Pretending interest in the paper, he didn't look up until Liam stood before him.
"Hello, Patrick. I hoped I'd find you here. I have no idea where you live."
"Liam, how are things?"
Liam sat down and lowered his voice. "A bit confusing at the moment. Do you have time for a coffee? I'm buying."
He folded his paper, stood and tucked it under his arm. "Who could refuse an offer like that? Where did you have in mind?"
"Anywhere will do. Quinlins, I suppose, or the Greyhound."
"Those are pubs. You did say coffee?"
"I did. I'll go anywhere except The Grind."
"Why is that?"
"My mother is sure to stop in and just now I'd rather not run into her."
Mickey looked at the tall young man, his dark hair, the sharp blade of his chin, the eyes so like Johannah's... his son. His heart hurt. "Are you in trouble, Liam?"
"No, not a bit. I'd just like your opinion on something. I already know what my mother thinks and I wanted someone else, someone not connected to my family, to give me an unbiased opinion."
"That sounds reasonable. We'll go to Aine's in The Square and I'll buy."
The weather was unusually balmy and every seat in the small outdoor patio of the restaurant was filled with smokers. Deciding against an inside table, they carried their coffees to a bench in The Square.
"Now, tell me what's on your mind."
"You've met Ciara."
"I have."
"What do you think of her?"
"She's a lovely girl. Why do you ask?"
Liam stared into his coffee cup, a dark expression on his face. "My mother doesn't approve. She said relationships with the itinerants are doomed." He looked up. "What do you think?"
"I think it depends upon the relationship."
"How do you mean?"
"You're young, Liam, and you're schooling isn't complete. You haven't much experience. Your mother may have the impression you're thinking of making this relationship permanent."
Liam's brow furrowed. "Why should she? I never have before."
"As children age, the possibility increases."
"I suppose so. But that isn't the point, is it? What if I did want to marry Ciara? Why should anyone disapprove? She's a worthy person."
The day was a lovely one for the season, bright and cool. Mickey appreciated days like these when once he wouldn't have given them a thought. There was so much he wanted to share with Liam, now that he no longer could. "When you prove yourself, your mother will come around."
"Sorry?"
"When you achieve your goals, when time has passed, when you've shown Johannah that your mind is made up and you know what you want, she'll accept your decisions. Your mother is afraid that you'll find yourself in a situation you're unhappy with and can't escape."
"Divorce is legal in Ireland."
"It still isn't easy and going into a marriage with the idea that you can divorce isn't a wise move."
"I didn't mean that," replied Liam hastily.
"I'm sure you didn't."
Liam looked at the older man. "You're very accommodating. Thank you for talking with me."
"I'm honored."
Liam laughed and shrugged. "I know this sounds ridiculous but, the thing is, you're easy to talk to. In that way you remind me of my dad."
"Thank you, Liam. That means a great deal to me."
"How long have you lived in Tralee?"
"Not long."
"Are you happy here?"
"For now."
"Does that mean you might relocate?"
"There is that possibility."
Liam hesitated, then spoke quickly, slightly embarrassed. "You will let us know where you end up?"
Mickey looked into his coffee and then up at the sky, anywhere but into the sincere face of his child, the son whose future, he now knew, he would have no part in. "Of course."
Later, as he walked the lonely strand of Derrymore, heedless of the thick ropy circles of kelp rotting on the wet sand, he looked up at the sky. "How much longer do I have?" he asked out loud. "They feel it, Kate and Liam. Somehow, they know my time is limited." He closed his fist and struck his palm with it. "I want no more surprises, Peter. I must know when this will finish. I've never asked you to come. Now I'm asking. Come now."
He walked for nearly an hour before he saw a dark speck in the distance. Hurrying toward it, his footsteps heavy with the effort of moving across sand, he fell, righted himself and began to run. When he was close enough to recognize the familiar white-robed figure, he slowed, panting, until the saint reached him.
