September 2019, Boston
Kaitlin
Kaitlin paced the arrivals’ hall. She smoothed her hair then paced back again. Flight EI 134 from Shannon had landed, and within a few minutes, she would finally meet Jessie. Okay, ‘finally’ wasn’t the appropriate word. Barely two months had passed since she’d learnt that they were cousins. In that time, however, they’d shared so many conversations, about Bridget and Norah and also about their own lives, that it felt like a more established friendship. Still, she was nervous.
The first time they’d spoken had been bizarre. Without preamble, Jessie had launched into a monologue about spending the previous twelve hours in a police station. Kaitlin had feared she was dealing with a lunatic, an exhibitionist or some combination of the two. Then she’d realised that the woman on the other end of the phone was in shock.
She continued to think about the worlds that had collided that day. Jessie had been following a historic tale of poverty and emigration only to discover a modern migration story unfolding in front of her. Not that she tended to make the comparison. What had happened remained too personal. Too raw.
Given the unorthodox start to their friendship, Kaitlin had understood that she’d have to be more open than usual. It was hard to be reserved with Jessie. She had one of those personalities that encouraged you to talk.
The day after she’d read Bridget and Norah’s letters, Kaitlin had complied with her boss’s instructions and made an appointment with a psychiatrist. She was surprised to find that she could, after all, open up and discuss how she felt. More than once, her therapist had asked what she was afraid of. ‘Everything,’ had been Kaitlin’s jokey reply. Like many jokes, it was grounded in truth. Bit by bit, session by session, she started to focus on the ideas sheltering at the back of her head. The ones she’d been too timid to pursue. She saw now that she’d been edging towards this point anyway. She’d just needed a nudge, and the doctor was providing it.
For as long as she could remember, she’d been scornful of people who claimed that, actually, life was pretty simple. To her, this was the argument of the privileged. Most people had to struggle and toil and compromise. Their lives were not straightforward.
And yet her own life had become unnecessarily complicated. In striving to be lots of different people – successful corporate lawyer, super-supportive partner, loyal daughter – she hadn’t managed to become any of them. She was in danger of calcifying into a person she didn’t want to be.
So what did she want?
Helpful as her therapist was, Kaitlin decided she needed to run her ideas past someone who didn’t charge by the hour. She spoke to Jessie. Her new friend urged her not to do anything drastic. ‘Are you sure-sure-sure?’ she asked, when Kaitlin sketched out her plans.
‘Well, not completely,’ Kaitlin replied, ‘only I need to do something.’
Jessie advised her to consult someone else. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed,’ she said, ‘but I’m not exactly life-coach material. I don’t want to be responsible for screwing up your life.’
‘There are things I’ve got to do differently,’ Kaitlin insisted.
‘Fair enough, only I think you’re supposed to start with small stuff, like getting rid of possessions that no longer bring you happiness. You know, like grey underwear or ugly shoes? Throwing out your whole life is a bit extreme.’
Around and around they went until she followed Jessie’s advice and spoke to Orla. After half an hour, Orla looked at her and said, ‘If you ask me, you’ve got to take a chance . . . only don’t tell your mother I said that.’
The first change was the easier one. She found a new job and gave notice at Frobisher Hunter. Of course, it wasn’t that straightforward. To begin with, the principal attorney at her new firm, Klein Maguire Immigration Law, was unconvinced by her application. Why did she want to do a tougher job for considerably less money? he asked. Was she willing to work in a smaller office with fewer promotional opportunities? Did she have any relevant experience? Oh, and how was her Spanish? As it happened, her Spanish was reasonable. The other questions were harder to answer, but she spoke with as much conviction as she possessed about why she wanted a change. What she didn’t say was that she’d spent months trying to influence someone else’s career when it was her own that had been calling out for action.
And so, just as Brian was preparing to leave for Washington, she announced that she, too, would be switching jobs. While her father’s response was measured, her mother was appalled. Had Kaitlin revealed that she was moving to Montana to live off-grid, Susan couldn’t have been more disapproving.
‘You’re tossing your career in the trash for no good reason,’ she said. ‘Why would you do that?’
