Celtic Sister

by Pentermann, Meira

  Emma shrugged. “So the birdhouse was a good idea after all, huh?”

  Sam sighed and leaned back. “I guess so.”

  “At the time, I was imagining just what you said, that a guy would be looking in every nook and cranny in the house. I wandered around trying to think like I was that man, you know? Where would I look? When I was in the basement, I saw my birdhouse, all finished except for the roof. I had carved an elaborate clover design on it. It was the perfect place. So I took a scrap of plywood to make the extra wall, and the notebook fit like a glove. I was empowered by that, like it was meant to be. Then I brought the finished birdhouse upstairs. You were home, having dinner with us that night.”

  Sam nodded. “I remember. You made a huge deal about how special the birdhouse was. How it really deserved to have a lot of baby birds in it.”

  “That was the first clue.”

  “We hung it on a tree in a memorial ceremony,” Sam said. “It has seen many baby birds, Emma.”

  Emma tipped her head. “Well, I guess that was definitely the literal translation.”

  “If I thought about reading between the lines, I might have gotten there. I saw the birdhouse book on your desk—”

  “See?”

  “We all thought something had happened to you. That you were abducted. The idea that you were lining up clues didn’t really fit the expectation.”

  “It all made so much sense at the time. I couldn’t really see past my own version of reality. I was scared.”

  Sam pulled his chair closer and took her into an embrace. “I know you were, Em.”

  “And then once I settled, I didn’t dare call or write. Igor’s comment about the Richardsons not liking to lose… his words hung over me like an anvil. I didn’t want to risk it. I just prayed you’d figure out the clues one day. This – Ireland, the Murphy’s, and all my new friends – became my life. This is my life.”

  “I know. But you’ll come visit Mom and Dad?”

  She burst into tears. Eventually, after drying her eyes and blowing her nose, she was able to speak. “Of course I will. Samantha and I will be delighted to come to America.”

  The brother and sister embraced for several minutes. Emma sniffled on occasion.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through.”

  Sam held her at arm’s length and forced her to look him in the eyes. “You are not the villain here. You realize that, don’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “You were seventeen,” he said, reemphasizing his point.

  “I know.”

  “So we’re going to expose the real villains now.” He looked at Amy and caught her eyes. “The kind of people who push pregnant women down flights of stairs.”

  Amy shook her head. “I don’t know that it’ll do any good.”

  They were all quiet for a moment.

  “It’s time,” Emma said, and she smiled. Something about the joy of serenity had transformed her face, all the strange, old memories having woven themselves into a tapestry of wisdom and endurance. The running was over, and a new chapter of life would begin.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Amy walked to the beach while Sam and Emma talked and made plans. She passed the pub and knew in a heartbeat she would find herself within its protective walls before nightfall. Only a half bottle of whiskey remained in her purse, and the emotions from Emma’s story still coursed through her body. Tranquility wasn’t even a speck on Amy’s horizon.

  She made a spot for herself on the beach and retrieved her bottle. The half emptiness of it taunted her. It wasn’t nearly enough to quiet the outlying edges of her anxiety.

  Amy couldn’t decide why she felt paralyzed. Nothing Emma had said truly shocked her – the rape, the incident with the stairs, all the cloak-and-daggery involved in running a young girl out of town – the story rolled off Emma’s tongue and ordered itself in Amy’s mind with little effort.

  Perhaps that’s it, Amy realized an hour later when she stood to brush the sand off her pants, now fully cognizant of the fact she was heading for the pub. Her brain had easily digested Emma’s story, as if it were wisps of cotton candy melting on her tongue. Amy had made the Richarson insanity a normalcy in her life. And now she was expected to stand on her own two feet. Confront them even, if she were to take Sam’s words to heart. That was not easy to digest, not like cotton candy. It seemed more like uncooked corn on the cob in a frozen field by comparison.

