Rain and Revelation

by Therese Pautz

  I lift out one pack of letters. I recognize Ma’s writing. I look up and don’t see Fiona coming so I unfold the first one. It’s not dated. Ma wrote, “It’s nice having someone to share this with. I can talk to you. You listen and don’t judge me. Thank you for being my friend. Annie.”

  The next one reads, “I’ve never had anyone be so kind to me before. You don’t think I’m weird or treat me like a child. I hope I can be there for you if you ever need anyone to listen to you. It must be hard to listen to everyone. Thank you for being there for me. Annie.”

  A car speeds past, invading my lungs with a trail of dark fumes and sending me into a coughing jag. The people at the next table curse the driver. There’s no more ale to wash the taste out of my mouth and no sign of the server or Fiona.

  The next undated letter reads: “It must be hard being married when you’re so misunderstood. Thank you for sharing your feelings. I’ve never had anyone tell me that they love me. Please don’t think that I left because I didn’t want to be with you. I just never had anyone touch me in such a tender way and I panicked. I was afraid someone would come in and see us. Next time I will be prepared. I hope to see you soon. Love, Annie.”

  Rapidly I flip through the other letters while peeking up to see if Fiona is coming. Most are short messages from Ma about her love and longing for Mr. Walters. I can’t tell if Mr. Walters was writing notes to Ma based on what Ma wrote. It’s all about her feelings for him.

  The sun dips behind a cloud. I take off my sunglasses to read the last letter in this bunch. It appears to be written shortly before school ends, as Ma talks about her friends leaving for university while Granda refuses to pay for her to go. She writes: “I can’t see you anymore. I need to decide what to do. I might go away. You know I want to travel and start over somewhere. Maybe this is the right time. I will always hold you dear. Love, Your Annie.”

  My breath lodges in my lungs, trapped.

  Fiona slides into her chair. “What is it?”

  Stuffing the bundled letters back, I say, “Nothing important.” I refasten the envelope and stuff it into my bag as the server arrives with our ales. “I want to hear about your new love. What’s his name?”

  Fiona scrunches her freshly painted face. “Bloody hell. I forgot the bloke’s name.” She then blathers on about Jake not telling her that he was engaged.

  My mind wanders to the letters as I listen to Fiona prattle about the love she lost but never really had. A text message comes in from Ryan. He’s off work early and wants me to come by sooner. I mutter disparaging comments about Jake to pacify Fiona. Then, after one more drink, I tell her that I have to go.

  “But we need to go out for great craic before you leave.” Fiona starts gathering her things.

  I set my money down. “That’d be grand, but I have to head. Told Ryan I’d meet him.”

  Fiona rolls her heavily coated eyes. “He’s so dull.”

  “Everyone’s dull compared to you.” I stand up, pull on my coat, squeeze around the chairs, and hug Fiona. I promise to let her know where I end up. Even before I’ve made my way to the street, I hear Fiona’s high-pitched voice; she’s already on the phone.

  My ankle feels stiff as I’m walking to the car. I clutch my bag. A part of me had doubted Mr. Walters until Ma’s words confirmed the twisted reality that now was part of mine.

  And now I am heading for his nephew’s flat.

  As I walk back to my car, I stop at a liquor store for a bottle of wine to bring to Ryan’s. Across the street is the laundromat. I cast a glance. Then I stop. Through the window, Jake’s unmistakable nose, hooked and looming on his narrow face, catches my attention. Fiona had said they were leaving. Had she said they were in Westport and I missed that? Hunter’s back is facing the window. There’s no mistaking his broad shoulders and muscular arms.

  I step behind a street lamp but it doesn’t hide me. My breath is rapid, and I grip the bottle tightly. I sneak another look. Hunter is stacking folded clothing and Jake is transferring it into a duffle bag. I step forward, determined to cross the street and speak to Hunter. But what is there to say? Panicking, I scurry toward my car, hoping they haven’t seen me.

  When I arrive at Ryan’s flat, he opens the door wearing his running shorts. “I’m afraid I thought I had time for a run when you texted that you were with Fiona and would be by later.” His pale, freckled skin looks rosy. “I haven’t showered yet.”

