Splintered Silence

by Susan Furlong

  “I’ve just gotten to know them since I returned. Mostly your grandmother. I’ve been helping her and your granddad.”

  “I don’t understand. Helping them?”

  “Since your granddad’s illness.” He shifted and rubbed his palms over the knees of his jeans. “Your grandmother told me you were coming back. I’m glad you’re here. She needs you. Especially now. I’m sorry about your mother, Brynn.”

  He sounded . . . so businesslike, so professional. I still didn’t understand the connection between him and my grandparents. Helping my grandfather? Was Colm a doctor now? Now that would be interesting. Doctors should know all kinds of things about a female body, how to . . . I pressed my lips together, thwarting the stupid grin threatening to break out.

  He looked over, searching my face, avoiding my neck. “She told me about what happened to you over there. I can’t help but feel responsible. If I hadn’t left the way I did, I can’t help but think you never would have joined the Marines and—.”

  “You think too highly of yourself,” I shot back, any potential grin smacked away by his words. “Life goes on, you know. Well, except when it doesn’t.” I cocked a thumb back toward the house.

  He looked surprised, then sickeningly sympathetic.

  My gallows humor really doesn’t fit in here.

  But no way was I letting him take credit for what happened in my life. Even if it was true. I’d given my heart and so much more to him. Then he left for college, without looking back, it seemed. I’d assumed he’d come back for me. He had said he would! But he never did. No phone calls. Nothing. So I joined the Marines. Like I’d said—life goes on. Obviously he’d gone on too. “So did you marry?” I tried to sound pleasantly interested.

  He shrunk back against the step, his brow wrinkled in disbelief. “You haven’t heard?”

  How would I have heard about anyone in McCreary? Then it hit me: She was probably a celebrity of some sort. Beautiful and refined. Smart and classy. It made sense, since Colm’s prominent McCreary family ran in the circles of the well-bred and well-heeled. No matter who she was, she certainly wasn’t a Pavee or damaged goods, like me. “No, I haven’t heard. Is it someone I know or should know?”

  “No. It’s not that. I’m not married.” He hesitated and cleared his throat.

  I groaned. Audibly. He was gay! His first, and maybe only, roll in the hay was with me, and that was enough for him to beg off women for good. Like I needed this news right now.

  “Brynn, I’m a priest now. At St. Brigid’s in McCreary. I was appointed there to help Father Donavan run the parish.”

  “You’re a damned priest?” I slapped a hand over my mouth but way too late.

  Colm blinked, then his face crinkled. “Well, the point is not to be damned. But yeah, I’m a priest.” He bit his lip to avoid laughing in my face, but ended up choking in the process.

  “Here,” I swept up the bottle and offered it to him. He waved it off. Yet again.

  “What? Priests don’t drink anymore either?”

  Which only made him laugh louder. I found myself feeling stupid, not only about my sexual reactions when he first appeared but the fact that his warm and hearty laugh now still warmed my nether parts. But I also felt dirty for sitting with a priest after all I’d been through in the past ten years. You can’t be in a war without chalking up a bunch of sins. And now all of mine came crashing in on me. I set the bottle aside, wanting, more than anything, another slug of it.

  Colm quit laughing and sobered himself. Which I realized wasn’t about to happen to me anytime soon. “I thought you knew. Didn’t your grandmother mention me?”

  “No. Why would she? She doesn’t know about us. I never told anyone.” At the time, I was promised to Dub, the wedding date set, the dowry money all but handed over. No, my time spent with a settled boy was my secret. I’d never told a soul.

  “Father Colm?” Meg was standing in the doorway looking down at us. “My grandmother is asking for you.”

  “I’ll be right there.” He looked at me, seemed about to say something, then quickly stood and walked up the steps. He turned back to me as he reached the door. “We’ll talk some more later, okay?” He disappeared inside the house.

  I watched him leave, wondering how much worse the day could get.

