Rain and Revelation

by Therese Pautz

  Whipping her coat off, Maeve struts back to the door, shuts it, and then flings her coat over the back of the faded couch. She thrusts peat turves into the fireplace, lights them and replaces the screen. On her way back to the kitchen, she squats, picks up my blanket, which had slipped from my shoulders to the floor, and places it over the back of the couch.

  Maeve’s sweater, the color of mud, stretches over her wide hips and the tummy tire left from giving birth to the twin babies. Scanning the cottage, she sighs, and her mouth twitches disapprovingly. Dishes fill the sink and remnants of food dust the counters and table. There is an odor of moldy bread lingering. She runs a hand through her short, mousy hair. Standing there with her feet apart and arms crossed over her full bosom, she says, “Aren’t you supposed to have that leg up?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I mumble back at her. I hobble to the table, pulling out one chair to sit on and another on which to prop my foot.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, you need it higher than that.” Maeve huffs over to the couch and grabs a pillow. She lifts my leg and puts it on the pillow. Then she turns away.

  “Thanks,” I mutter.

  Maeve rolls her eyes. “You asked. I came.” She turns to the refrigerator and starts putting things away. “Pretty stupid thing from what I hear. You’re lucky Doc’s son was there.”

  “I suppose.”

  My swallowed pride sits in my throat like the horse pills I have been taking. In the weeks since Ma’s…accident, I have talked only briefly to Maeve. When I’ve had to.

  We’d passed each other on the street not too long after the day I found Ma in the tub. She’d said she was sorry to hear about Ma and asked if there was anything she could do. I knew she always was looking for more hours with her husband, Bobby, not working. I told her there weren’t any guests coming for nearly a month. I told her that I had it handled—and until I broke my ankle, I did.

  Now I need her. I can’t work. Granda would expect to know I had this managed until he got back. Since Maeve was coming over to get the key, I’d asked if she’d mind picking up some groceries. I said I’d pay her back.

  Maeve moves with purpose. She puts things away, fills the sink with hot, soapy water, and begins wiping down the counters, the cabinet handles, and the table where I’m sitting. She doesn’t look at me. I smell her familiar body odor. Sweat beads on her wide, shiny forehead.

  “You don’t need to do that. I just needed some food,” I say. “Da’s useless.”

  “You just figure that out?” She arranges the salt and pepper shakers in the center of the table. She mumbles, “They all are.”

  I don’t want to, but I ask, “So, how’s your brother?”

  She snorts. “Mikey’s useless, too. You know that.”

  Maeve opens the cabinets, grabs a pen and a crumpled piece of paper from her purse, scribbles something, and then stuffs the paper back into her purse.

  Six years older than Mikey and me, Maeve doesn’t look at all like her brother. She’s as stout as he’s tall. Her dark eyes don’t twinkle when she talks to you. They glare at you with judgment and expectation. The last time she wore smart clothes was just before she found out she was having her babies. I can’t remember Maeve ever laughing or going to the pub. Except to haul Bobby home.

  Granda describes Maeve as “dependable.” She is that.

  I shift on the hard, wooden chair. “Thanks for covering for me at the B&B. Obviously I can’t for awhile. Until I move better. There are guests scheduled next week.”

  She’s back rummaging and not looking at me. “I’ll manage it.” Grabbing a bowl, she cracks four eggs and whisks them with milk and slides them into the buttered skillet. I don’t tell her that I prefer eggs fried.

  There’s a lot I don’t tell Maeve.

  Maeve heaps the eggs on a plate and sets it down in front of me. “Better get some meat on those bones.” She plops down on a chair and waits, watching me. Famished, I dig in.

  As I eat, we discuss the logistics of tending the B&B. This is the most we’ve ever talked or spent time together. Later, while Maeve is cleaning up, I send Granda an email explaining everything to him, including the fact that Maeve has the key and will manage things until I’m better. I still will track reservations. I can do that with my laptop. Maeve will check phone messages when she stops by the B&B.

  Just when I think Maeve is ready to leave, she rolls up the sleeves of her frayed sweater and marches down the hall to the bathroom. She returns with towels and shampoo.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You need a wash.” She lifts my leg down and pushes the chair in. “Lean over the sink and I’ll help you.” She starts running the water.

