CHAPTER 18
Nothing could have prepared her for the shock of losing her parents.
She was an orphan again on the cusp of adulthood, but not yet of legal age. Her parents were gone. She had no idea whether the house was hers or someone else’s, but it really didn’t matter since she couldn’t leave the convent. Every avenue had been closed. Such thoughts were numbing.
The funerals were held at St. Eusebius three days after the accident. Father Matthew, the old priest, conducted the funeral Masses. Still harboring his prejudice, he never looked at Teagan. The Mother Superior and Sister Mary-Elizabeth accompanied her to the church.
A large contingent of government workers turned out to pay their respects, in addition to all the current and former bridge club players in her mother’s circle of friends. Mrs. Bryde, the woman who had discovered her in the house a few weeks ago, spurned her. Teagan assumed the woman now knew the “truth” about the Magdalens and wanted nothing to do with her.
Cullen attended with his mother and sat a few rows behind her. They only gave their condolences. They had no chance to talk privately with the nuns hovering nearby.
The funerals brought up painful memories of her parents and of the many days she had spent at the church, including her introduction to Father Mark at the parish house. She couldn’t help but fixate on the Sunday the old priest had called her father aside to chastise him about her meeting with the handsome priest. Getting her jumper back was a simple and innocent act; yet so much had happened because of it. After she had been sent away, her father’s depression and drinking had deepened, leading to the deaths of her parents. As she sat wedged between the Mother Superior and Sister Mary-Elizabeth, she wanted to get out of the church as quickly as possible, even if it meant returning to her life at the convent. Too many hurtful memories stung her.
When the Mass ended, she noticed a man sitting at the back of the church near a holy water font. He turned away from her, but there was something familiar about the face, shadowed in a full black beard.
She turned her head for a moment to acknowledge sympathy from a neighbor. When she looked back at the man, he had disappeared. She walked to the car with the nuns. Mr. Roche drove them back to the convent.
* * *
Sister Anne was standing in the hall the next morning. Teagan was on her way from breakfast to the laundry. She tried to judge the Mother Superior’s mood. The nun stood stiffly upright, her lips pursed to a narrow slit. Her eyes seemed black, like the dark orbs of crows. She motioned for Teagan to step inside her office and closed the door behind them.
A man was sitting in front of the Mother Superior’s desk. As Teagan drew near, he turned. She recognized him as the man with the beard who had been sitting at the back of the church.
He got up from the chair. “Hello.”
Teagan knew Father Mark’s voice. No wonder she hadn’t recognized him at the funeral Mass. The full black beard grew high upon his cheeks, hiding his handsome features. He wore a white button-down shirt—one any working-class Irishman would wear—and dark pants. His shoes were scuffed, his pants and shirt somewhat wrinkled. The crisp style he had once displayed was gone.
An awkward silence grew between Sister Anne and Father Mark. Teagan refused to sit next to him.
Finally, Sister Anne spoke. “Father Mark wants to talk to you. He has already told me what he intends to say, so there are no secrets between us.”
He faced her, his eyes sullen and heavy. “I’ve come to ask for your release from The Sisters of the Holy Redemption.”
She understood what Father Mark had said, but, oddly, the words rang hollow, without substance, in her head. How could he rescue her? He had come to release her when she had no home to go to? Her face reddened in anger.
She looked at his sad face. Maybe he was suffering, but his penance was nothing compared to what she had been through. She had lost her parents because of him. How could she trust him after what he had done? How would she make her way in the world with no parents, no money, and little chance of employment? Nothing like joy or elation filled her. She stiffened as these questions occupied her thoughts.
“I know how hard this has been for you,” Mark continued. “I want to make it up to you. I’m no longer a priest.”
She stared at him, hardly able to believe her ears.
He didn’t take his gaze off her, despite the tears brimming in his eyes.
