Sandcastles

by Luanne Rice

  Now she and Cece sat on a bench in the main waiting area, under the enormous dome, waiting to find out what punishment, if any, Regis would face for what had happened to Gregory White.

  “What’s going to happen?” Cece asked nervously.

  “I don’t know,” Agnes said.

  “But you must have some idea, right?” Cece asked. “Can’t you try to have a vision, and find out?”

  Not long ago, she would have taken the weather, so similar to what it had been the day that Gregory White had died, as a sign from above, meaning that things would go badly. She would have seen the dark, blowing clouds as angry angels on the move. It had been exhausting, trying to be a mystic. Taking a deep breath, she looked down at her sister.

  “Have faith, Cece,” she said, “that everything is going to work out right.”

  “But how do you know it will?” Cece pressed, staring at the door that led to the criminal courts, knowing that Regis and their parents were inside.

  The family had flown over, all together, to support Regis. She had wanted to go alone or with her mother, to spare her father having to return to Criminal Court. But neither he nor their mother would hear of it; neither would Agnes nor Cecelia.

  Even though the girls would be missing the first few days of fall term, they had insisted on coming. Chris Kelly had spoken with their father’s barrister, arranged for Regis to have her own legal counsel—a Kelly relative who lived in the family’s original stately Georgian house on Merrion Square.

  His name was Sixtus Kelly, and he had joked about his name coming from the same lineup of saints as Chrysogonus, that the family had law, justice, and the Almighty on their side. He had explained that since the act had occurred when Regis was fourteen, her statement would be given in Children’s Court here in Dublin, instead of Cork City.

  They were all inside now, behind the closed door. Agnes trembled, forcing herself to breathe steadily. She wished she could rely on her old ways—using silence and visions as a hedge against what scared her most, begging for a miracle in return for her own clarity.

  Brendan had taught her so much. He was helping her to not be so afraid. Having a friend who had faced loss and fear, who knew something about Agnes’s own life, meant so much to her. He was somehow helping her bridge the gap between her truly deep faith and the wishful thinking her religion had become.

  “Agnes?” Cece asked again. “What’s going to happen?”

  “Regis is going to tell the truth,” Agnes said, holding her sister’s hand. “All of it, that she can remember.”

  “Will they arrest her? Lock her up?” Cece asked.

  “No, they won’t,” Agnes said, her stomach jumping at the thought.

  “Why did she have to do this?” Cece asked. “No one had to know. She didn’t mean to hurt him, so why tell?”

  “Because the truth matters,” Agnes said.

  “Hiding from it gave her nightmares,” Cece said. “And made her want to marry Peter.”

  Agnes held back a smile. Cece was a little young to understand; Agnes knew that Regis had truly fallen in love, but she’d also latched on to Peter as a sort of savior. With her father locked up, gone during such an important time of her life, she had needed something, someone to grab onto. And Peter had been there.

  “He was wrong for her,” Agnes said, thinking of how totally Peter had cut Regis off once she’d told him the whole story.

  “Love is weird,” Cece said. “At least in our family.”

  “No,” Agnes said, shaking her head. “Love is wonderful. Especially in our family.” That was one belief that had never been shaken. Even during the time when her mother was so angry at her father, she had known that her parents’ love was real and true. They had passed it on to their daughters, and it was going to carry them through now.

  She thought of Brendan, back home in Connecticut. He was working part-time at the Academy, supplementing his hospital income to earn enough money for medical school. He was working for Tom on the grounds crew, and once Regis returned to college, Aunt Bernie was giving him her library job.

  If Regis returned to college, Agnes thought. She checked her watch. They’d been inside for over an hour now. Surely there had to be some resolution soon. For the first time all day, her faith really faltered. What if everything went wrong? What if they charged Regis, threw her in jail? And what if they were so angry at her father for withholding information that they arrested him again?

  Just then the door opened, and Regis came walking out. Agnes and Cece started toward her, and she threw herself into their arms. She was sobbing so hard, they couldn’t hear a word she was saying. Looking over Regis’s head, Agnes saw her parents standing in the doorway, shaking hands with Sixtus Kelly. He nodded and walked away. But it was Agnes’s mother’s smile that told the whole story.