Peter spoke. "You're in a hurry this morning."
Mickey's breathing normalized. "I need to know when my time is up."
"I can't give you a time and date. You've made great progress so far, better than I'd hoped."
"My children know something. They feel I'm leaving them."
"Yes." A simple comment uttered without explanation, for no reason other than to fill a silence.
"What's happening, Peter?"
"In your own fashion, you're wrapping things up. Kate and Liam understand that, to an extent."
"What about Johannah?"
Peter clasped his hands behind his back and shivered. "This is a very cold country. I never come here willingly. I prefer it much warmer."
"Will I know when my time with Johannah is over?"
Peter looked at him. "Yes." Again, nothing more.
Mickey pressed him. "When will it be?"
"I don't know."
Mickey's frustration extended beyond speech. Falling to his knees, his chin dropped to his chest and he closed his eyes. "I can't do this," he said. "I just can't." He felt Peter's presence beside him.
"I tell you that I don't know because it isn't my decision," the saint explained. "You will know because it is up to you to decide. When the time is right you will allow her to move beyond you to a place where she will walk alone."
"She's doing that now."
He felt the smile in Peter's voice. "No, my friend. You are still with her, caring for her, advising her and also holding her back."
"That isn't true."
"There is no timetable," Peter continued. "There is only to do what is right."
Mickey opened his eyes. Once again he was alone.
Chapter 41
Johannah
Johannah pulled the knickers, the nightgown and the two pairs of trousers her mother had picked out the other day from their packages and threw them in the laundry basket. Dolly would wear nothing new until it had been freshly washed. Once again Johannah was conscious of the amount of work even one more person in a household created. How quickly she'd adjusted to Mickey's absence, his clothes no longer hanging on the line, no marks on the stairs from his shoes, no wet towels on the floor or spots on the bathroom mirror he never remembered to clean off after brushing his teeth, circumstances so annoying when they happened and barely noticed when they stopped. How insignificant most of the normalcy of daily living was, not worth thinking about much less arguing over. Not that she'd ever argued with Mickey over his habits. Rather she'd steeped in simmering resentment wondering why he couldn't he pick up after himself? Between the two of them, she was the one needing to be up and about in the morning.
She couldn't imagine Jack Rafferty, a meticulous dresser having no wife, leaving wet towels on the floor or water marks on the tile. Quickly, she pushed the thought away. She had no business even wondering what his bathroom habits were. No one was perfect. Most likely he had a dreadful temper and took days to cool off. Maura's husband, Milo, was like that. He sulked forever, removing himself from all conversation, offering no affection, keeping himself coldly remote until his desperate wife threatened to throw his belongings out on the street unless he apologized immediately and became himself again. Sometimes it worked, most of the time it didn't. Maura would wait it out until Milo was ready.
Why did women put up with these things, Johannah wonder
ed? Was her sex so desperate for love and companionship that they willingly accepted the miserable in order to ward of loneliness for as long as possible? Was self-doubt and insecurity preferable to being alone when not being alone inevitably led to coldness and hurt at least some of the time? Would the man who disappeared into the bathroom with the Victoria Secret Catalogue and made critical comments about his wife's aging figure support her lovingly while she recovered from a mastectomy? Would his impatience with her cautious map reading turn to understanding after her memory faded? Johannah didn't think so. In fact, her work experience proved it. Rarely did men look after their ailing wives. The reverse was far more typical. Women cared for their husbands, often with nothing more than a widow's pension to sustain them when their charges died. The worst tragedy was when the poor woman, finally out from under the drudgery of her role as caretaker, succumbed soon after her husband's demise.