As patiently as she could, Kaitlin argued that she was pursuing an area that interested her. Yes, she knew her standard of living would fall. Yes, it would take longer to pay off her loans. And, yes, she was aware that her new job mightn’t be all that she hoped for.
Her mother, still riled up, asked if ‘those old letters’ had made Kaitlin overly sentimental.
‘No one changes their job because of a box of letters,’ she replied, ‘no matter how important they are.’ While this was true, finding out more about Bridget and her family had been a powerful experience, and she didn’t like to hear her mother denigrate it. If nothing else, the story of a woman who’d been given few choices in life had made her focus on the choices available to her. That she was able to pursue what mattered to her placed her among the privileged few. ‘You should take the time to read some of the letters,’ she said. ‘They might surprise you.’
So far, her mom hadn’t taken up the offer.
Jessie was one of the first into the arrivals hall. For a second or two, they stared at each other, like you do when you’re not fully sure how to behave. Embrace? Shake hands? Wave? Then Kaitlin felt two long arms being wrapped around her, the hug so tight she could barely breathe. Despite their many conversations on FaceTime, Jessie wasn’t quite as she had anticipated. She was ganglier, with a loose-limbed energy that attracted people’s attention. In the flesh, she also had an appealing goofiness that didn’t transfer to the screen.
They chatted all the way to the parking garage, stopping every so often to say, ‘Isn’t this amazing?’ or some such.
Because it was. It truly was.
As she drove, Kaitlin sketched out their itinerary for the following days. She wasn’t due to start her new job for another two weeks so had plenty of time to show Jessie the city and introduce her to the American side of the family.
The day was mild for late September, the sky a deep blue. Jessie’s nose was pressed against the car window, like a newly released prisoner’s.
‘Honest to God,’ she said, as they passed a swathe of brown and cream apartment buildings, ‘it really is lovely.’ Then she tapped herself on the side of the head. ‘Don’t mind me sounding like a complete yokel. I’ll have to put my sophisticated head on.’
‘Admire all you like,’ said Kaitlin. ‘I reckoned we’d keep everything fairly low key today because from tomorrow it’s going to be full-on. You wouldn’t believe how many people want to meet you. And we have an awful lot to see.’
‘That’s fine by me,’ said Jessie.
‘I asked my mother not to go overboard on Saturday night, but intimate gatherings aren’t her thing, so if we end up meeting every possible cousin along with half the neighbourhood and a few local dignitaries, you’ll just have to go with it. At least, Orla and Drew will be there. Oh, and Brian and Riley are travelling up from DC.’
‘Does this mean you’re forgiven?’
‘No, but your visit’s a distraction . . . which is good.’
If her mother’s misgivings about her career choice hadn’t melted away, she was doing a reasonable job of suppressing them. What was more, she seemed genuinely enthusiastic about Jessie. ‘Isn’t she pretty?’ had been her comment when Kaitlin had shown her some pictures.
The problem wasn’t her mother’s anger about Frobisher Hunter, it was the depth of her disappointment about everything else.
Ending her relationship with Clay had been tough, and Kaitlin knew that her mom wasn’t alone in querying her decision. Objectively speaking, he was the more attractive of the two, the one who was better placed to walk away and find a new partner. He was smart, successful, solvent and good in bed. He wasn’t cruel or deliberately coercive. She admired him, cared about him, wouldn’t want to hurt him. But she didn’t love him.
Although she’d made up her mind before handing in her notice at Frobisher Hunter, his reaction had reaffirmed her decision. It wasn’t simply that he hadn’t understood: he’d made no effort to understand.
Increasingly, it had felt as if they were together under false pretences. If they’d remained a couple, she’d have had to keep twisting herself into shapes to meet with his approval. Eventually, she’d have become one of those women who doesn’t realise that this is what she’s doing. She would have disappeared behind a cloak of compromises and feigned interests.
Despite the inertia that had settled over their relationship, and despite their silences and disagreements, Kaitlin’s decision took Clay by surprise. He was irritated too, reacting as if what she’d said was a play for more attention or an engagement ring. Was that what she wanted? he asked.