  I protest. Maeve glares at me and says, “You look like shite.”

  “Really, I can manage.”

  Maeve snorts. “I don’t have all day, so get your sorry arse over here.”

  I see from her set expression that there’s no arguing with her. I make it to the sink, support my weight on my good leg, and bend my head down. Maeve drenches my thick hair with tepid water and lathers it. It smells like lilacs. Her stumpy fingers massage my scalp. My eyes close. Water drips down my neck. I shudder. Maeve catches it with the towel. After she’s applied the conditioner and rinsed it away, she wraps my head in the fluffy towel and tells me to wait for a minute before walking, in case I’m dizzy from leaning over.

  I tell her I’m fine. She shakes her head and hands me my crutches. “Then start heading to your room,” she commands, every bit a Garda drill sergeant. I don’t argue.

  With each small step, she’s behind me, and when I finally reach my bed, she flips back the covers, helps me onto the bed, and arranges the pillows. She sets my laptop on the nightstand. It’s within reach, along with a glass of water and my medicine. The curtains remain open to the grey day while the awkward silence hangs between us.

  When Maeve turns to leave, I thank her. A small smile tweaks her mouth, but only for a moment. She mutters as she walks out the door, “It’s what your granda would want me to do.”

  The day is long, but my patience is not.

  Having managed a satisfactory night’s sleep, I sit propped in bed, checking our reservations at the B&B. There are several new inquiries. I confirm dates and logistics. Later, Granda replies to my email, tells me how unfortunate my situation is, and promises to call when he has better cell phone reception. He doesn’t ask about Ma.

  I stare out the window, waiting for something. What? I don’t know. But it’s all the same. It’s just a different day. The same grey sky. The same rain. The same wind. Even when I’m able to move better, and even run again, it will be the same. I’ll go out with Fiona for craic. We won’t talk about what happened. We’ll toss the pints back and laugh. We’ll talk about everyone’s business. We’ll tell the tourists there’s no finer place in Ireland and that they’re family now. But nothing is what it appears. No one is who they seem to be.

  I’ve gone to the bathroom several times and even made myself a sandwich. I can’t believe how exhausted I am from doing nothing all day.

  I reach over and turn on the lamp on the end table where I’ve set my laptop. I consider reading, but don’t have any books or magazines handy, and I don’t have the energy to get up.

  Without anything to do, I let images flood my memory. The one that always comes is Ma’s eyes looking at me in the tub and her ashen skin in the ambulance. I think of all the things I would tell her if she would see me. I consider writing her a letter, but none of the words come out right. Even if Da was having an affair, why not just leave him? I could have gone with her. We could have moved to Galway. I have money saved, and Granda could loan us more. What I don’t understand is how she could have left me here alone with Da. In Louisburgh. Did she expect me to take care of Da now?

  The door slams, jolting me back. There are voices: Paddy and Da.

  Paddy hollers, “Hallo, sweetheart.” His shoes tap down the hall. He raps on the door, opens it and smiles. His
jet black hair shows no sign of grey, unlike Da’s. “There you are. Had to see you for myself. Jaysus, you’re quite the sight. I didn’t know it was this bad. Saints be praised, it wasn’t worse.”

  Da clomps down the hall to the bathroom in his wading boots and slams the door. He doesn’t stop in to check on me.

  Paddy sits on the edge of the bed in his pressed trousers and starched shirt. He asks me all about how it happened and groans when I tell him about the bone snapping and getting down the mountain, the long wait in the emergency room, and surgery.

  Just like when I was a child and talked to him about the mean girls, Paddy strokes my hair and says, “You poor thing. It’s all going to be fine now, don’t you worry.” He pulls me close and his wool jacket tickles my face. He smells like peat. Like his pub. Like home.

  I let him hold me. After awhile I say, “Paddy, there are things that confuse me. What I mean is, I’m wondering about Ma.”

  Paddy groans. “We’ve had this talk.”

  “No, it’s something else. I want to know about Mr. Walters and Ma. He was her teacher, right?”

  Paddy’s face relaxes. “Sure. He taught music. All of us had him at one time or another.”