“I’ve come to ask for your forgiveness, because for more than a year, I’ve lived with a lie.” He brushed away a tear. “Let me tell you what happened from the beginning. After much soul-searching, I told Father Matthew I’d developed feelings—sexual fantasies—after our meeting. It wasn’t a confession, just a conversation with my superior. In the Church, a priest can do no wrong and his mentor stands up for him. Father Matthew took our talk and made it his own. My admission grew like a hideous beast; you became the sinner who could cause me to fall into the devil’s hands. Once our talk was over, it took on a life of its own. Father Matthew was intent on saving me from my own ‘destruction.’”
Sister Anne frowned and looked down at her desk. Her mouth worked silently as if muttering a silent prayer.
“I’ve been weak, a disciple of the devil, living a lie,” Father Mark continued. “I knew what Father Matthew had done—telling your father—but I didn’t have the strength to confront him. Later I told him what he had done was wrong, but I didn’t fight for you. He told me everything would be better this way; that life would be easier. It was better to get sin out of the way, he said.
“After seeing you at Christmas, knowing the horrible rumors that had been spread, even by people in our own parish, I suddenly realized I couldn’t go on as a priest. It took time for me to act upon this decision. All the while the lie was eating me up inside. I had to leave the Church because I’m not a worthy person. I have failed myself, my priesthood, my parish, and most of all, you.”
Something deep inside begged her to forgive, but a stronger feeling told her to remain calm, consider what Mark was saying and disregard his plea for absolution.
“Go on.” Her voice was dull and flat.
“I want to atone for this sin. I want to support you while you get back on your feet. I can even apply to be your guardian until you attain legal age. I’ll get you a flat of your own.”
Sister Anne gasped. “Do you think that’s wise, considering the realities of this unpleasant situation? Such an arrangement would only make things worse for both of you.”
“I’ll leave that for Teagan to decide.” He nodded, awaiting a response.
“How could I trust you?” she asked, never averting her gaze.
Mark sighed. “That’s a fair question. You’ll have to take my word for it—as a reformed man filled with compassion for those he has wronged.”
Sister Anne shook her head. It was clear to Teagan what the Mother Superior thought of Mark’s offer.
Teagan knew his offer was false comfort, although she was somewhat cheered by the possibility of getting out of the convent. A bit of hope had appeared out of the blue.
“I can’t accept your offer,” she said. “It would be wrong after all that has happened.” She stopped, considering whether to ask a question of the ex-priest. After a brief internal debate, she decided she wanted an answer. “Did you get a girl pregnant? Is that the real reason you left the priesthood?”
Mark looked as if he was going to laugh out loud. Instead, he sneered. “See what rumors and lies can do? They have ruined you and me.” He shook his head. “No, I never got a woman pregnant—at least not in Ireland.”
Sister Anne rose from her chair. “I think you’ve said enough. I’m sure Teresa—Teagan—has much to consider.”
He stood and looked at Teagan. “I mean what I say. If I can help you, get in touch with me. I’ve left a number with Sister Anne where I can be reached.” He walked to the door without looking back, opened it, and vanished into the hall.
Sister Anne reached for her LOVE blocks, picked them up, and held them tightly between her palms. The message faced Teagan, a mocking salute from the Mother Superior. “Certainly, this admission puts a new light on your situation.”
“Certainly,” Teagan replied. “I should get to work.” She walked toward the door.
“Wait.” Sister Anne put the blocks back on her desk.
She turned.
The Mother Superior fumbled with papers. “You don’t have to work; in fact, I’m not sure The Sisters of the Holy Redemption can hold you here—if you want to go.”
Teagan smirked. “No, I belong here for the time being. For the past year, you’ve made me what I am. I want to be with the other Magdalens—the other ‘sinners’ who may be as unjustly confined as I’ve been.”
She closed the door and left Sister Anne to consider her words.
* * *
The next day Teagan worked in the laundry, but said nothing to the other Magdalens.
Nora was still in a world of her own, aloof, her sarcasm and humor obliterated by the death of her baby. Her friend slept, ate, worked, and fit into the routine as comfortably as Patricia, who was on her way to being a nun.
As she worked, she thought about Mark’s offer, but after a few minutes’ consideration she brought her mind back to the washbasin. Leaving the convent wasn’t as simple as just walking out. Her freedom was complicated, a confusing matter filled with uncertainties.
