by Peter Murphy
“Mom, do you ever miss being in love with Daddy?”
For a moment, Grainne looked like the little girl she once was. Where Martin had learned to be dismissive of his father, Grainne always seemed to be clinging to the hope that someday everything would be better and they could all be a family once again. They were the two sides of Deirdre’s dichotomy. It might have brought her down despite the margaritas but she remembered all she’d learnt in her days in Al-Anon. “Yes, sweetie. I miss the times I was in love with your father. I still think of him.”
“Really? Do you ever think about . . . you know . . . you guys . . . ever again?”
“Oh, Grainne, I’m afraid that ship has sailed. Let it go, sweetie.” She sipped her drink and looked for the perfect thing to say. “I suppose one of the things that love has taught me is when to hold on and when to move on.”
“Are you going to start seeing somebody new?”
“Young lady.” Deirdre drew herself up and tried to look parental. “That’s not really your business.”
“But it was okay for you to ask me?” Grainne stuck out her lip as she did when she was a child. “I thought we were becoming friends.”
“I’m your mother, sweetie, not your friend. And besides, I’m getting far too old for that type of thing.
“Mom, you’re only forty-nine. That’s like the new . . . thirty-nine.
*
“I don’t know who you think you are but you’re not my daughter. My Deirdre is only nine years of age.”
Her mother looked at her the way she did when she was trying to tell if Deirdre was lying. It was breaking her heart. Her father had warned her on the phone, but it was still far worse than she’d wanted to believe. Her mother had been moved to a nursing home and he needed her to come home for a few days to help him deal with all the changes.
“Mammie, it’s me. Please try to remember me.” She said it the way she used to when she was a child, pleading to get her way. Her mother always softened to that. But that was before. Now Anne Fallon was reduced to sitting in a chair, staring out the window and waving at people who’d been dead for years. “It’s like there’s nothing left of her anymore,” her father had warned.
“Of course I remember you, Mary, and I’m so glad to see you again.”
Mary was her mother’s sister who had emigrated to Australia and died a few years back. They hadn’t seen each other in years. She was the one that everybody said Deirdre looked like.
“Come closer.” Anne beckoned from her chair and Deirdre didn’t hesitate. Her mother took her in her arms and whispered into her ear. “Promise me that you’ll look after my Dermot and the girls when I’m gone. Promise me?”
Deirdre agreed as she lowered her head and cried into her mother’s lap.
“There now, Mary, there now.” Her mother stroked her hair as she used to.
*
“I’m still not cool with it.”
“Oh, Martin, you’re such a cute big brother.” Rachael linked his arm as they came out of The Pickle Barrel. The winds that swept the corners of Yonge and Eglinton in December could kill.
“Would you like it if it was your sister?”
“I would because it would mean having a sister. Oh, Martin, Doug’s been your best friend since . . . forever. I hope you’re not going to be like this when we have kids because I want a big family—all daughters too.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right; but when we have daughters, I get to interview the guys in my office.”
“We’ll even get you one of those swinging lights that you can hit every now and then.”
“I’ll need a leather chair, too, so I can sit and crush nuts.”
“Red or black leather?”
“I mean it. He just showed up one night and says, ‘Hey, bro, let’s go for beers. I got something I want to lay on you.’ You don’t lay that kind of thing on a guy in a bar.”
“Was it a strip bar?”
“No. Why?”
“A strip bar would have been sleazy.”
“It was a sports bar if that makes any difference—and I had to pay.”
“Hey, when we’re all married, Doug can be the brother-in-law that always borrows stuff.”
“Great. And how many of your crazy relatives will we have to carry?”
“So, Doug is a relative now? And don’t talk about my family; you know what things are like.”
He did and he shouldn’t have, because even having to deal with Doug, Martin was happy. They were home for the holidays and he always got excited for Christmas. Eduardo was gone and he wasn’t too happy about that, but he could tell from the moment he got home that his mother was determined they would have a good time. Determined enough to make life difficult for anyone not willing to go along with family tradition.
She really made him laugh sometimes but he was always so proud of her. She’d given a talk to the graduating class last semester and blew everyone away. Especially the young women who flocked around her afterwards. Even guys did, but some of them said they were just hitting on her until he told them she was his mom.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. My father is perfectly happy being alone and miserable.”
“But what about your mom?”
“She is happy making him miserable. She usually drags him out to see some horrible movie and makes him take her for coffee afterwards like they’re dating.”
“Wow, she must really hate him.”
“So much that she can never leave him—for my sake.”
“Are you sure we should get married and have kids? I mean, look at our families. It’s a wonder we’re both not strung out on crack.”
“It’s not funny, Martin. At least in your family people talk. In my house it’s all silent gestures and knowing glances.”
“You should write about it.”
“Maybe I already am.”
