OUT OF THE BLUE

by Caroline Clemmons

  “Like hell.”

  “Look at me eyes. Can you not see I’m telling you the truth?”

  He looked at her intently without answering then rose. Hands in his pockets, he paced the floor, then exhaled. “All right, all right. I swear I don’t know what to think anymore. For now I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. But if you know anything else—and I mean even the slightest thing—about Larry’s death, you’d better tell me.”

  “I promise to tell you whatever I learn.” That was all she could give. If another vision came, she’d share it with him to ease his pain. He wasn’t the demon he sometimes seemed, but a man hurting from the loss of his friend. Aye, as she ached from the loss of Ma.

  He rose and stomped to the desk, opened the drawer, and then returned to the sofa. “Move beside me.”

  His tone irritated her so that she started to refuse, but she pushed down her anger and sat beside him.

  “Assuming you don’t know, this is a pen.” He marked across a piece of paper on the table. “It’s called a ballpoint and it already has the ink inside.”

  Passing it to her, he also moved several fresh sheets of paper toward her. “Write your name and the names of your parents and grandparents for me, will you? Also, the name of your town? Oh, and put down your date of birth.”

  Deirdre rolled the pen in her fingers then tested it on the paper. Amazing. It wrote easily and didn’t scratch or leave blobs of ink stains. When she’d finished, she pushed the pen and paper toward him. “This is as far back as I know.”

  He scanned the names she’d listed for four generations in her best script, then folded the sheet and put it in his pocket. “Okay, here’s the way TV works.”

  He explained more than she could comprehend. In spite of that, she loved watching, especially the lively parts Brendan called commercials.

  It was evening when Blossom returned alone. “Watching TV? Is that all you’ve done while I’ve been gone?” Blossom dropped her purse on a table near the door.

  Deirdre had moved back to her chair to puzzle through a part of the newspaper Brendan had finished. Lucky for her, Gran and Ma had taught her to read English as well as Irish and Latin. Though much of what she’d read today had confused her, she’d poured over every word in an effort to learn about Texas and this time.

  “Brendan showed me how to do many things.” She held up the notes she’d made.

  Brendan was stretched out on the sofa, his attention divided between the newspaper and glancing at the television. “We’re reading and watching TV.”

  “Some host you are.” Blossom sat in the chair near Deirdre’s. “The movie was great. Dave got paged at dinner so I left him at the hospital.”

  Brendan lowered his paper. “How will he get home?”

  “His car’s there. One of the nurses lives out this way and dropped me off on her way home.” Blossom turned to Deirdre. “Have you thought about what you want to do with yourself?”

  Deirdre’s heart plummeted at the thought of leaving this beautiful home so soon. “I-I know I can’t stay here. I have a bit of Irish and English money and I’ll look for work in town.”

  No one would have need of her healing skills with doctors like Dave easily available. If everyone had appliances like Blossom’s, Deirdre couldn’t even offer to clean houses until she mastered the machines. Yet, she had to keep herself independent and safe. What could she do?

  Blossom reached over and patted her knee. “No, dear, that’s not what I meant. Of course you’ll stay here. I meant, what do you want to do to pass your time? Since herbs are where your skills lie, I thought you might like to work in my shop.”

  “Work with you? Now wouldn’t that be lovely?” Working with Blossom would help her master this new place and then she’d be able to be on her own. Deirdre’s joy was cut short. “But what would I do?”

  “The same thing you’ve been doing. I sell herbs, vitamins and other supplements, organic foods, things like that. I have a store in Radford Crossing near the mall.”

  Brendan sat up. “Mom? You’re forgetting Deirdre doesn’t have a social security card, or green card, or passport, or any other ID. Basically, she’s an illegal alien and unemployable by any law abiding citizen.”

  Blossom tapped her chin with her finger. “Yes, of course.” But her tone said otherwise.