She thought of calling her aunt Florence in New York, who hadn’t been at the funeral mass. Did her aunt even know that her parents had died? She’d have to get back to the house to get the telephone number from her mother’s address book and make the call. Maybe Florence could help her get back on her feet. Making that call would open a world of possibilities, maybe even an opportunity to move to New York City.
As the workday ended, she spotted the Mother Superior near the Penitent’s Room. Sister Anne kept her distance—Teagan knew Mark’s confession had disturbed her.
* * *
A few days after the ex-priest came, Teagan was up to her elbows in suds. Sister Ruth put her stout fingers on her back. She turned to find not only the nun, but a woman in a stylish blue suit standing behind her.
The woman’s face, so familiar and kind, struck her immediately, yet she had no idea who she was. Her hair was the color of her mother’s, almost a perfect match. She was rounder than her mother, but not plump. The woman looked around the laundry, observing the girls who took as much notice of her as she did of them.
“This lady wants to see you,” Sister Ruth said. “The Mother Superior said to bring her down.”
The woman extended her gloved hand. Teagan wiped the suds from her fingers and swiped them across her apron.
“You don’t know what I’ve gone through to find you,” the woman said. “I’m your aunt, Florence Korman.”
Aunt Florence from New York. She did bear a resemblance to her mother, who had been a few years older. When Teagan was about seven, her aunt had flown from New York to visit the family in Ballsbridge. She vaguely remembered the experience as an uncomfortable time. Her mother rarely talked about Florence, because she was a married to a man her father disliked—“a rich New York Jew who’d take your last dollar,” he had declared. He made it clear that Florence’s husband was persona non grata in his house.
Teagan shook her hand and admired the attractive woman.
“I’m sorry I didn’t make the funeral,” Florence said, and shed her gloves. “It’s quite hot in here. Is this where you work every day?” She had no trace of an Irish accent.
“Mainly,” Teagan said, unsure how to respond.
“I came as soon as I could, but with the rift in the family—we didn’t find out until after the funeral was over. A solicitor’s office contacted us.” Florence fanned herself with her hands. “Is there somewhere we can talk that’s less noisy?”
Teagan pointed to the chair in the far corner. Sister Ruth was watching them, but didn’t seem too concerned about what they did. Teagan led her aunt to the seat. Florence sat delicately and crossed her legs, while Teagan stood. She felt like an ungainly and embarrassed girl who had just come in from playing in the mud. She was ashamed of her dirty apron and ugly shoes, and unable to look Florence in the face.
“Teagan, I have an offer to make. Please look at me.”
Teagan acquiesced.
Florence leaned forward. “A nice man who seems very concerned about your well-being told me where you were, after I inquired at the parish church. I met him at his flat. He told me everything. His name is Mark. He used to be a priest.” She paused. “He seems very sorry for what you’ve gone through. He even cried when I told him what I have planned. I’m sorry, too, that you’ve had to go through this.... I’ve talked with Sister Anne. I can have legal paperwork drawn up for a guardianship within a few days. I know Dublin is your home, but what’s to keep you here? I’m offering you a home in New York City—you can live with my husband and me. We can afford to take you in, and we’re more than happy to do it.”
Teagan leaned against the railing that separated the laundry from the expansive windows. She looked out on the grounds, taken aback by Florence’s offer. The breeze rocked the leafy oaks. Shadows scattered across the grass. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say ‘yes.’” Florence folded her gloves and put them in her purse. “My husband is a doctor. We can offer you a home you could never make for yourself here. We can send you to the best schools in America. Later, if you decide you want to come back to Ireland . . . well, I might hate the idea, but it’s up to you. Harold and I want to make sure you have a fresh start.”
“So you know everything?”
Florence didn’t flinch. “I believe Mark told me the truth. I’m sorry—your father was bent on his own destruction. Unfortunately, he took everyone he loved with him, and, for that, I find it hard to forgive him.”