  His skin glistens and tastes salty when he kisses me. Immediately I’m aware of the alcohol on my breath. I wave him away. “Go ahead. I’m fine.”

  He says, “Make yourself at home. Relax and put your ankle up.”

  The sun beams through the large windows and bounces off the daffodil colored walls. A breeze filters in through an open kitchen window and circulates through the spacious flat. My hand brushes the back of the soft leather couch as I walk by.

  Pictures hang on the wall bordering the flat screen television. Ryan in running shorts and a numbered racing bib, posing with other runners in front of the Roman Colosseum. Ryan playing his guitar in a pub with his mates.

  Across the room, his guitar is still propped in the corner. Fresh flowers adorn a table. On it, there’s a framed picture of a woman with long, silky black hair and dark, exotic eyes. I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at that picture when Ryan comes up behind me. I turn. He’s dressed in a linen shirt and khakis. He says, “I thought you’d be resting with your ankle up.”

  “She’s lovely.”

  “Yes. She was.” He wipes some dust off the wooden frame. “Monique and I met when I was traveling in France. My parents thought I’d stay there.” He sighs and stares at the picture. “They were right. I would have.”

  “What happened?”

  “She got sick. Ovarian cancer. Doctors said it was too far along. So I helped her parents care for her until…” His voice softens. “We thought we’d have longer.”

  “I’m sorry.” I touch his arm.

  Ryan sighs and says, “You never know when people you love will be gone.” He adjusts the picture. “That’s when I came home and went back to school so I could join my da at the clinic.”

  “I can’t imagine coming back to Ireland after living in France.”

  He says, “We all make choices.”

  “I feel like I need to take care of Ma. Except I don’t know what I should do, or can do, to help her.” I walk to the couch and sit down. Picking up one of the brightly-colored throw pillows, I run my fingers over the silky fabric. “So I find out who my father is. Where does that get me? And how does it help her?”

  Ryan joins me. “You don’t need to figure that out right now. Take one thing at a time.”

  I look up at his narrow face. “It’s nice of you to let me stay here.” With the dark eyes and cowlick, he looks nothing like his uncle.

  “As long as you like.” He starts kissing me, softly at first. Then harder, more urgently. I remind myself that he’s related to Mr. Walters only by marriage and pull him closer.

  Then I push him away. He looks confused. I smooth my hair and button my blouse. “I’m sorry. It’s just…you still seem to have feelings for Monique.”

  Ryan tilts his head back and closes his eyes. “I’ll always have feelings for her. You don’t stop loving someone just because they’re no longer here.”

  “She was so beautiful and I…”

  “You’re beautiful, too. And you’re here.” He tries pulling me closer, but I stand up and tuck my blouse into my jeans. He lets out a heavy breath. “Can’t we just see where this goes?”

  “I know where this is going.”

  “You were okay with it last night.” He teases. “Quite.”

  “I don’t need this distraction.” I look toward the door. “Not now.”

  Ryan stands, grabs me around the waist, and says, “Maybe that’s just what you need.” He kisses my neck. Warm. Soft. Tempting.

  “No.” I turn my head and drop my arms to my side, but don’t m
ove away. “You don’t get it. He’s your uncle and he…”

  Ryan rolls his eyes. “I’m not him.” He takes my head in his hands and holds my face close to his. I can smell his sweet breath. “I didn’t do anything to you. Or to her—other than try to help.”

  His hands cool my flushed face. I tell myself that a distraction isn’t the worst thing. Just for tonight. No commitment. Like Hunter, who is on his way back home, I’ll be on my way soon. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him hard and long. When he leads me into the bedroom, I offer no resistance.

  Later that night, as Ryan sleeps next to me, I stare at the ceiling. All I can think about is Ma. How’d it start with Mr. Walters? How’d they keep it a secret? Did anyone else know? Wouldn’t Ma have told Linda? Why’d she end it? What if he is my father? If so, have I been sleeping with my cousin?