  “I want to earn me own way.” Deirdre looked at Brendan then moved to sit beside him. He appeared to be in charge of the household even if he did live elsewhere. “What are all those things you mentioned?”

  With a shake of his newspaper, he folded it and laid it aside. “They’re government papers. You have to have them to be in this country legally and look for work here.”

  “There has to be a way.” Deirdre wanted to work for Blossom selling herbs. What could be more perfect? “How would I go about getting these work papers?”

  “You can’t.” He shook his head. “I’m not saying your story’s not true, Deirdre.” His look said otherwise, for he’d made it clear he didn’t believe her. “But no one will ever believe you arrived here as you say. How could you prove it? Plus, if what you say is true, you can’t even go back to Ireland because you didn’t come here by legal channels and it’s a hundred and sixty years later.”

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what was she to do?

  No job, no place to live or way to get one. No way even to earn food. Her throat closed and she fought to breathe.

  “You can see that, can't you?” He frowned. “They’d lock you up as insane if you tried to explain what’s happened.”

  She nodded and forced a deep breath. “I have trouble believing it meself.” Was there no hope for her? “What’s to become of me if I can’t work? I haven’t enough money for long. I’ve no idea what things cost here, but twenty pounds and a bit won’t last much more than a year, will it?”

  Brendan snorted. “Not more than a day.”

  His news hit Deirdre like a blow. How could it cost a fortune to live for one day? She leaned back on the sofa and sat staring at him, dumbfounded. “I should have asked how much the money you showed me would buy.”

  What chance did she have to survive? She thought she might be sick, but tamped down her panic and looked at Blossom.

  “There’s always a way.” Blossom pursed her lips.

  “Mom, get that look off your face.” Brendan pointed his finger at Blossom. “I’m serious. Do not even think about doing anything illegal. I can only protect you so far. The judge won’t let you off with a lecture next time.”

  “Now, Brendan, Judge Hill must have agreed Esperanza needed my help or he wouldn’t have dismissed the charges against me.”

  She went back to tapping her chin. “And this is different. Deirdre didn’t get herself into this situation. She’s a victim of circumstance and needs our help.”

  It cost all Deirdre’s will not to plead for Brendan to listen to his ma. Instead, she stood. “I’ll not be the cause of ill will between the two of you. There must be a convent or some other place that takes in homeless people until they get their feet under them.”

  Blossom gasped. “You don’t think we’d send you to a women’s shelter or a place for the homeless?” She glared at her son.

  He rolled his eyes. “She can help around the house, then, in exchange for her room and board and clothes.” After another glare from his mother, he added, “And an allowance. She’ll be our guest, a friend visiting.”

  “We’ll see, son.” Blossom rose and patted Deirdre’s arm before going into the kitchen.

  Deirdre heard her humming. When Deirdre looked at Brendan, he shrugged and went back to his paper.

  “Do you think this is settled then? Am I to be trapped in this house?”

  He looked at her over his newspaper. “Hardly trapped. Free room and board and an allowance.”

  “You believe I could be content as an uninvited guest forever, with nothing of me own and no purpose? That I would tolerate that life for whatever time is left me?”


  She’d made him angry, but she didn’t care. She picked up Cathbad and paced the room.

  He folded his paper and laid is aside. “What do you expect from me? I said you’ll have everything you need.” He crossed his arms and glared at her.

  She faced him. “No, you’ve offered a means to stay alive, and I thank you, but you’ve mentioned nothing of what I need to live. Don’t think I’m not appreciating what you’ve offered, but I’d be no better off than Cathbad.” Couldn’t he understand she needed a purpose, to spend her days being useful, and—however humble it might be—a place of her own to come home to after the day was done? She took two steps toward him. “Would you settle for the life you’ve described?”

  He stared, as if measuring her. “That’s it, Deirdre. If you’re telling the truth about your situation, that’s all there is for you. There’s nothing more I can offer.”

  “If that’s the case, I might as well have landed at the Biblical gates of Hell.”