Her aunt was here in answer to her prayers, but America seemed so far away. “I’ll have to think about it. Dublin has always been my home.”
“I understand, but know that keeping the house would be throwing money away. I’m here to settle the estate, sell the house and its contents. Your father may not have been fond of my husband and me, but Shavon was able to dictate the beneficiary because Cormac had no siblings. It was recorded so many years ago, I don’t think he even remembered or gave it a second thought. People don’t like to think about their deaths.” She clutched her purse. “The proceeds from the sale will go into a trust fund whether you decide to come to America or not. The money will be yours when you’re of legal age.”
Florence stood and smoothed her dress. She hugged Teagan and gave her a kiss on the cheek. They walked toward the washbasin.
“Getting the final details straightened out with the solicitor and the estate agent will take about a week. After that, we’ll be free to go, once you get your passport. The legalities can all be handled from New York. Let me know your decision within a few days, if possible. I’ll be staying at the house—in your parents’ room. You know the phone number.” She grasped Teagan’s hands warmly. “Come live with us. Be good to yourself, especially after what you’ve been through.”
“There’s a spare key under the garden gnome,” Teagan said.
Florence smiled, then walked past Sister Ruth and up the stairs.
Teagan stuck her hands back in the soapy water. Florence, although not by blood, was her real aunt—not Sister Anne. She trembled with joy as relief flooded through her.
* * *
How could she tell Nora? Would Nora even understand?
She pondered those questions that night at tea and evening prayers, and for the first time in more than a year, she prayed in gratitude, because she felt God was looking after her.
That evening, Nora crept into bed in the old library, as she had done every night since the fire, and rolled onto her side, her face turned away from Teagan.
Teagan waited until all the Magdalens had settled in, then lifted the sheet and slid next to her friend, whose mattress was still next to hers. Teagan touched Nora’s shoulder. Her friend started and jumped up in bed. After a few moments, Nora lay back down but didn’t speak.
Teagan held her hand and whispered, “Nora, I want to talk to you.” A few beds away, Betty snored. The sleepy breaths of the Magdalens filled the library. “I’ve been praying this evening about what I should do. I’m going to America, which means I’ll be leaving the convent soon—and leaving you.” She squeezed her hand. “We made a pact we would help each other—one for all, and all that. I haven’t forgotten. Once I get my feet on the ground, I’ll come back and get you. I hope you understand I’m not deserting you, but I have a chance for a good life—better than I could have ever imagined.”
She threaded her fingers through Nora’s, hoping for some kind of response, but there was none. The room was lonely without Nora and Lea, as if she were sitting in it alone.
“Please, Nora, let me know that you’ll be all right if I leave. Let me know that you’ll hang on.”
It was no use. Nora was as unresponsive as the day Seamus died. Teagan withdrew her hand from her friend’s. She brushed her fingers against Nora’s cheek and felt the cold sting of tears. Somewhere in that hard shell, Nora was alive. She kissed her and slid back to her own mattress. She prayed she had made the right decision.
* * *
She waited until after the nuns had left for their morning duties before heading up to the garret. The Sisters were still sleeping in the girls’ old beds. There was nothing in her locker she needed to take, but it warranted a last look. She wished now she had kept the blue dress she’d put on at the house. She opened the locker and found it buried under the personal items of a nun, along with the shirt and jeans she’d arrived in.
Below, hammers pounded and saws buzzed. She looked out the barred window. Workmen crawled over the blackened granite arches, securing beams for the orphanage’s new roof. Parts of the structure were salvageable, according to Sister Mary-Elizabeth. In only a few months, Sister Immaculata and the others would be able to return. At least, that was the expectation.
A nun now slept in her old bed, but it no longer mattered. She took off her uniform and peered out over the roof and spotted the corner where she, Nora, and Lea had sat, Nora smoking a cigarette and all of them enjoying the fresh air and night stars. In a way, leaving the convent made her sad, and she wondered how she could have such feelings about a place she despised. Did prisoners feel the same way when they left gaol? She took a deep breath and put on the blue dress. It was the only decent thing she had to wear. The money from Cullen was still in the pocket.