  Meg stepped down to join me. A whiff of her lavender soap joined me as well, pulling my attention from my moroseness to my attractive cousin. She wore a cable-knit sweater over a long skirt, her red curls held back with a jeweled clip. I ran my hand through my own hair. It felt greasy and flat. With all that had happened, I hadn’t had time to shower that morning. Great job, Brynn. I could only imagine what Father Colm saw in me: a greasy, dirty-mouthed drunk.

  “Brynn?”

  I refocused. “Yeah?”

  “I was saying that we brought your car back from the pub. Gran gave me the keys, and Eamon took me into town. I parked it around front for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “He’s inside. Would you like to meet him?”

  “Eamon?” I remembered her mentioning him earlier. He must be someone special. “I want to meet him, Meg. Of course I do. It’s just that . . .”

  “I understand if now’s not a good time.”

  Well, now there’s an understatement. “I just need a little time alone.”

  She pulled me into a tight embrace. “Oh, Brynn. I’m so sorry. I really am. This must be so difficult for you.” She gave me another squeeze and pulled back until we were face-to-face. She lowered her chin, her green eyes large and round. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

  I considered what I needed: something to eat? That hadn’t worked out so well. A talk with a priest? Not so much. Another drink didn’t sound so bad, but... “I know you are.”

  As soon as I spoke, she flinched and stepped back. “Brynn, you’ve been drinking.”

  Ah, well, hello? Yeah. For about two days straight now. And I intended to make it three. I dipped my chin toward the trailer. “Hasn’t everyone in there been hitting the bottle?” Well, maybe not everyone, but most.

  She looked about, her eyes landing on the whiskey bottle.

  The look of concern—or was it disappointment?—on her face was too much to take. I turned away and tugged at Wilco’s collar. “I need to take him for a walk. Let him do his business. Tell Gran I’ll be right back.”

  Meg gave me another look, this one less concerning and more judgmental, but she didn’t object to me leaving. As soon as she shut the door, I tucked the bottle into my sweatshirt pocket and stormed down the road. To hell with them all! Meg with her self-righteous attitude, Colm the priest, Gran and her lies.

  I kept walking. Not that I knew where I was going. Anywhere away from the trailer would do. I ended up at the small park at the end of the road. I’d come here often as a kid. It was a magical place, where I met up with my cousins and played for hours: swinging and taking turns going down the skin-burning, monstrous metal slide. The area had been neglected since then, weeds and rust overtaking everything. Cigarette butts and candy wrappers littered the ground around a nearby splintered wood bench. I used the toe of my boot to scuff off the bird splatter and settled in to continue my drunken quest.

  I didn’t get far before I noticed Kevin Doogan traipsing toward me through the weeds. He had a determined look on his face. Ah, crap, like why can’t a gal drink in peace in this place anyway?

  “I saw you coming this way. I need to talk to you.” He glanced over at Wilco, who was napping in a sunny spot nearby. “How’s the dog doing?”

  “Better. It must have been pretty minor. He’s not limping at all, but the meds the vet gave him make him sleepy.”

  There was an awkward silence. Doogan shuffled his feet and stared at the ground. “I heard about your mother. I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you.” I blinked a few times and took another drink.

  He sat next to me and, after a beat or two, turned out his palm. I reluctantly handed over the bottle. He
tipped his head back, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down as he took a couple swigs. I was torn between relief that here was someone who didn’t judge my drinking and concern that he’d swallowed down part of the only balm I had right now. I used my sleeve to wipe the rim before taking another quick sip of my own; then I capped the bottle and set it aside. I wanted to save the rest for later, and Doogan seemed like a guy who could make quick work of a bottle.

  “Are your kin planning the funeral?” His face was shrouded with concern.

  “Not much can be decided until we know when Sheriff Pusser will release her body. It could be a week or more.” I should’ve told him about the man who shot at us, ask him what he meant when he said the woods was no place for a woman, but now wasn’t the time for that discussion. I could barely think straight as it was.

  “I’m sorry.” His gaze slid to the capped bottle, then back to me. “I hate bringing it up now, but after you left last night, I got to thinking.” He tipped his chin toward Wilco. “That dog of yours. He’s good at sniffing out people, right?”

  My muscles tightened. I knew where this was headed. I didn’t want any part of it. “Only dead people.”

