spoke to her. She’d known something horrible was happening the day Bryan Halloran died, the day they almost lost Aidan. She’d been the first to sound the alarm.
She tugged on Joe’s hand. “Something’s wrong. We need to go.”
She whispered in Rebecca’s ear, and Joe followed her out of the protective ring of stones.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
She closed her eyes for a moment. “Home, I think.”
They hurried, taking shortcuts through the woods where they could. The fog slowed them, and Jenny’s sense of foreboding grew. Almost all of the houses were dark, as was the custom. Everyone spent this night together, waiting for the break of dawn, heralding the return of the sun and the lengthening days to come. But when they got within sight of their house and saw lights on, they both broke into a run.
Aidan was sitting at the table, staring into a cup of coffee.
Jenny’s sharp gaze took in everything—a smear of dried blood on his sleeve, a jacket hanging on a kitchen chair with more blood on it.
“What happened?” Joe demanded.
Jenny laid a hand on her husband’s arm, as much to steady herself as to calm him. She pulled him toward a chair. She took the one on Aidan’s other side.
“Tell us.”
“I’m not drunk,” Aidan said. “Kathleen might be, a little.”
He looked upward. “Mo’s upstairs with her now.”
He rubbed his hands roughly over his face.
“What happened?” Joe asked again. “Whose blood is this?”
“Kathleen’s. She fell, I think. Mom, you should go up.”
Jenny rose slowly, trailing a hand over Aidan’s hair.
Upstairs, she found Kathleen and Molly in the bathroom. Kathleen was sitting on the toilet lid, a towel wrapped around her shoulders. Her face was deathly pale as Molly dabbed a wet washcloth over the blood covering one side of her face. Blossom had squeezed himself into the space between the toilet and the tub, resting
his chin on Kathleen’s thigh.
“Mom.” The fear in Molly’s voice kicked Jenny into calming mode.
“Let’s see what’s going on,” she said.
Molly shifted out of the way. Jenny took the washcloth from her. Parting Kathleen’s auburn hair, she found the cut. Already, the bleeding was staunched, oozing but not gushing, as it no doubt had.
“This will be fine,” she murmured. “No worse than that time you gashed your chin when you were five.”
She handed the washcloth back to Molly. “Rinse that for me, and I’ll need a roll of gauze.”
She placed a hand on Kathleen’s cheek. “Kathleen? Katie, can you look at me?”
Kathleen’s bloodshot eyes struggled to focus, and Jenny smelled the whiskey on her breath.
A few minutes later, Kathleen’s face was clean and a gauze bandage was wrapped securely around her head.
“Let’s get her out of these cold, wet clothes.”
They helped Kathleen to stand and walked her into Molly’s room. Molly went to her dresser and dug out a pair of sweatpants and a heavy sweatshirt. Together, they got her changed.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Jenny said when Kathleen tried to sink into the bed.
She and Molly propped her up against the headboard. Blossom hopped onto the bed, his ears back, waiting to be scolded and made to get down.
“We can’t let you sleep just yet. Mo, go get a cup of coffee.”
Molly stood, reluctant to leave.
Jenny smiled up at her. “She’s okay. I’ll stay with her. Go get the coffee.”
With Molly gone, Kathleen’s eyes filled with tears. Jenny sat on the bed beside her. She pulled Kathleen into her arms and let her cry. Whatever had changed on this night, she had a feeling it would be a sea change for all of them.
WHEN KATHLEEN BLINKED, everything was blurry. She lifted a hand to her pounding head and felt the gauze. Blossom licked her cheek.
When the Stars Sang Page 16