  It told everything Agnes needed to know. Her mother’s face was so open, her eyes so bright, and her smile so sweet, a sight more welcome than any vision. Agnes’s eyes filled with tears, and she was finally able to make out what Regis was saying.

  “It’s over,” Regis cried. “It’s all over.”

  When they got to the airport, they learned that their flight would be delayed. The plane from the States hadn’t arrived yet, due to inclement weather off the eastern seaboard. While the girls walked through the duty-free shops, Honor and John stayed near the gate.

  They sat in the last row of seats, against the wall. Holding hands, they could see everything. People walking through the airport, hurrying to reach their flights, mothers with small children, couples sitting together. Through the glass window, they could see people arriving, on their way to customs. Watching a family arrive—parents and three young children—Honor felt a shiver go down her spine.

  “There we are,” she said to John, pointing. “Six years ago…”

  “They look so excited to be here,” he said, following her gaze.

  “There’s a lot to be excited about,” she said. “Traveling together. Seeing everything—so brand-new, such an adventure.”

  “I wonder whether they’re Americans, searching out their roots,” John said. “Looking for explanations of how they got to be who they are.”

  “Is that why we came?” Honor asked. “Was that the big question we stumbled upon in the stone wall?”

  “One of them,” he said, sliding his arm around her. “I’ve forgotten the rest.”

  She laughed, leaning against him. The girls passed by, to check on their flight status, then went running off to see what else they could find in duty-free. Regis would be twenty-one in a month, returning to college for her senior year, but she looked younger than ever.

  “We’re really free,” Honor said. “All of us.”

  “We are,” John said.

  “I was so worried,” Honor said. She pictured the judge, tall and dour, sitting at the bench, listening to Regis tell her story. Being led through the recitation by Sixtus, straightforward and knowledgeable, asking her questions that set forth all the details of what she had come to remember about the death of Gregory White, and the part she had played.

  “She did a great job,” John said. “I was so proud of her.”

  “So was I,” Honor said. “And of you, too.”

  “Me, why?”

  Honor held his hand. “For letting her do this. Deep down, I was scared they might charge you with obstruction of justice.”

  “Letting her do it?” John asked. “I couldn’t have stopped her if I tried. She was determined to clear my name.”

  “And she did,” Honor said.

  The judge had apologized to John, while also chastising him for not telling the truth. He had said that Regis’s version of the events proved that they had both acted in self-defense, that Gregory White had been trying to kill John, and maybe Regis too, and that John would not have been sentenced to prison.

  “We wasted all that time,” Honor said.

  “Then we have to make up for it,” he said, putting his arm around
her shoulder.

  “As soon as we get home,” she said. “We’ll have a party. We’ll invite Bernie, Tom, Chris…”

  “And the Drakes,” John said. “They can be the guests of honor.”

  Honor laughed, imagining the disappointment they’d feel when their barrister friend in Dublin informed them of today’s proceedings. Just then the loudspeaker announced that the aircraft had just arrived from Boston, and that as soon as it was cleaned and refueled, they would be ready for boarding.

  “Okay,” John said, looking around. “Where are the girls?”

  “Let’s go find them,” Honor said, standing up.

  They didn’t have to go far. Their daughters were in a woolen shop just past the boarding area. They had picked out a sweater for Brendan, a tweed cap for Tom, and a white linen scarf for Bernie. Regis paid for the purchases, and then they all headed down the hall, returning to their gate.

  On the way, they passed the large glass window overlooking the arrivals area. People from the Boston flight were streaming down the wide corridor, carrying bags and hauling suitcases behind them. Honor paused to gaze down at all the families. So many of them, coming to Ireland for their own reasons. She thought back, again, to how she had felt arriving six years ago. Even without the terrible events at Ballincastle, she had been so close to leaving John.

  What if she had? If she had given up on them, on their marriage, on all the dangers and challenges that came from being in love. She looked up at him, waiting for her now. His hair was so short, mostly gray. When he smiled, as he did now, she saw starbursts of lines around his eyes and mouth. She also saw the boy she had loved forever, whom she had first met on their beach at Star of the Sea.

  “Honor,” he said now. And she thought he was going to tell her to hurry, that they had to get to the gate.

