Ronan no longer had to worry that his courage would falter. His anger gave him strength, if not focus. “I can’t believe you didn’t look for her. Why didn’t you say anything? How did you know she was in Eden?!”
Fists on her hips, Edwige was becoming as angry as her son, but for wildly different reasons. “How many questions are you going to hurl at your mum before you ask her where she found this smashing outfit?!”
She’s insane! That’s another thing I have in common with Michael. Both our mums are absolutely bonkers. “Will you listen to yourself?!” Ronan pleaded. “Your daughter ran away and you didn’t even go looking for her! What the hell kind of mother are you?!”
Two long strides and Edwige was standing inches from Ronan. Looking up to him, she forced herself to remember that he was her child, her favorite, the only one who had not caused her pain so she didn’t want to inflict pain on him, but he was getting very close to feeling her hand across his face. “The kind of mother who knows that her daughter is being protected by that curly-haired creature,” Edwige said slowly. “And the kind of mother who knows that her daughter would like some time on her own before I swoop in to ruin her life.”
Ronan raised his chin so his mother had to tilt her head back even further to look him in the eye. So she knew Saoirse was staying with Phaedra. Somehow she knew everything she wasn’t supposed to know and yet she never knew how she was supposed to act. Despite her calm rebuttal, despite her logical reasons for not taking action, Ronan didn’t believe she had given Saoirse a second thought until just now. The only thing he did believe was that her thoughts were not of a positive nature. “And is that what you plan to do, Mother, ruin her life?”
Yanking open a drawer, she grabbed her brown suede gloves and started to put them on, careful not to catch her nails on the cashmere lining. “I plan to do what a mother does best,” Edwige declared. “Give her child an ultimatum.”
Unbelievable! She really doesn’t get it, does she? “Is that what you think good parenting is? Abandonment and ultimatums!”
Stealing a glance at the mahogany box near the window, Edwige wished that Saxon were still alive. With him by her side, she knew how to be a mother, she knew how to handle her children, but ever since he left her, ever since he was ripped from her life, it had become much more difficult. She was always saying the wrong words, doing the wrong things, and worst of all, she was beginning not to care. “I haven’t abandoned my daughter,” Edwige said wearily. “I’ve been waiting for the right time to reach out to her.”
“And when exactly would the right time be, Mum?” Ronan asked.
“Now.”
Outside Edwige’s flat, Ronan scuttled after her, even though she was half his size, he was finding it difficult to keep up. Down the block, around the corner, through an alleyway, Edwige brought them to a deserted part of her neighborhood, not stopping until she reached the train tracks. “Call your sister.”
Dutifully, Ronan flipped open his cell phone and started to dial until he realized he had no idea what to say. “What exactly do you want me to tell her?”
Closing her eyes, Edwige lifted her face toward the sun, its warmth pleasing, appreciated, and told Ronan to make sure Saoirse was in her room and to stay there until he arrived. When he was done with the call, Edwige asked, “Is her babysitter with her?”
“No,” Ronan replied. “She said Phaedra was in class.”
“Pity. I was going to bring her a hot-oil treatment as a thank-you.”
Shaking his head in amazement, Ronan marveled at how shallow Edwige could be even during moments of crisis. And how easily she sucked those around her into her superficial musings. “Phaedra really doesn’t care about her appearance and such,” he said.
Twirling to face her son, allowing her poncho to whip around her for full effect, Edwige commented, “Such idiotic thinking will make her one very lonely efemera.”
The train whistle prevented Ronan from explaining that there was no chance Phaedra would be lonely as long as Fritz was around, so instead, he followed her silently as she sprinted down the tracks toward Double A. Less than five minutes later, the train miles behind them, they arrived at St. Anne’s, but outside the door to Saoirse’s room, Ronan heard something that ticked him off even more than his mother’s attitude and made him want to abandon his entire plan. He heard laughter. Saoirse didn’t care that he was trying to protect her, all she wanted to do was goof off with Ciaran. “We should go,” Ronan announced. “It’s not worth the trouble.”