  Chapter Seven

  “My, you’re up early this morning. It was nice of you to stay over again to protect me, dear, but Deirdre’s hardly a threat.”

  “That we know of.” Brendan kissed his mom on her proffered cheek. “I wanted to talk to you before Deirdre’s up.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the breakfast table.

  She set a glass of juice in front of him. “About her working—“

  “I knew you had no intention of letting this job thing rest.” He held up a hand to stop her. “No matter how law abiding I try to be, you circumvent me. Hell of a situation for a police officer, having his mom repeatedly making free and easy with the law.”

  “Now son, I think you’re overstating things.”

  “You learned bad habits at the commune we lived on until Dad died. Hell, he had bad habits of his own.”

  “Your father was a lost soul, but I loved him and treasured the time we had together. And it was a cooperative farm, son, and you know it.”

  She looked at him, her usually sunny face somber and pensive. “And maybe my sense of right and wrong was what led me to communal living in the first place. I hope you’ll learn that not everything is black and white the way you see it.”

  “From your view the world must appear all in varying shades of gray—easily manipulated gray.” He frowned and picked up the morning paper from where she’d placed it beside his plate.

  “Brendan Hunter, you remember I’m your mother and I can still smack you.” In spite of her threat, she leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Don’t you be gruff with Deirdre when she comes in. She was upset last evening when she realized she hadn’t enough money to live on and no hope of finding a decent job.”

  He unfolded the paper to the business section. “She almost convinced me she actually believes she’s from a different time. Phffft. Preposterous.”

  “Brendan, there are more things in the world than you know about. Give a little, okay? Now, I have to go or I’ll be late for my hair appointment before work. Promise you’ll be nice to Deirdre.”

  He exhaled. “Yeah, yeah. I promise not to growl at her.”

  Maybe when Deirdre waked up, he could pry more information about Larry from her. Yesterday he’d gotten nowhere, but talking with her had refreshed his memory of the shooting. That night was as clear as if it were recorded on film inside his head.

  Brendan had crawled to help his friend, but it was too late. Larry’s last words played over in Brendan’s head.

  “Afraid they’d come after me. Sorry . . . got you, pard.”

  At the time, Larry’s eyes closed and Brendan thought his partner had fallen into death’s coma. When ambulance sirens screamed closer, Larry’s eyes suddenly opened and he’d pulled Brendan close.

  “Other way around . . . ‘s how they did it.”

  Brendan had passed out after that. When he’d come to, he’d been in a hospital bed and Larry was dead and buried.

  The other way around?

  What the hell did that mean? It was driving Brendan as crazy as Deirdre. He didn’t know what, but he had to do something proactive toward finding those responsible for Larry’s death. And damned if he would let Deirdre out of his sight until he dragged everything she knew from her.

  She glided into the room. Her face was scrubbed clean and her skin glowed. Wearing a fresh pair of his mom’s jeans and a green top, she’d fastened her hair with a ribbon and let the thick mane trail down her back. “I’ve never slept so late as since I’ve been here. You and Blossom will be thinking I’m naught but a lay about. Must be the lovely soft bed and cool air.”

  He didn’t want to think of her lying in that bed. It created images he’d as soon not consider. “I’m going in to town. If you don’t mind running errands with me, I’ll take you to see Mom’s shop.”

  She brightened so much he felt guilty. “Will me cat be okay here?”

  He forced a smile. “Sure. Prince won’t eat him.”

  He hoped.

  When they were in the car, he headed toward Radford Crossing. Traffic wasn’t too bad and they made it in twenty minutes.

  “I’ve never seen so many buildings or people, not even the two times Ma took me to Galway City.” She peered around as if everything fascinated her. “It’s cleaner than Galway City, that much I’ll say.”

  On the off chance she was nuts and not merely playing a game, he pointed out places he thought might hold her interest. He decided to treat her as he would a visitor from another area—not another era. No way did he buy the 1845 bit, but he’d bide time until he discovered her game.