  It was a lousy thing to say, insensitive and uncaring, and he recoiled a bit. Pain flashed through his eyes. “I know there’s a good chance Sheila’s dead. She’s been missing for so long. I’m . . .” His voice caught. “I’m just hoping she’s not.”

  Last night, Doogan was sure his sister was still alive. Now he seemed full of doubt. I knew from experience that families often vacillated between hope and dismay when a loved one was missing. The same hope that Doogan held last night had been in the hearts of soldiers and locals every time we’d returned with recovered bodies. Every dead body that wasn’t a comrade or friend dangled the hope that someone they cared for still lived. Dangled it on a string that burned like cordite, changing from hope to despair an hour, a day, or a week later when that loved one still didn’t return.

  Bone Patrol, as my fellow marines called it, initially seemed like an honorable specialty. It was, but it also took a toll on me. I rubbed down the chill that crept up my arms. Don’t think about all that now, Brynn. I’d left all that back in the desert, along with my sanity. Part of the reason I came back was to heal and to let my dog heal. I didn’t need this. “We can’t help you. I’m sorry.”

  I followed his gaze as he scanned the woods. “You don’t understand.”

  “Yes, I do. It’s just that I can’t help now.”

  He focused back on me. “I gotta know for sure. If she’s out there, somewhere in those woods like your mother was, I need to find her. I can’t bear the thought of her body . . .”

  Rotting? Being eaten by bugs and scavenged by wild animals like my mother’s body? I glared at him. How dare he ask this of me!

  His eyes widened. “I’m sorry. Very sorry about your mother. But try to understand. I have to know.”

  “I’m sorry, Doogan.” I stood and walked over to nudge Wilco awake. “Now isn’t a good time. My grandparents need me. My mother’s death, my grandfather’s illness. I need to help out around the place. Get a job. The medical expenses have been overwhelming, and now the cost of the funeral . . .”

  “I feel lousy for asking. It’s just that I don’t know where else to turn. You’re trained for this sort of thing. I’m desperate.”

  I felt my resolve crumbling. Here was a man who only wanted to find the truth, while I’d found more truth than I wanted. And I still had so many questions of my own: Why did my mother come back after all these years? If she’d gotten Gran’s letter, wouldn’t she have contacted her, let her know she was coming? Why did she leave Bone Gap in the first place? Who shot her and why? The only problem was that I was too weak to face these questions, let alone seek the answers. I wasn’t sure I even cared to know the answers. I took my bottle and walked away. All I really wanted was to drink. Drink. Sleep. Forget. Repeat.

  Doogan called after me. “Brynn?”

  My grip tightened on the bottle.

  “Please just think about it.”

  Next to me, Wilco stopped and turned back. I bumped him forward with my knee, but he didn’t budge. What was wrong with my dog? I reached down and yanked his collar. Come on, Wilco! He held his ground.

  Anger rose in me. Then self-disgust. I forced my gaze upward, back to Doogan, and saw what Wilco saw, what Wilco felt—anguish and despair. Doogan had folded in on himself, his hand shielding his face. His chest was heaving.

  I looked away from Doogan to my dog, the bottle in my hand, then back to Doogan. What type of person have I become? Even my dog has more compassion than me.

  “Tomorrow,” I said. Quietly at first, then I yelled it out. “Tomorrow. We’ll start looking tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER 5

  A knock on my car window woke me early the next morning. I pushed Wilco off my chest and rolled my throbbing head toward the annoying tap, tap, tapping. It was Deputy Harris. “Ms. Callahan! I need to speak to you.”

  My driver’s-side window hadn’t actually worked since Bill Clinton was president, so I pushed open the door and rolled out. Wilco hobbled out behind me. “What is it?”

  “Sheriff wants to see you.”

  “Now?” I ran my gritty tongue over my even grittier teeth and smacked my lips.

  “Yup. Now. There’s been a new development.”

  “Like what?” I tried to clear my throat. It was as dry as dust.