“Don’t fret, I’ll be civil,” Edwige replied. When she saw that Saoirse had company, a large part of her wished she had accepted her son’s proposal.
“Look, Ciaran!” Saoirse cried. “Mum’s finally come to visit!”
Awkward. That was the only way to describe the impromptu family reunion. It was as if Edwige’s body had turned to stone, her body, her face, became rigid. Ronan and Ciaran were just as motionless except their eyes grew wide and darted about the room, at each other, their mother, their sister, trying to figure out how they had all wound up in the same space and how it might be possible to leave without being noticed. The only one who seemed to be enjoying the meeting was Saoirse. She bounded off the bed and gave her mother a hug that was barely reciprocated, but when she stepped back to stand between her brothers and spoke, the tone of her voice belied the sincerity of her actions. “Wow! A poncho,” she said. “I thought they went out of style. Again.”
As Edwige crossed to the other side of the room, as far from her children as she could get, Ronan and Ciaran both bit their lips to stifle a laugh. It was only when they each turned to slap Saoirse in the arm for her comment did they realize they both found their sister’s rudeness highly amusing. Edwige pulled out one of the desk chairs and sat. “No, darling, you’re mistaken,” she replied tersely, taking off her gloves. “Just like you’re mistaken that you’ll be able to get away with this latest escapade.”
Saoirse actually batted her eyes several times before speaking. “Whatever do you mean, Mummie?”
Hunched forward, her hands clasped, Edwige looked at her three children as they formed a tentatively united front, and was comforted. She didn’t feel the pangs of maternal affection, but it was good to know her children were bonding.
For Ronan, it was disquieting. One minute he was the outsider, the next included in the inner circle with his siblings. But he had to admit he preferred the latter location even if it meant being on the opposite side of his mother.
So did Edwige. Even though Ronan was her treasure, her hope, he was also a reminder that she was something she no longer wished to be, a mother. But could she really be that cold, that apathetic toward her own flesh and blood? Blood. Maybe that was it. Maybe she had spent so many years feeding alone without a partner, searching for the perfect victim by herself that she had become content in her solitude, resentful of those who relied on her, offended by those who wanted her to do anything more than accept their bodies as a final offering, to be a participant in their death but not in their life. Victims she could handle; children seemed to be beyond her capabilities. But they were her children, shouldn’t she try harder to act like their mother? Isn’t that what Saxon would have wanted and expected from her? “I mean, dear, that you need an education,” Edwige began. “So you have a choice.”
Wary, Saoirse glanced at her brothers, both of whom ignored her, more interested in knowing what options Edwige was going to offer the girl. “I’m listening,” Saoirse said.
“You can either enroll in St. Anne’s,” Edwige replied. “Or be homeschooled by me.”
Saoirse took all of three seconds to decide. “I’ll pick the saint over the sinner.”
As she expected, Edwige was overcome with disappointment. Hardly the sign of an emotional breakthrough, she wasn’t disappointed because Saoirse didn’t want her as her teacher; she simply hated being rejected. Unfortunately, it was something she was getting used to. “Come, then,” Edwige said.“I’ve already schedul
ed an appointment with Sister Mary Elizabeth.”
Ronan almost stopped them from leaving, he wasn’t sure enrolling Saoirse in St. Anne’s was the best solution. But on second thought, if they couldn’t keep her sequestered at a foreign school, keeping her in plain sight might be the smartest thing to do. It would be much more difficult for anyone to harm her if her location was public knowledge. Ronan’s plan to force his mother to take action had turned out to be successful. Now that they were alone, he hoped his attempt to have a conversation with his brother would be equally triumphant. “Some screwed-up family we got saddled with,” Ronan said.
Thrilled that Ronan spoke first, Ciaran heard the words pour out of him. “That’s a bloody understatement! We’d be quite normal, though, if you erased our family history and, of course, gave Edwige a personality transplant.”
Usually, Ronan stood up for his mother, but today she revealed a bit more of her true self and he wasn’t happy with what he saw. He was, however, quite happy right where he was. “Can you imagine if Saoirse wanted to be home-schooled?” Ronan asked, plopping down on the bed next to Ciaran. “Mum’s bloody head would’ve exploded!”