  “Right. Mr. Walters said he and Ma were close.”

  Paddy laughs. “Willie fancies himself close to all the lasses. He wasn’t as patient with the lads. But, hell, I never noticed him pay much attention to your ma. She stuck to herself. Even back then.” He pauses and then says, “Except for Linda.”

  “What about Linda,” Da bellows as he walks into the room.

  Paddy turns. “Remember how Annie stuck like glue to Linda in school?”

  Da, with his hair sticking up and wearing his waders and fishing jacket, stinks like fish. “Hell, I haven’t thought about her in years.”

  I raise myself up. “I saw a yearbook. Ma was in choir and publications. Mr. Walters supervised both.”

  Paddy shrugs. “Don’t recall if your ma was involved or not. Linda headed both up. So it makes sense your ma tagged along.”

  I say, “He said Ma and he were close. What does that mean?”

  Da laughs, “It means shite. Willie always fancied himself a charmer. Remember, Paddy, how he was sugar-sweet with Linda? His star student.”

  Paddy nods. “It bothered him when Linda went to school in London. Fit to be tied. Hell if I know why.” Paddy turns to me. “Linda made us promise to take Annie under our wing. She didn’t have any friends except Linda.”

  “Me, not you.” Da slaps Paddy on the back. “She fancied you an eejit.”

  “She’s the only woman who could refuse my charm.” Paddy’s eyes look tired and sad. “Nothing I did pleased her.

  Da fiddles with the zipper on his jacket and says, “Forget about it.”

  I look back and forth at Da and Paddy. “What am I missing?”

  “Nothing.” Paddy exchanges a look with Da. They both avoid my eyes.

  “I want to know.” I’m aware that I’m raising my voice and I don’t care. I look at Da who hoists himself up and walks to the window.

  I wait. The only sound is the wind rattling the panes.

  “Tell me,” I say.

  Da finally turns towards me and says, “I dunno. It seemed your ma didn’t fancy any man much.”

  “What are you saying?” I squeak.

  Paddy casts Da a look to shut up, but Da misses it. He says, “Your ma fancied lasses. Or at least Linda.”

  “That can’t be.” The air is sucked out of my chest.

  “’Tis true. I didn’t know until I married her.” Da tosses his arms up in the air.

  Paddy turns to me. “I thought your ma just hated me. Because of Linda liking me and all.”

  “Made your ma mad as a hornet that Linda liked Paddy.”

  Nothing makes sense. I shift, sending a bolt of pain up my leg. When the pain subsides, I say, “But you and Ma. I don’t get it.”

  Da runs his hands through his disheveled hair and shakes his head. “I’m going out.” Then he clomps out of the room in his boots.

  Paddy looks like he’s going to say something, but he closes his mouth and follows Da.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I scoot to the edge of the bed and grab the crutches. My hands, raw and blistered, grip the pads. With burning palms, I hoist myself up and call for them to wait. There’s no response. Their voices rise and fall, but I can’t make out the words. Pain sears through my ankle and shoots up my leg as I thump out of my room and down the hall.

  When I finally get to the main room, Da’s yanking his coat on, and Paddy’s blocking him from leaving. The outside light above the door casts a dim glow in the room. Paddy’s face is twisted in a scowl, and his voice is so low that I can’t hear what he’s saying. Da’s brushing off Paddy’s hands.

  “Tell me. I need to know.” I stop in the shadows of the doorway and try to catch my breath. “Why did she marry you?”

  Da almost falls backwards when Paddy releases his arm, but he catches his balance and leans back against the door frame, turning but not looking at me.

  I limp forward, out of the shadows. “What the hell aren’t you telling me?” I demand. “Ma’s in a mental hospital and she’ll see you but not me. But you won’t help me understand a feckin’ thing.”

  “There’s nothing.” Da has a bottle of whiskey in his hand that he tries to hide inside his fishing jacket.

  I glare at him through hair that has fallen over my face. I can’t brush the strand of hair aside without losing my balance. I say, “I’m not a child anymore.”

  “You’re her child,” Da whispers. “It’s not my place to tell.”

  “Tell what? And whaddya mean, ‘her’ child?”