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

  At liberty! Smug little jerk probably didn’t know why. I glanced from his puffed-up chest back toward my station wagon. I’d left a little whiskey in the bottle the night before. It was right there, on the passenger seat. I smacked my dry lips and discovered a glob of dog fur clinging to the crusty corner of my mouth. I picked at the fur and ogled the bottle. An old phrase popped to mind: the hair of the dog that bit you. I chuckled . . . then stopped, because chuckling hurt my head.

  “Is something amusing, Ms. Callahan?”

  I rubbed my temples. “No. Not at all. It’s just that—”

  “Good.” He stared down his high-bridged nose at me, his pouty little mouth curving upward in a sneer. Harris had a baby face, complete with pudgy cheeks that might inspire a pinch or two from a woman three times my age. All I wanted to do was slap them silly. “I gave you my contact information. Why didn’t you just call?”

  “Tried to. Couldn’t get through.”

  I pulled my cell phone from the side cargo pocket of my pants and checked the display. The charge was dead.

  Harris jingled his car keys. “I’ll take you in. The dog will have to stay, though.”

  “No thanks. I’ll drive myself. And my dog.”

  “Sheriff’s expecting you now. It’s urgent.”

  “If it was all that urgent, he would have come out here himself.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Doogan step out of his trailer and light a cigarette. He took a long drag, flicked the ash off to the side, and shot me a little wave. I waved back.

  Harris kept after me. “You better not keep the sheriff waiting.”

  I was about to fire back with something witty when the sound of running water drew my attention to the side of the deputy’s parked cruiser. Only it wasn’t water, but Wilco. He was relieving himself on the deputy’s tire. This time, despite the pounding between my ears, I tilted my head back and let the laughs roll. And roll. Not that it was all that funny. It just felt good to cut loose.

  Harris didn’t laugh. Instead, he did the ultimate in stupid. He swung his foot at my dog, trying to kick him. “Get the hell away from my car, you friggin’ mutt.”

  I stopped laughing.

  Thankfully, Wilco dodged the kick, but Harris raised his leg like he was going to try again. “Hey!” I rushed forward and grabbed his shoulder. I yanked him back, trying to get him away from my dog, but the sudden move threw him off balance. He fell backward, and we both ended up in a pile on the ground, Harris landing hard on to
p of me.

  Wilco thought Harris was hurting me. He growled and barked. Before I could get out from under Harris and motion for him to stand down, Wilco went crazy, whipping his head back and forth, his mouth frothing with slobber.

  Harris rolled off me, stood, and backed up. “Call your dog off!”

  I popped up and signaled for Wilco to back down, but he was hyper-focused on protecting me, not seeing my signals. He growled, snapping and biting at the air in front of Harris.

  Harris was panicking. “Call him off!”

  “I’m trying. He thinks you were hurting me.” I moved around Harris, so Wilco could see me, but Harris snatched my arm and yanked me back.

  “Stay back!”

  Not a smart move on Harris’s part. Wilco lunged at Harris, catching part of the deputy’s sleeve and ripping it away like wet newspaper. Harris stopped cold. His face clouded over with an emotional mix of fear and fury as he gaped at his arm. In a flash, his gun was out, pointed directly at Wilco’s head.

  “No!” I jumped between Harris and my dog.

  Doogan was suddenly there, standing by me, facing down Harris and the gun. “Hey, man. Calm down. You don’t want to shoot nobody’s dog.”

  Harris lowered his gun. “Stay out of this, Doogan. The dog tried to attack me.”

  I turned to Wilco. He was no longer snapping, but his lips were curled back, showing the sharpness of his teeth. I knelt down and calmed him. “It’s okay, boy. It’s okay.” I repeated the words over and over. Not so much for Wilco, he couldn’t hear them, but for me and to get this jerk to back off. I leaned in, covering Wilco’s body with my own, and we melted together, one unit. A team. If I lost this dog, I’d never recover.

  Harris holstered his gun, and moved his hand to his radio. “I’m calling animal control. The dog’s viscous. It needs to be put down.”

  “Oh, come on, Harris,” I heard Doogan saying behind me. “No need to get animal control out here. The dog’s completely calm now. It was all just a misunderstanding.”