Johannah was determined not to find herself in any of those situations. She'd managed to stay independent throughout her marriage and after, mostly because she kept her job. Mickey always had a healthy respect for her work. She'd wanted him to live to an old age, wanted them to retire together and travel to Spain and Portugal, Turkey and Morocco, colorful destinations where people had evolved into something brown, languid and exotic due to the benefits of a different kind of sun. But it was not to be. Mickey died young and unexpectedly, leaving her a house without a mortgage and no debt. She had her work and no financial problems. Life was, while not thrilling, predictable and occasionally rewarding. Due to luck and perseverance, she'd navigated well. All of which made her extremely wary of risking her emotional well-being on anyone, especially a stranger from Belfast who, despite his impressive resume, had no family, no home, no ties. Inherently, she felt there was something not quite healthy about a person with no roots.
Why, then, had she agreed to see him for the third time this week? It was a rhetorical question. Johannah always knew exactly why she did everything. Jack Rafferty flattered her and she was a woman in desperate need of flattering. He was an interesting conversationalist and he listened. Other than Maura, Johannah wasn't accustomed to people who listened. He wasn't a local man which meant that when her, or rather his, interest waned she wouldn't be seeing him on every street corner. Possibly the greatest draw was that he hadn't known her until now, a competent woman, in charge of her life. He hadn't known her as Mickey Enright's wife or for that matter Francie O'Shea's girlfriend. He didn't think of her as a mother or grandmother. She was a professional in a suit and heels, a woman who carried a briefcase and asked intelligent questions.
Johannah looked at her watch and sighed. There was just enough time to wash her hair before she dressed. He was taking her out to dinner. It occurred to her that a good amount of time was spent into doing oneself up to go out with a man. She'd forgotten that, the inconvenience of being single, the expectation that she would take time with her appearance. For the space of a second, she was conscious of a strong desire to curl up in her nightgown in front of the sitting room fire and read a book.
* * *
The West End was a restaurant located at the end of a row of buildings leading to Fenit Pier. Johannah would have enjoyed being there with her children or Maura or even, as a last resort, her mother. Walking in with Jack Rafferty was another experience altogether.
Bridie Murphy, the hostess, held open the door for them. "Hello, Hannie, how are things?" She looked meaningfully at Jack.
Johannah chose to ignore the implied question and busied herself by taking off her coat. "Grand, and yourself?"
"Business is slow, but otherwise I can't complain. So many have closed up." She led them to their seats, set the menus on the table and looked at Jack. "The plaice is very good and it's fresh. I missed you at Mass today, Hannie."
"I went last night," Johannah replied. She knew what Bridie wanted but she was having none of it. There was no need to introduce Jack Rafferty to anyone. "How's the salmon?"
"Fresh as well. How is your mother getting on?"
"She's settling in. I'll tell her you asked after her."
Seconds passed. Bridie spoke again. "Can I offer either of you a drink to start with?"
Jack spoke for the first time. "Nothing for me, thanks, but I'd like to see the wine list."
"Right." Bridie rested one hand on her hip. "Would you like to look at it now?"
He smiled. "If it's convenient."
"Certainly it's convenient. This is a restaurant after all." She couldn't help herself. "You're not from the town are you?"
"No."
"Where did you say you come from?"
"I don't believe I said."
She took a minute to register his words. Finally it clicked. "Right. I'll bring the list straight away."
Johannah looked at her menu. "I've always liked salmon but I'll have it without the starter. Do you think, as a population, we eat too much?"
"I'm sorry, Johannah. I suppose I should have checked with you before booking a restaurant."
She smiled. "This is a lovely choice. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. Tralee is a small town and I've lived here all my life. I'm bound to know someone."
He looked relieved. "Then you don't mind?"
"Not at all. I think you handled her brilliantly."
"Will there be repercussions?"
"How do you mean?"
Bridie stopped at the table with the wine list. "We have a very nice white from South Africa and another from Chile."
Jack looked at the menu. "Are you having fish, Johannah?"
"I am."
He handed the list back to Bridie. "The California Pinot Noir, please."
Bridie was at her most professional. "Excellent choice."