He kissed her by the CIBC, out of the wind. “You know, when we graduate I’m going to ask you to marry me.”
“My father will have to interview you in his office.”
“Red or black.”
“Red of course.”
“What’s he crush his nuts with?”
“His head. Besides, he’ll never accept you.”
“Because I’m Irish? Don’t worry. I inherited some of my father’s charm. I’m sure I can come to some arrangement. Maybe we can do a deal with a few pigs and goats.”
“You might do better with trucks and oil.”
“Really?”
“Never mind. It’s not going to be like that. I’m going to ask your mother if I can have your hand.”
“She’ll never go for it.”
“She will if I can get you to lay off Doug over the holidays.”
“So she got to you too?”
“And she asked if I wanted to invite my parents, but I said they were busy.”
“Well I’m going to tell her they’re not.”
“Only if you invite your father. We can put them together.”
Since she had met his father, Rachael seemed determined that Martin should reconnect with him. He didn’t want to but he couldn’t say no to her.
“You’re father has suffered enough.”
“So has yours.”
“Is this what it’s going to be like when we become Mister Boyle and Ms. Brand?”
“No. I’m changing my name.”
“To Boyle?”
“Don’t be silly. Fallon.”
He smiled and kissed her again. He couldn’t wait until she found her gift under the tree. A little silver Claddagh ring that Deirdre never wore anymore. It had been a gift from Danny, but she didn’t mention that as Martin wrapped it in bright red paper.
Chapter 11 – 2007
Two hours west of Clifden, Deirdre gave
up and raised the blind a little. She’d never really been able to sleep on planes. Grainne and Martin had no such problems and slept against each other. In the low cabin light they looked like children again.
Outside there was nothing but miles and miles of pearly, fluffy clouds, growing brighter as they flew toward the dawn. It was like flying over heaven, and Deirdre couldn’t help but look down in hopes of seeing her mother finally at rest on a soft, billowing seat.
She had died two days ago. She had slipped in the bath and drowned. Her father had just gone to fetch something and had left her alone. “I was only gone for a minute,” he’d explained through his tears when he called.
Deirdre hadn’t taken the time to cry yet. She’d been too busy rearranging life so she could fly over. And coordinating the kids, who’d dropped everything and hurried to join her in waiting at check-ins, security and gates. They talked but they were careful not to say anything too meaningful until they arrived. It was how they got through stuff. She wished they didn’t have to be so drilled but it was the only way of really handling things. Her mother hadn’t slipped. She had said her goodbyes—only not in so many words.
Deirdre didn’t know how to feel about that. It was brave and, in strange way, the most selfless thing a mother could do.
She’d have to be careful around her father though. He’d never see it like that. He’d changed but he still couldn’t handle thinking like that. The older he got, the more Catholic he became. But he was less critical of others. And a lot more apologetic. He’d probably be blaming himself.
There would be a break in the clouds near the coast and she’d see it soon: Ireland, that sorrowful old place that became more beautiful each time she came back. Soon they’d be able to see the little patchwork of life below.
When she could see it, she couldn’t help it and nudged the kids, even as they were trying to rearrange themselves as their breakfast trays were cleared away. It was tradition; they had to look at all the things she and Danny used to point to. She made Eduardo do it, too, the year he came with them.
She’d wanted to call him when she heard but stopped herself in time. She phoned Danny instead. It took him a while to understand—it was six in the morning and he didn’t have to go to work. He was on some long-term disability deal the union had worked out for him.
“Hold on, who’s dead?”
“My mother.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes, Danny, she died last night.”
“Jazus, Deirdre. I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“The kids and I will be going back for the funeral.”
“Did you want me to go with you?”
That caught her. She hadn’t even thought of it. “Well . . . I’m not sure. Do you want to?”
“I’d love to, only I’m not sure I’d be up for it right now. Unless you want me to go?”
“No. It’s very kind of you but I was just calling to let you know where the kids were.”
“Oh. Okay, then.”
“Well I better go. I have so many things to sort.”
“Yeah. Sure. I’d better let you get on with it.
“Deirdre,” he had added before she hung up. “I’m really sorry about your mother. I always really liked her.”
“She liked you too, Danny.”
They both hung on that for a moment.
“Tell your dad I’m very sorry for his loss too.”
“I will, Danny. Thank you. Good bye.”
“That’s Galway Bay,” Deirdre mentioned as the clouds parted below.
“I know, Mom. Wake when me when we get to Dublin.” Grainne closed her eyes again and rolled her head on to Deirdre’s shoulder. “Love you, Mom.”
“She can still do it?” Deirdre laughed and looked at Martin. “Eat breakfast and go straight back to sleep.”
“I guess all those late nights were not a waste.”
“Martin!”