  As she ascended the stairs, Amy checked her purse for cash. Satisfied she had plenty, she entered the pub in the late afternoon. Only one other customer sat at the bar. He was drinking a beer, eating a light dinner, and flirting with the waitress. Amy ordered a whiskey and retreated to a table by the window. As the evening wore on, more customers filed in. Amy ordered snacks and more drinks. Checking in with Sam and Emma didn’t even enter her mind.

  Before six o’clock, Amy joined a bachelor party made up of men aged sixty-something. She bought a round and settled herself between a tall, lanky, white-haired man and a chunky bald guy. The groom-to-be was a distinguished-looking gentleman with blue eyes and dimples. He seemed delightfully entertained by Amy’s appearance at their table.

  “Did the boys bribe you to tempt me?”

  Amy laughed hysterically in response.

  “Because I’m very much in love, young lady,” the man continued.

  “I have no doubt,” Amy slurred. “And she’s a lucky lady.”

  “Hear, hear,” someone shouted.

  “He’s the lucky one,” another chimed in. “Luckier than he rightly deserves, I’d say.” Laughter resounded, followed by a few more unsavory comments about the groom and his less-than-appealing qualities.

  Hours later, Amy was leaning against the chunky bald guy, belting out random notes of a drinking song and giggling between each one. Someone grabbed her from behind. She stumbled backward and fell. When she looked up, the room was spinning violently. Amy closed her eyes and slowly opened one. She tried to focus on the person who was leaning over her and pulling her to her feet.

  Sam.

  His eyes were dark, angry, and disgusted.

  “Do you even know what you’re singing?” he shouted as he dragged her aggressively toward the exit. Amy thought she heard one of the men from the bachelor party call her name, but his voice faded into the chaos.

  “Something in Gaelic?” Amy suggested, giggling.

  Sam pushed open the door and hustled her outside. “No, sweetheart, that was in English. I’ll spare you the details.”

  “Don’t be a sourpuss, Sam,” Amy scolded. It sounded more like thour-pooth.

  They were halfway up the road to Emma’s house when Sam let loose with a string of curses. “Do you realize how long we’ve been looking for you? You said you were going to the beach. Then you were going to take a nap in the room at the top of the stairs, remember? Emma aired it out for you. We assumed you were there. When we didn’t find you, we searched the whole property and talked to a half dozen neighbors in the area.” He stopped and shook his head. “I don’t know why this wasn’t the first place I thought to look, now that I think about it.”

  “Sorry?” Amy said, only half sure of her apology.

  “You’re an alcoholic, Amy. Face it.”

  “Emma’s story just caught me off guard—”

  “Emma’s story? Now all it takes is a story to make you want to be two sheets to the wind?”

  Amy became indignant. “It’s not like you handled her disappearance with finesse.”

  “Even during the lost decade, I didn’t drink like this. I partied.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “I partied with a lot of other partiers. That’s what we did. We made a conscious effort to be derelicts.”

  “That’s somehow better?”

  “It was a lifestyle choice. Not an obsession.”

  Amy stumbled and fell again. The word obsession hit a chord. It was an obsession, an ever-
present, nagging voice that wouldn’t stop asking if she had enough alcohol stocked up to make it through the night.

  “And when the party was over,” Sam said, “I cleaned up, or watched TV, or went to bed. I didn’t stay up drinking by myself. I certainly didn’t disappear in the middle of the day without telling anyone.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Really, Amy? Isn’t it? We’re in this beautiful country, and all you can think about is where your next drink is coming from.”

  “But—”

  “I can’t do this. I’ve wasted too much time already. You go home and figure out your divorce and your alcoholism. I’m going to embrace life.”

  They entered Keely Cottage and a sea of lights and anxious voices greeted them. Amy squinted and shielded her eyes. She saw Emma, Samantha, and a man she didn’t recognize, probably Aiden O’Brien. The girls fawned over her. Aiden chuckled, mildly amused.

  “Let’s get you upstairs,” Emma said, her voice dry but not unkind. She put one arm around Amy’s waist and proceeded to guide her to the stairs. Amy groped until her hand found the railing.

  “Take her to the airport,” Sam snapped. “Dump her on a plane.”