Jack waited until she left. "Will you be the talk of the town because you were seen here with me?"
"Are you familiar with the term nine days wonder?"
He frowned. "Is that how you see us?"
She was tempted to tell him she wasn't anticipating an us but it seemed especially rude sitting across from him in a lovely restaurant, contemplating a delicious meal. "I'm enjoying the evening," she said instead. "What I meant was that not even the worst scandals last beyond a week or two and the two of us sharing a meal certainly isn't that."
He laughed. "You're amazing, Johannah. Do you know that?"
"Thank you, but I have no idea what brought that on."
"You're much more polished than I expected. You hold your small town background in front of you as an excuse for a perceived lack of sophistication but you're plenty sophisticated."
"Really?" She looked surprised. "I wouldn't describe myself that way, but I'm accepting the compliment. Thank you."
Candlelight played across his features. Johannah was very conscious of his attractiveness, a combination of good genes and a lifetime of care. Why, then, was she feeling so detached as if she was Cinderella and midnight approached.
Bridie returned with the wine. "Would you like to taste it first?"
Jack shook his head. "Go ahead and pour. I'll risk it." He smiled at her. "I'll go with your suggestion and take the plaice. Johannah will have the salmon. We'll skip the starter."
"Potatoes and vegetables?"
"Yes."
"You won't be sorry. Enjoy the wine."
Johannah chuckled. "You've redeemed yourself. Now it will be all over town that you're a lovely person."
"The lovely person is sitting across from me."
"Jack—" She hesitated. "I don't—"
He waited.
"I'm not ready for what I think you want. I'm not accustomed to attention from a man. I've been widowed for just over a year and before that I was married for a lifetime."
He nodded. "I accept that, although I've been told attention is something women can get used to."
Was that laughter she heard in his voice? She frowned. "Are you taking me seriously?"
"Absolutely."
"I have no libido, whatsoever." There, she'
d said it, forced the unmentionable words out of her mouth.
Briefly, mindful of their audience, he touched her hand. "I think you have some preconceived notions of men, Johannah. I'm not a boy. There's more to a relationship than sex. In fact, that alone indicates there is no relationship at all."
"Are you saying it's unnecessary?"
"Not at all," he said, smiling at Bridie as she set the plates of food in front of them.
"Can I get you anything else?"
"No, thank you," said Johannah. "Everything looks delicious."
Jack waited until she was well out of the way before resuming their conversation. "Sex is very necessary, but it doesn't come first and I'm willing to wait."
"For how long?"
"For as long as it takes."
Johannah chewed and swallowed a forkful of salmon. "What if it doesn't happen, ever?"
"Then we won't have that kind of relationship."
Her argument deflated, she stared at him, her eyes wide and round. "Why don't I believe you?"
"Probably because the last time you were in front of a potential relationship with a man, you were a child and all of your experience centered around a boy whose primary goal in life was to remove your knickers without benefit of marriage."
"Are you interested in marriage, Jack?"
He shrugged. "It hasn't come up."
"Somehow, I doubt that."
His eyebrows rose. "You have a wicked sense of humor, Mrs. Enright."
"I'm asking why you think this," she indicated the two of them, "is different."
"My primary goal is not to remove your knickers. I want to know you, Johannah. The rest will come later, if it's right."
Jack, intuitive enough to know when the subject was saturated, kept the rest of the conversation playful and interesting and Johannah enjoyed herself tremendously. There was a moment of tension when he walked her to the door, but it eased immediately when he kissed her lightly on the lips and said he would be in touch. She closed the door behind him feeling oddly bereft.
Her message machine alerted her that someone had called. She pressed the button and listened to Maura's voice telling her to call if it wasn't too late. Johannah looked at the clock and decided it was. Tomorrow would do just as well. She didn't want to talk with anyone just now. She wanted to run a bath, sit back in the bubble-filled tub and think about the evening.
Hannie Rising Page 26