  Paddy comes over. “Love, you should sit down.” He places his hand on the low of my back and guides me to the couch. Grabbing a pillow, he lifts my ankle onto it.

  Paddy hollers at Da to sit down. Da sulks over and falls in the chair but looks down at his boots. The whiskey bottle peeks out from the large inside pocket of his jacket. He pulls the jacket closed.

  As I try to adjust my leg to relieve the burning and throbbing, Paddy tosses peat into the fireplace. The fire starts to warm the air but not the space between Da and me.

  Eyes narrowed, I hiss, “You did this to her.”

  Da’s ruddy face falls. He looks out the dark window. The open curtains reveal the night sky. The wind, straight off Clew Bay, whistles through the cracks. Neither Da nor Paddy says anything. I’m about to break the silence when Paddy, who is standing by Da’s chair, tosses up his hands. “Your da’s a bloody saint, he is. He’s no more responsible for what your ma did than the man in the moon.”

  “Shut up, Paddy,” Da snarls.

  “Your ma got herself pregnant by who-knows-who, and your da married her. Just like that. He found her bloody, half-naked body in the pasture…”

  “Enough, Paddy!” Da pounds his hand on the coffee table, sending the magazines to the floor and causing me to jump.

  “She has a right to know,” Paddy bellows.

  “No.” Squinting and leaning forward with his hands on the arms of the chair, Da looks ready to charge Paddy.

  I say, “You found her naked in a pasture?”

  Paddy turns to me. “We don’t know what happened. We saw her the night before. Hell, Linda made us invite her out since she had no other friends.”

  Da bellows, “Jaysus, can’t you shut your bloody mouth?”

  Paddy ignores Da. “Annie wasn’t used to drinking and she lost it on the street. Then she decided to walk home. It wasn’t far. This is when they lived down the street here—at the B&B—not at the new house where your grandparents live now.” He looks at Da, who is staring at the peat fire. “She wouldn’t let us walk her home. We tried.”

  My heart races. “What?”

  Da’s bushy brows furrow as he rubs the stubble of his weathered face. “The next morning, I was walking toward town. Something caught my eye in the pasture.” He licks his lips
and says softly, “It looked like a sick animal, but the sun was just rising so I couldn’t see so good. I went closer to get a better look, and I saw it was a person. At first I thought it was some bloke who got plastered and fell asleep on his way home.” Da looks out the window at the darkness and says, “She didn’t have any pants on and she was shivering and bleeding.”

  I clasp my hands on my mouth. “Oh, my God!”

  Paddy says, “Your da found her clothes scattered in the field, helped her dress, and took her in. A real saint.”

  “Shut the hell up, Paddy.” Da shifts in the chair, pushing the bottle deeper under his jacket.

  Paddy touches my shaking shoulder. I pull back. “Who’d you call for help? The Garda? Granda? Linda?” Everything is whirling in my head. A dream. A nightmare. Not my life. Not Ma’s.

  “Hell, I couldn’t understand half her blathering.” Da throws his hands up. “She wouldn’t let me call anyone. I tried to take her home, but she started going crazy. I just took her back to my place. No one was home because everyone went to visit my brother in Glasgow for the weekend.”

  “But who? I mean, did she know who…”

  Da shakes his head. “No. She was drunk. Didn’t remember anything. She was scared that she might get pregnant and have to tell her parents.”

  “I don’t understand how you…”

  “Married her? Hell, Eliza, when it turned out she was pregnant, what could I do?”

  “See, your da’s a bloody saint!”

  “Shut your gob, Paddy.” The lines around his eyes soften. “Before she found out she was pregnant, I guess she didn’t want to be alone and didn’t have anyone to talk to about…well, what happened…and we got close. Once.”

  “Close? But, I thought you said she didn’t like men.”

  “She did then.” A heavy sigh escapes Da’s downturned mouth. “When she told me that she was pregnant, it seemed right to marry her.”

  “I don’t believe this.”

  Da leans toward me. His disheveled hair flops into his lined face, which is close enough that I can smell the whiskey on his breath. “It was the right thing to do. I couldn’t leave her pregnant and all.” His eyes mist. “Besides, I got you.”