Roaring with laughter, Ciaran reveled in the possibility. “Would’ve served her right to have to teach Saoirse algebra and bio; she’s even less academic than she is maternal.”
God, how long has it been since we’ve just sat together and laughed, Ronan thought. “I’d have given them three days before they ditched the books and went on a shopping spree.”
“Do you know my stepmum homeschools her brats?” Ciaran asked. Ronan shook his head, he didn’t know that. He knew very little about Ciaran’s other family, except that they were even crazier than most of the adults he knew. “And to them a shopping spree is going into the sewing room to make their own clothes!”
Ciaran fell back onto the bed hysterical. His laughter was infectious, but Ronan didn’t just find the statement funny, he found it unusual too. Ciaran never talked about those people; the subject was typically taboo. “I’m, um, surprised to hear you say that.”
Sitting up, Ciaran shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just the two of us, Rone, why lie? Why make things seem better than they are?” Honest communication between the two half brothers, suddenly Ronan was all for that. “My stepfamily is just as bloody mental as this one, maybe more so,” Ciaran professed. “Did you know that when my father took my stepmother and fled London to settle in Devil’s Bridge, he thought that name was ironic, not symbolic?”
Mouth open, Ronan didn’t know how to respond, but for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel the need to apologize, nor did he think Ciaran was bringing up the subject to make him feel guilty. It was just a fact that the two boys shared. “Maybe it’s parenthood,” Ronan mused. “Once you have a kid, you lose a wee bit of your mind.”
“C’mon, mate, you know it’s more than that,” Ciaran said flatly. “I was born because my father raped our mother and then he made things worse by murdering your dad. It’s no coincidence he wound up in a place called Devil’s Bridge.”
And that could explain why Ronan rarely hung out with Ciaran, the conversation often stumbled into a dark, unpleasant, and brutally honest place. Forcing himself not to accept the ugly images that were forming in his mind or lash out at his brother for the crimes of his father, Ronan chose to keep his tone light. “That’s a right bleak proclamation, mate.”
Yes, it was, but Ciaran didn’t want to backtrack; he didn’t want to cover up the past with an empty platitude. “It’s our truth, Ronan,” he said. “Might not be proper to say in mixed company, but between the two of us, there shouldn’t be any secrets.”
Now, that was an interesting proposition and one that Ronan immediately accepted, but for purely selfish reasons—if he could learn to be completely honest with his brother, perhaps he could learn to be completely honest with his boyfriend. “No, there shouldn’t,” Ronan agreed. And then he decided to put their new agreement to a test. “Shouldn’t you be in your lab right now performing some incredibly difficult, yet boring, experiments?”
“Yes,” Ciaran replied. “But trust me, my lab work is hardly boring.” Ciaran knew that Ronan wasn’t interested in science so there was no chance he would ask what his experiments were about. If he did, he would tell him he was trying to find out why Saoirse was so unique and if Michael’s blood contained any information that could help David. He meant what he said, he didn’t want there to be any secrets between them. However, he believed that some secrets should be kept hidden for as long as possible. Ignoring the fact that he was splitting hairs with a sharp and very hypocritical knife, Ciaran changed the subject. “So you want to skip class and hang out for a while?”
Why not? Ronan thought. Ciaran was proving to be a lot more interesting and unpredictable than any of his professors. So as two family members grew closer, two others prepared to widen the gap between them.
Edwige appreciated minimalism, but sitting in Sister Mary Elizabeth’s office, she felt the nun had taken the esthetic to the extreme. The four walls, painted a dull gray, the color of an overcast sky, were bare except for a small holy water font near the door and one thin, gold cross that hung over the sister’s plain, wooden desk. Facing the nun’s work space, Edwige and Saoirse sat in two wooden chairs, not decorative or comfortable, and to their right was the only window, unadorned, no curtains, no shutters, no cosmetic treatment whatsoever. Of course cleanliness could be next to godliness, Edwige thought, when there was absolutely nothing to clean.