  “In the morning, brother dear. Let her sleep it off.”

  Amy ascended the stairs, and Emma followed closely behind. The voices faded as the ladies entered a small room.

  “He’s mad at me.” Amy plopped down on the bed.

  “Yes,” Emma agreed. She closed the window until it was only open an inch. “Get some rest. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

  The room continued to spin. Amy wasn’t sure if she was going to be sick, but she didn’t have the energy to fully process the situation. She groaned.

  “Can I get you something?” Emma offered.

  “No. Thank you.”

  “Why don’t you try to sleep?”

  “I’m sorry, Emma.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s really not. You haven’t seen your brother in fifteen years, and somehow I stole the day.”

  She laughed. “You didn’t, actually. I assumed you’d just gone on a long walk and gotten lost. Nothing ever happens around here. Figured you’d talk to one of the neighbors, eventually, and get a ride back.”

  “Sam made it sound as if you’d been searching for hours.”

  “Well, we did make a circle with the car and a few phone calls before supper, but I convinced everyone to settle down and eat. After we cleaned up, Aiden suggested we call the pub. Sure enough, you were there. Sounded like you were having a fun time, so Sam, Samantha, and I took a walk. You didn’t ruin the day. In fact, no offense, but it was great having my brother to myself.”

  “That’s good.” Amy couldn’t focus on Emma’s face, so she leaned back and closed her eyes. The fact that Emma wasn’t feeling resentful reduced Amy’s shame.

  “Oh, and I forgot to tell you. Right after you left, we called my parents.”

  “You did?” Amy opened one eye, but she still couldn’t focus, so she closed it again.

  “My mom was dumbstruck. My dad had to grab the phone.” Emma’s voice cracked with emotion. “He said she thought she was talking with a ghost.” Emma laughed and cried at the same time. “My dad spoke a mile a minute and asked me a million questions. When my mom finally returned to the phone, she was filled with gratitude. Can you believe it? She wasn’t mad at me.”

  “Of course she wasn’t.”

  “I let my parents grieve for me, Amy. They effectively buried me. I can’t imagine their pain.”

  “But now you can imagine their joy.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I can.”

  Emma sat on the edge of the bed. This caused Amy’s stomach to lurch, and she let out a gasp.

  Emma popped up quickly. “Sorry.”

  “No worries.”

  “Anyway,” Emma said. “Get some rest, and we’ll talk in the morning.”

  ***

  The sound of a fly buzzing incessantly awakened Amy. Her head seemed to pound in time with the fly’s erratic movements. Amy followed its path with her eyes and marveled at the boxy pattern it carved out in a room. A wave of nausea overcame her, and she rushed into the hallway to find the bathroom. The house was quiet. It must have been early morning. Amy puked dramatically for five minutes. No one came to check on her. It was almost lonelier than throwing up by herself in a motel room. The idea of a sleeping family that cared nothing while she writhed in discomfort was somehow more unsettling. After she flushed the toilet and rinsed her mouth, Amy fell back asleep for a couple of hours.

  The next time she stirred, the house was busy and her head was pounding even more incessantly. Amy decided she preferred the lonely sleepy household of the wee hours of the morning. She couldn’t bring herself to get up and officially meet Aiden O’Brien any more than she could bear rubbing slippers with Samantha or Emma. Facing Sam was entirely out of the question. She drifted back to sleep.

  What might have been seconds later, Amy awoke to find Emma sitting at the edge of the bed.

  “Morning,” Emma said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Terrible. Like I should.”

  “Good. I guess.” Emma laughed.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Never mind that. We actually need to hustle.”

  “Hustle?”

  “Sam’s got you on a noon flight. We should get out of here by seven.”

  Amy looked around. She didn’t see a clock.

  “It’s six thirty,” Emma said.

  Amy sat up. “Noon flight? Today?”

  Emma nodded, frowning. “I told him you could just stay, but he’s pretty fired up. So I’m guessing you don’t want any breakfast?”

  Amy made a gagging face.