  I can’t stay in bed any longer. It’s dark in the room except for a sliver of light peeking through the crack in the curtains. Stepping over my clothes, which are scattered everywhere, I grab Ryan’s robe hanging over the back of a chair. I slip it on and tiptoe to the other room.

  There’s no sound coming from the other flats. Even the birds are quiet. I stand by the window and stare out at the parked cars. Then I find my bag, sit on the couch, and turn on the lamp. Taking out the bundle of Ma’s letters again, I read each one. Then I read them again. And again.

  The words sink in, but the story’s incomplete.

  I dig out another bundle, which is mostly cards. It’s not Ma’s writing. A person named Camille signs them. In one, she laments how she misses spending time together since the end of the play. She writes in the handful of cards, none of which are dated, about how special he makes her feel.

  I’m cold and I pull the robe closer as I reach for the last bundle.

  There is a series of letters written by a girl named Marie. She writes about sneaking into Mr. Walters’s office after school when others were gone. And about losing her virginity just before final exams. The details in each letter turn my stomach. Her last letter unleashes a torrent of anger and despair over Mr. Walters ending their relationship. I flip through the letters again. None are dated.

  With the cards and letters scattered next to me, I hug my legs close. Were these girls from Ma’s class as well? How many girls had Mr. Walters comforted or made to feel “special” over the years? How many others offered their virginity to him in exchange for his love?

  How many other lives had he destroyed besides Ma’s?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I wake up on the couch, covered with a blanket. There’s a note from Ryan propped against a full glass of water on the end table asking me to call him. Stretching, I suddenly recall the letters. I sit up and frantically look around. They’re heaped on the floor. Gathering them, I put them back into the envelope. When I tromp into the kitchen, the clock reads ten.

  It became clear last night that I need to track down Linda. She’s the only person I can think of who might help me find answers. Grabbing my phone, I call the National Performing Arts Center. She’s not available, but I leave a voicemail message that I’m Annie Conroy’s daughter and would like to talk to her. I don’t tell her about Ma. Later I’m sitting at the table with a cup of tea and a bowl of fruit when my phone rings. Linda introduces herself.

  Standing, I begin pacing. “Oh, thank you for calling back. You went to school with my mother, Annie, and—”

  “How’s your mother? You were just a baby when I saw you.” Linda’s tone is professional, but kind.

  “She tried to kill herself three months ago.”

  “Oh, Lord! Is she…?”

  “Alive, but not well. She’s actually in Dublin. At St. Patrick’s.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to her.”

  “I’ve been trying to sort out why Ma would do this. It was so sudden. I was wondering if I could meet with you since you were such good friends with her.”

  “I have no idea how I can help you. It’s been years since I’ve seen or talked to her.”

  “I just think if I knew more about her past, then I might understand things. Maybe why she did it.” I can hear the desperation mounting in my voice. “I promise not to take too much of your time. I could meet you anywhere.”

  There is a long pause. “Where are you now?”

  “Westport.” I add quickly, “But I’m coming to Dublin soon.”

  A breath exhales into the receiver. “If you can be here later today, then I could meet with you. If not, it’ll have to wait until I return from holiday.”

  “That’s no problem. I can be there in four hours. Where should I meet you?”

  “Come to the school. I’m getting things in order before I leave. Just ring my mobile when you arrive and I’ll meet you in front. Let me give you that number.”

  There’s no time to waste. Dublin is more than three hours away without any stops. I shower quickly and gather the few things I have in Ryan’s flat, retrieve the crutches from the back seat of my car and prop them in the corner by the door, and begin the drive. The rolling hills ahead of me are brilliant green in the sun. I’ve been driving nearly fifteen minutes and am approaching Castlebar when it dawns on me that I haven’t called Ryan yet.

  The receptionist at the clinic puts me on hold. When Ryan gets on the line, I tell him I’ve left for Dublin to see Ma’s friend Linda. He’s quiet at first. “I thought you were going to wait for the test results.”

  “The hospital, when I gave my sample, said I could go directly to the testing facility in Dublin. That’s what I’ll do now.”

  “What’s the rush?” Ryan asks.