‘No,’ she said.
Clay was sceptical. ‘A few months back, we were discussing buying a house. If it hadn’t been for the miscarriage, we’d have been parents by now. We’d have been talking about marriage. It’s unlikely you would have given up such a top-class job.’
‘Perhaps.’
His expression hardened. ‘There’s no perhaps. If Stella had lived, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’
‘Maybe not,’ she said. ‘But she didn’t live.’
‘It’s almost like you’re glad about that.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Clay,’ she shouted, ‘of course I’m not.’
Silence hung between them. Awkward. Heavy with recrimination.
Finally, he spoke. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it.’
‘It’s okay. Stella will always be with me, you know that, don’t you? But, even if she’d lived . . . well, it mightn’t have worked out for us.’ He didn’t respond, so she continued: ‘There’s no right way of doing this. I wish there was. But I need to start again.’
‘I think you’re making a mistake.’
Kaitlin tried to explain that the past few months had knocked something loose in her. Maybe she was being rash. Maybe she would regret her decisions. But she was an adult and would have to take responsibility for them.
After they’d parted, she cried. Not because she’d done the wrong thing, but because an important part of her life had come to an end.
Clay remained in their old apartment. He was on the fast track to better things and had few immediate concerns about money. Although small, Kaitlin’s new place was bright and well-located. The Green Line ran past the end of the street, and there were grocery stores and cafés galore. She told herself that this was a temporary stop: when the lease was up, she would find somewhere better.
Her mother accused her of being unwilling to compromise, and pointed out that before the year’s end, she would be thirty years old. ‘You’ll end up on your own or with the wrong person because all the better options have been taken,’ she said. ‘Let me give you some advice: you can’t have everything exactly the way you want it.’
Kaitlin had to remind herself that her mother wasn’t being intentionally provocative or insulting. What she was saying was coming from a place of disappointment, but also concern. When you’d been married at twenty-one and had given birth to two children before the age of twenty-six, the prospect of being thirty and single must be unimaginable.
The news reached Brian before she’d had the opportunity to talk to him. I never thought he was right for you, his message said. Give me a call whenever you want x.
She did call but, apart from the most cursory of enquiries, didn’t ask how his new job was going. After months of obsessing about the Immigration Reform Alliance and its policies, she found she was no longer able to look at the website. She didn’t want to see a statement with her brother’s name at the end. She had no desire to see his face on the ‘Key Staff’ page.
From time to time, she came close to regretting what she had done. She would wake up, alone and slightly scared, ideas crashing around her head. She would miss Clay. Or, rather, she would miss the idea of him. She would worry about the future. Did I do too much too quickly? she would ask herself. How did I forget what a conventional person I am?
But there were other times when she felt confident about her choices. When she found herself looking forward rather than back. When she felt as though, finally, she might become the person she wanted to be.
That was how Kaitlin felt as she sat in the late afternoon sunshine drinking coffee and bringing Jessie up to date.
With help from Gina, she’d located where Bridget and Martin were buried. Like the graveyard in Ireland where Norah had been laid to rest, the site had been mapped out. Some of the details were on the cemetery website. Bridget, it noted, ‘had sometimes used the name Alice’. The website also said that she’d been one of eighteen people to die from tuberculosis in just seven days. Thirty of the eighty-five deaths recorded in Boston that week had been of Irish immigrants.
‘Martin lived for another decade,’ she said to Jessie. ‘Not an especially long life, but more than poor Bridget was given. Patrick was only fifty-four when he died. But Delia, believe it or not, lived to be ninety-one.’
‘And to think that before she was a year old, she’d almost died twice,’ said Jessie, stretching out her legs and pointing her toes.
‘It also means she was alive until the 1930s, so someone in the wider family might have a picture of her. Gina’s on the case.’
Jessie looked around her with an earnest satisfaction, like a child who had just learnt to ride a bike without stabilisers. ‘I’d never imagined I’d find the past so fascinating,’ she said. ‘Did you?’
‘No,’ replied Kaitlin. ‘I had no idea at all.’