  Emma nodded. “Thought so.” She pointed at Amy’s suitcase, which she must have brought in with her. “This is your stuff? This suitcase and the purse?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Would you like a shower?” Emma gently touched Amy’s hair which probably had specks of vomit in it.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Amy washed herself quickly, dressed, and crammed everything into her suitcase. When she entered the kitchen, Samantha stared at her, a pitying expression on her face. No sign of Sam or Aiden. Emma smiled brightly, almost artificially, as if she were trying to make light of the situation for Amy’s sake.

  “Well, here we are then.” She took Amy’s suitcase and led her out the door. “I’ll be back in the afternoon, Sammy. Please pick the tomatoes.”

  “Sure, Ma. Bye, Amy.”

  “Bye,” Amy said listlessly, and she settled into Emma’s car.

  They rode quietly while Emma drove through neighborhoods and towns. Even though the sun was shining, the vibrant greens seemed muted, no longer full of magic – just fields and trees and bushes. Shame hovered around Amy like thick, yellow smog on a breezeless, ninety-five degree day. It permeated her being. She couldn’t bear to even look at Emma, so she leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes.

  They got on the M8 in Cork and began to make good time.

  “I should get you there before ten thirty,” Emma said, finally breaking the silence. “You’ll be cutting it close. Sorry.”

  “Thank you.”

  “My brother really likes you.”

  Amy laughed. “Right.”

  “No. Seriously.”

  Amy looked at Emma, incredulous. “I highly doubt it.”

  Emma glanced at Amy for a moment before returning her eyes to the road. Then she touched Amy’s leg gently. “That’s why he’s so angry. It killed him when he realized you were getting langered. Not taking a walk. Not lost. You just left without saying anything.”

  Amy closed her eyes and rubbed her pounding head. “I know. I’m sorry. Haven’t I said I’m sorry?” Shame turned to anger.

  “Listen,” Emma said gently. “If I thought you were just a loser with no hope of a future, I wouldn’t bring it up. I have a friend wh
o went through this.”

  Here we go. “Yeah?” Amy asked listlessly.

  “She’s been sober three and a half years now. She’s so full of joy. About four years ago, her husband almost left. Was going to take their four boys with him. That’s what finally got her attention. It was a struggle, but she managed to quit and join AA. Completely different person now. Like a breath of fresh air.”

  “That’s nice,” Amy whispered, endeavoring to process a series of emotions that revolved around resentment and envy.

  “So when Sam told us about all the bottles and sneaking around, I explained the situation with my friend. And for a moment, I saw a little light of hope flicker in his eyes.” Emma paused. “Then he just got pissed off again.” She glanced at Amy. “Sorry. No offense. But you drag people down with you when you poison yourself.”

  Amy folded her arms. “I said I was sorry.”

  “Yeah, you said it just now. But keep in mind that each time you drink, sneaking behind people’s backs, what you’re really saying is fuck you.”

  The harsh words startled Amy, but she regained her composure. “Let him find someone else then.”

  Emma shrugged. “I’m sure he will.”

  Overwhelmed by shame, anger, frustration, and nausea, Amy didn’t know what to do. She desperately wished she could yank open the car door and roll out onto the shoulder. Gazing at the patch of grass, she envisioned herself lying there, clutching her head and crying. Tears silently slid down her face.

  Emma touched Amy’s arm. “I’m sorry. I guess I hoped the reality of it might shake you up like it did my friend. But I know everyone is different. You’ll find your way in your own time.”

  “Thank you,” Amy whispered. “It’s really just a temporary thing anyway. You understand how hard it’s been since I lost the baby. I just have to drown it out sometimes.”

  “Maybe that’s all it is.” Emma’s tone said otherwise.

  “Truly. Just hearing your story last night brought up a lot of stuff for me.”

  “Amy,” Emma said. “Can I ask you a favor?”

  Grateful for the diversion, Amy responded enthusiastically. “Of course.”

  “When we go to Denver to see my parents, I’m going to talk with the police, you know, tell them my whole story from the day of the rape through ditching the Richardsons’ thug at the airport.”