  “You know I need to figure things out, and Linda’s leaving on holiday tomorrow.”

  “So see her when she comes back.”

  “I can’t wait,” I tell him.

  “Will it make any difference?”

  My eyes fix on the car ahead of me. Its driver keeps putting on the brakes. “There’s so much you don’t know.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “I can’t. Not now. Maybe someday. But I’ve got to go. Bye, love.”

  I don’t wait for Ryan’s reply. I just hang up and toss the phone onto the passenger seat and accelerate out of Castlebar, past the stone-walled pastures, under a cloudless sky.

  It is early afternoon when I arrive in Dublin and find the National Performing Arts Center on Barrow Street. As I search for parking, I call Linda to let her know I’m here. People crowd the street littered with vendors peddling their wares, and the smell of pub food stirs my appetite. I stick a piece of gum into my mouth and walk the few streets to the school.

  Standing at the door is a woman with ginger hair cut short. She smiles and introduces herself as Linda. She’s wearing a stylish straight-lined skirt that accentuates her trim figure. “I see you found the building just fine. Please come in. We’ll go to my studio.” After we walk a few meters, she stops and looks at my boot. “You okay?”

  “Oh, fine. I broke my ankle running down Croagh Patrick. But every day it’s better.”

  She smiles and adjusts her pace to mine. As we twist and turn down hallways, she makes small talk about the drive. Finally, she extends her hand to usher me into the spacious, bright room. There’s a desk and two chairs. “Here we are. Please have a seat.”

  Each wall is painted a variant shade of blue. A different word is painted on each wall: Dream; Dare; Devote; Discipline. “What do you teach?” I ask.

  “Voice.” Linda motions to a chair and sits in the other chair. She reaches for a plate on the desk. “Would you like a biscuit? A bottle of water?” After I take one of each, Linda sits back and crosses her well-toned legs.

  “I appreciate you meeting me, especially as you get ready to leave on holiday.”

  “I’ve been just sick thinking of poor Annie since you told me about her.” Linda shakes her head. Tied around her neck is a flowing, colorful scarf that matches her silk blouse. “Have y
ou seen her?”

  “No. She hasn’t wanted to see me. Not yet.”

  “It’s been years since I’ve talked to her. Until I saw you, I didn’t feel that much older. Where does time fly?”

  “It’s nice to finally meet you.” I take a bite of the biscuit. It crunches in my mouth.

  “So your mother talked about me?” Linda’s eyes are expectant.

  “Actually, no. I saw your name in a school yearbook. When I asked Da about you, he told me you and Ma were friends.”

  “Friends since we were wee girls.” Her freckled face has only a few lines around her glossed lips.

  “What was she like then?”

  “Oh, shy. Insecure. She didn’t make friends easily. Sometimes she got jealous, especially when I started dating. It’s funny, really, that she married before I did. I could have more easily been the one to get pregnant, not her.” She points her finger at me like a teacher reprimanding a student. “Not that I was easy, mind you.” Linda sighs and grabs a biscuit, but doesn’t take a bite. “Annie was always protective of me. Afraid I wouldn’t get my homework done. Afraid I’d stay out too late drinking.”

  “She’s like that—or was—with me, too,” I say.

  “She’s your mother.” Linda smiles. “I’ll never forget seeing you right after you were born. Annie looked so happy. She wouldn’t let me hold you. She clung to you and wouldn’t put you in your crib even when you fell asleep. I was at university, and she never once asked how it was going. All she could talk about was you. I heard every detail of your birth. Your eating and sleeping schedule. Your bodily functions.” Linda picks off a piece of lint and tosses it to the floor. “That was the last time we saw each other or talked. We just lost touch.”

  I put down my biscuit. “Did she talk to you about my da?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like, who was my da?”

  “Heavens! It’s Seamus. Why do you ask?”

  “I just wondered if it might’ve been Paddy or someone else.”

  “Your mother thought Paddy was an eejit. Cocky. Self absorbed. And he was. But he was also charming. Even I fell under his spell for a time.” Linda brushes aside a wisp of her short hair that had fallen in her round face. “That drove Annie mad.”