“Your daughter’s academic record is quite good,” Sister Mary Elizabeth remarked. “Some disconcerting questions, however, are raised in her personal file.”
Before Edwige could put a spin on Saoirse’s colorful past, her daughter raised her sleeve to reveal the cuts on her arm. “You mean these, Sister?”
Suddenly, Edwige and the nun had something in common, they were both shocked. “Well, yes, dear,” Sister Mary Elizabeth said. “Why would you do such a thing to yourself?”
Saoirse didn’t want to lie to the nun; she wasn’t that disrespectful, but if she told her the truth, she figured Edwige would kill them both. In this instance, lying was definitely the more honorable route. “Sister, I know it looks bad, but it really was a harmless prank.”
“Self-mutilation can hardly be considered harmless or a prank,” the nun replied. After a moment of silence, she asked, “Would you consent to counseling?”
If it means not having to be homeschooled by my mum, sign me up. “Yes,” Saoirse said. “Not that I need counseling, but, you know, so you can all see that I’m perfectly normal and this was just a dumb joke that got out of hand.”
Doubtful that Saoirse was telling the truth, Sister Mary Elizabeth was at least grateful she would accept counseling. The way her mother was sitting, the disinterested aura she was putting forth, it was clear the girl would not be getting any help from her. “Then I see no reason why you shouldn’t become the newest student at St. Anne’s,” the nun declared.
“And may I be the first to welcome you.”
The three of them were startled when they heard the voice, but once they realized the voice belonged to David, their surprise waned. They all knew the man differently, but they all knew him to be mysterious and with a penchant for showing up places unannounced.
“David,” Edwige purred. “How unexpected.”
Looking down at the woman who once shared his bed, David thought she hadn’t aged so well for a woman who wasn’t supposed to age. “No,” he replied. “How opportune.”
“David!” Saoirse squealed. “Do you remember me?”
Smiling impishly, David bent down to give the girl a hug. “Of course I do, Saoirse. How could I ever forget you?” Noticing the nun’s befuddled expression, David realized an explanation was in order and, to Edwige’s relief, he, like Ciaran, understood the importance of keeping some secrets secret. “Ms. Glynn-Rowley and her family are old friends of mine,” David confessed. “I’ve known Saoir
se since she was a little girl.”
Looking into David’s eyes, Saoirse relived one of her earliest memories. Barely five years old, she climbed up David’s leg, reached out to grab his arm, and hoisted herself so she could sit on his shoulder. Once secure, she leaned over and let her long, blond hair dangle. It was a game they would play constantly while she was living with him. “Your hair is getting longer every day, Rapunzel,” David said.
“Thank you, David the Giant,” Saoirse would reply. “Will you let me escape today?”
Despite his benevolent smile, David would never agree. “The outside world is no place for an enchanted princess.”
Pouting, Saoirse obstinately pressed on. “But, David the Giant, when will I be able to see the world?”
His eyes twinkled more than the girl’s. “When the world discovers why you’re so enchanted?”
Folding her hands on her desk, the Sister straightened her back and released the tension in her shoulders. She didn’t understand why, but whenever she was near David, she became tense, on guard; this tête-à-tête only made the feeling stronger. “How did you know I was interviewing an applicant, Headmaster?”
Because my god is more powerful than yours. “I know everything that concerns the children,” David said. “And may I say, Saoirse, you’ve picked quite an exciting time to join us.”
Saoirse knew why but decided it best to play dumb. “Why?”
As duplicitous as her mother. “We’re preparing to celebrate the upcoming solar eclipse.”
“An odd reason for a celebration,” Edwige stated.
Only for those who are frightened by the dark. “I can’t think of a better reason to be festive,” David replied, “than in honor of the enigmatic nature of Nature.”
He’s as dull and uninspiring as always. The revelation reminded Edwige that she was bored beyond belief. “Are we done here, Sister?”
“No,” she said opening her desk drawer and pulling out a navy blue vest and a small metal box. “Saoirse has one final task to complete before she can officially become a St. Anne’s student.”
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