  But he was looking past her shoulder, staring through the glass at the walkway below. The crowd was thick, people filing off the 747. John was pointing, directing her gaze downward. She tried to see what he was looking at, scanned the faces for someone familiar. Her eyes settled on a nun, her long black veil and habit reminiscent of a Sister of Notre Dame des Victoires.

  “Bernie,” she gasped.

  “And Tom,” John said, pointing at the man walking alongside the nun.

  “Oh God,” Honor said. “We should have called them! They must have come over to support Regis.” She looked around frantically. “Can we get to them and let them know what happened? So they can fly home with us?”

  “I don’t think they want to fly home with us,” John said.

  And immediately, Honor knew that he was right. She waved, through the window, praying that Bernie would look up. The throng was pushing her along, and there was absolutely no reason for Bernie to glance anywhere but straight ahead.

  But miracles, small and large, do happen. And just before the crowd would have jostled Bernie out of sight, she stopped still. Catching Tom’s arm, she raised her eyes up toward the observation window, and she looked straight into Honor’s eyes.

  “She sees us,” John said, waving. He gave a thumbs-up, letting his sister and Tom know that all was well, that they were on their way home.

  Honor was gazing into Bernie’s eyes. She put her hand over her heart—to give her sister-in-law her love and support. Not just friend to friend, but mother to mother. Bernie did the same; touched her heart, and stood gazing up at Honor.

  “I hope you find him,” Honor mouthed through the glass.

  Bernie just nodded, and a radiant smile spread across her face.

  “Should we skip our flight?” John asked. “Stay and help them with their search?”

  “I think they have to do it alone, just the two of them,” Honor said.

  And John agreed. They stood together, smiling and waving at their best friends in the world. Honor slipped her hand into her jacket pocket, the pirate ring catching slightly on the fabric. She pulled out the blue envelope that she carried all the time now. She had written the letter to Bernie twenty-three years ago, the year she was pregnant, in Dublin with Tom. She held it up to the glass.

  Honor knew that Bernie remembered it all. Honor’s own words had bounced back to her this summer, giving her strength to deal with John and their past, hope to move forward into their future. She wanted them to do the same for Bernie, just starting this new part of her own long journey.

  You don’t have to feel afraid, Honor had written. No matter what happens, you’re not alone. One thing the stone wall has taught us, we come from wonderful, brave people, who would travel across the sea to make things right for the ones they love. We’re with you, Bernie—John and I. We love you and Tom, and we’ll love your baby. No matter what you decide to do, know that we are right there with you. We’re a family, Bernie. Don’t ever forget that.

  “We’re with you,” Honor whispered through the window.

  And then Tom put his arm around Bernie’s shoulders. They both waved up at the glass, one last time, and disappeared into customs. Honor pressed her head against the window, watching them until the last possible moment. She turned to John, saw him doing the same thing.

  The girls had run ahead, but now they came back, wondering what was taking their parents so long. They came over to stand by the window, looking down at the crowds still arriving in Ireland.

  “Don’t you want to go home?” Cece asked, looking up at John and Honor.

  Regis and Agnes didn’t even ask. They didn’t have to.

  “More than anything,” John said.

  And he put his hand in Honor’s, and together they all began the journey home.

  About the Author

  LUANNE RICE is the author of twenty-one novels, most recently Summer of Roses, Summer’s Child, Silver Bells, Beach Girls, and Dance With Me. She lives in New York City and Old Lyme, Connecticut.

  Also by Luanne Rice

  Summer of Roses

  Summer’s Child

  Silver Bells

  Beach Girls

  Dance With Me

  The Perfect Summer

  The Secret Hour

  True Blue

  Safe Harbor

  Summer Light

  Firefly Beach

  Dream Country

  Follow the Stars Home

  Cloud Nine

  Home Fires

  Blue Moon

  Secrets of Paris

  Stone Heart

  Crazy in Love

  Angels All Over Town

  SANDCASTLES

  A Bantam Book / July 2006

  Published by Bantam Dell

  A Division of Random House, Inc.

  New York, New York

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2006 by Luanne Rice

  Bantam Books is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Rice, Luanne.

  Sandcastles / Luanne Rice.

  p. cm.

  Novel.

  I. Title.

  PS3568.I289S35 2006

  813’.54—dc22 2006042764

  www.bantamdell.com

  eISBN: 978-0-553-90270-9

  v3.0