“I heard that, too, Mr. Goodie-two-shoes.”
“And that”—Deirdre turned back to the window so they couldn’t see her smile—“is some bog of a place.”
“You okay, Mom?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“No she isn’t,” Grainne added from her shoulder like a second head.
“I’m fine.”
“Really? Have you even had time to process it?”
She knew what Martin was really asking. “Sweetie, please, I’m fine.”
“Mother,” the second head joined in. “You don’t have to be all brave in front of us.”
“You sure?” Martin checked again the way he did when he wanted her to know that they would talk about it later. When they were alone.
“I’ll be fine. My sister is coming and we’ll manage everything between us.” She had already made the funeral arrangements over the phone. The same ones that had looked after Danny’s father—Jacinta had recommended them.
“Are they all coming?”
“No, just your aunt.”
“What are you going to do about Granddad?”
“I don’t know.”
“We could bring him back with us?”
“Not long term.”
“Why not?”
“Trust me, Martin, I know my father. Bas in Eireann and all that.”
“Maybe we could get Dad to move back there and look after him.”
“Two birds, eh?”
“You two are awful,” the second head scolded; but they were happy together, even in their grief.
*
“And how are you, really?” Miriam asked with very real concern.
Deirdre sat across from her in one of the old booths they had often sat in when they were younger and funerals were for much older people. Bewley’s hadn’t changed but everything else had.
“I’ve told you, I’m fine.”
“Your kids tell me you haven’t even had time for a good cry yet.”
She hadn’t. Even when her father and sister dissolved by the graveside, Deirdre had stood like a stoic with her children beside her, greeting old neighbors and friends.
“Oh, trust me, I will.”
And even as she said it, it began; a soft whimpering that she didn’t even try to stop.
Miriam sipped her coffee and glared at any gawkers. She and Patrick had come over, and Dermot had prevailed on him to say the Mass. He seemed a bit reluctant. That was understandable. He hadn’t been back since his father died. It must have been dredging up all kinds of feelings in him too. He managed to get through it with a soft informality and remembered Anne Fallon so kindly.
“Excuse me,” Deirdre finally managed as she struggled to regain composure.
“Take all the time you need.” Miriam smiled and stroked her hand. She was enjoying being back in Dublin—even if it was for a funeral. Death had long been a regular visitor in her life, as most of her family and friends were quietly dropping away. Soon it would just be her and Patrick and John, seeing out the rest of their days in the endlessness of Rome.
“I’m okay now.” Deirdre wiped her eyes and put on her bravest face—just like when they first met all those years ago. Life had taken its toll on her but, if anything, she looked more beautiful because of it. She had a poise that could be confused with detachment, but when she smiled it was still so warm and engaging. Back when she was banished to Dublin, Miriam wouldn’t have made it without Deirdre. Dear, open, honest, trusting Deirdre of the sorrows.
“You don’t need to be brave for me.”
“Why does everybody keep saying that to me?”
“Because you’re doing it again. You’re shouldering the whole problem and trying to protect everyone else from what they have to go through.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Deirdre. You haven’t stopped since you got back. You’ve been running
around looking after everything and everybody. It’s like you’re avoiding yourself.”
“Perhaps it’s because I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that my mother killed herself.”
She said it so matter-of-factly that Miriam was caught off guard. “And why do you think that?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“It isn’t. And even if it were, what difference would it make?”
“I suppose so, but I can’t help but feel that I could have been a better daughter.”
“Oh, Deirdre, you know better than that.”
“Was there anything else I should have done?”
“I can’t answer that, but I can say that I think your mother was very, very brave. Right to the end.”
“I just wished she’d told me.”
“What difference would that have made? Would you really have wanted to stop her?”
“No. No I wouldn’t, but I would have liked to have been there . . . when it happened.”
“What would you have done?”
“Held her hand.”
“Ah, Deirdre, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Sweet? I find it very bitter. I just wish I could have been there so she didn’t have to die alone. I wish . . .” She never finished and began to cry again. This time from the pit of her sorrow.
After a while people began to look over, thinking Miriam was being a bit indifferent, but she didn’t intervene. Deirdre just needed a little time and space to let it all out before she climbed back into the pressure suit she now wore every day of her life. It was all okay, Miriam understood. Life had changed them all.
*
Miriam asked him one more time as they passed over the Alps.
“What is it, Patrick? You haven’t said a word since we got to the airport.”
He hadn’t. He was still preoccupied with Dermot’s confession and was determined not to let any of it slip out.
“Bless me, Father,” Dermot had blurted out when Patrick had dropped by the house, just as Dermot had asked.
“I’m after doing a terrible thing, Father.”
Patrick wasn’t sure if it was a confession or a normal conversation. “Ah now, Dermot. Don’t be so hard on yourself. What could you have done?”