  “I’m going to check out the place where I was shot. See if I can find any new witnesses.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “The son of a friend fell in with bad companions and was sampling street drugs.” He took a moment to explain what the drugs were and how the kids got them.

  She nodded. “Ma told me of the opium dens in big cities. I think there’s always temptation for the weak. Even in Ballymish, Mrs. Finian grew dependent on laudanum.”

  So, Deirdre knew about drugs. He hadn’t heard the term laudanum used anywhere but in books and movies, but opiates came in many forms. These teens preferred other stuff—a rainbow of pills.

  “The parents asked me to scare the hell out of the kid, hoping he’d straighten up and behave before the drugs killed him.” He’d never have gone along with the plan if their description of the youngster hadn’t reminded Brendan of his own dad, right down to the kid being nicknamed Trey.

  Brendan remembered his father drifting in and out of his early life. Not that he was parental when he was around, but Brendan had loved him and accepted his faults. Except for one. Fathers were supposed to stick around to raise their sons, not die racing from a policeman and disgracing the family name. Leaving loved ones behind.

  “If they saw the shooting, sure and it must have been a terrible experience for them.”

  He shook his head, hoping to clear it. “We were supposed to be miles from here working a case, but I convinced Larry to detour so we could confront this Trey kid.” He explained what a drive-by shooting was and how he and Larry had been caught between the killer’s car and the gang. “One of the few times I ever broke a rule resulted in my friend’s death.”

  She looked as if she started to say something, then closed her mouth and stared out the glass. After a few blocks, she nodded at the window. “This part’s not so clean, now is it?”

  Brendan found the street corner where he and Larry had encountered the group of punks. “No, it’s a pretty seedy neighborhood. Looks even worse in sunlight than it did the night Larry and I were here.” But ordinary. He was surprised it looked so normal in the daylight. He pulled over and parked. “See that newspaper blowing? There’s where we were shot.”

  “And your friend died, poor man.”

  Uncertain whether she referred to Larry or to him, he couldn’t leave Deirdre in the car. She’d have to come with him. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I sho
uld drop you at Mom’s shop and come back by myself.”

  She unfastened her seatbelt. “It’s better I come with you. You shouldn’t have to face this place alone.”

  Well, hell. He didn’t need pity from anyone, and especially not a crazy like her. He came around, helped her out, and locked the car.

  “Let’s hope the wheel covers are still here when we come back.” He hoped the car would still be there, but he took her arm. “Let me do the talking.”

  She shot him an indignant look. “I know when to shut me gob.”

  Easy enough to find the group. They hung out in an abandoned storefront they’d converted to a makeshift clubhouse. Gang graffiti marked the walls. The kids had dragged in old car seats for benches. He wondered if they’d stripped cars to get them.

  One of the teens broke from the group. “Hey, who’s the ho’?”

  Brendan remembered this kid as their leader. Called himself Iceman. Brendan put his hand at Deirdre’s waist and pulled her toward him. “Never mind her. I came to see you guys.”

  Iceman stepped forward and challenged Brendan. “Whadda you want? We ain’t done nothing.”

  Too true, and not likely ever to do so, at least not anything worthwhile. Brendan pulled a twenty from his pocket. “Information.”

  It disappeared into the kid’s baggy jeans. The boy stared at Deirdre, then met Brendan’s glare with one of his own. “You’re one of them cops who got shot.”

  “That’s right. I’m the one who’s still alive.”

  Iceman held up his hands in mock surrender. “We didn’t have nothing to do with it.”

  “Didn’t think you did but I’m trying to find out who might have. And why. What’s the word on the street?”

  He looked at the face of each kid. In his mind he saw his father as Trey Hunter must have been at that age. Did these kids rebel against oppressive and restrictive parents like his dad’s, or did their parents even give a damn where they were? Though Brendan despised the outcome of his attempted intervention, he still saw the need to make a difference in these young lives.