As she walked down, the faint whir from the laundry drifted up the stairs. Her hands were scaly and red from the bleach and detergent. She wouldn’t miss the heat or the smells. The room where she had spent so many hours dining in silence, eating horrible meals, was deserted. She took a final look out the broad windows that opened to the trees. The doors to the chapel and the Penitent’s Room were closed. There was no reason to look inside either of them.
Florence was in Sister Anne’s office when she arrived. Her adoptive aunt wore a white blouse covered by a handsomely cut beige jacket and matching skirt. The Mother Superior bent over her desk, adding her signature to a sheaf of papers. Sister Anne looked at Teagan and then resumed her writing.
“Well, that about does it,” Florence said and hugged Teagan. “We’re free to go. Are you ready?”
“I guess so,” Teagan replied. “I don’t like long good-byes.”
Sister Anne raised her hand, unwilling to speak. She opened her desk drawer and took out an envelope that Teagan had long forgotten about. The nun pushed it across the desk. Teagan picked it up and then remembered what was inside. It contained the pearl jewelry that had been the seed of an argument between her mother and father. “These are yours, as well.” Sister Anne withdrew the transistor radio and the silk scarf her mother had given her last Christmas. She hadn’t seen them since Sister Mary-Elizabeth had confiscated them from under Lea’s bed.
Teagan gathered the items in her arms and stood looking at the Mother Superior, uncertain what to do next.
“Come now, let’s go,” Florence said. “I’m sure the Mother Superior has important business to conduct.”
Her aunt smiled, but Teagan didn’t think the sentiment was sincere. Florence probably couldn’t care less about the nun. Her aunt was happy to whisk her away from the convent.
Teagan nodded.
Sister Anne stopped at the door and took hold of Teagan’s arm before she could leave. The Mother Superior was trembling. “You’ve changed me—you may find that hard to believe.”
Teagan looked at her skeptically.
“All the prayers,” the Mother Superior continued, “all the emotional strife I had created faded when Father Mark confessed his sin to me. I admitted mine, too.”
Florence stood in the hall, waiting. Teagan didn’t want to hear a confession from Sister Anne. She had lost more than a year of her life, and nothing could bring that back. The emotional torture, the feelings of worthlessness that the Church had systematically laid upon her couldn’t be erased by a simple “I was wrong.” In fact, the Mother Superior’s admission jolted her, causing her face to flush in anger.
The nun continued, “I don’t expect you to forgive me now, but perhaps you will in the future. I shed my hatred when I realized you were not the demon I had created in my heart.” She pointed to the LOVE blocks on her desk. “I’m going to try very hard to live by that rule.”
Teagan drew away from the Mother Superior. “I have many to forgive. I pray that when you levy punishments, you’ll remember the words you’ve spoken.”
Florence held out her hand. Teagan took it and they walked toward the large doors. She had only been past the imposing threshold a few times since her confinement, but now she was free to breathe, to savor her new freedom.
Sister Mary-Elizabeth stood at the door, her hands clenched at her side. She looked concerned, as if she had lost one of the flock. “Good luck. Forgive us,” she whispered as Teagan passed.
Florence and she stepped out on the stone terrace and the door closed behind them. The warm August breeze swirled around her. She could hardly believe how alive she felt as she took in the sensation of the air against her skin, the smell of the pine trees in her nostrils, the sunlight falling upon her face. But she felt exhausted, too, as if she had been running for more than a year and never stopped.
Her aunt walked to the taxi. The driver opened the door.
“One minute, Florence,” Teagan said and thrust her belongings into her aunt’s hands. She ran along the front of the convent, then turned west toward the corner where Lea had seen the ghostly children. Her heart pounded, and a lump formed in her throat as she rounded the corner and turned north. The laundry’s broad expanse of windows came into view. She knew Nora would be inside, maybe even waiting to wave good-bye.
She crept close to the railing. The stone pit opened precipitously in front of her. Past the windows, the Magdalens, who had been part of her life, worked. Betty was tending a washer, Sarah stood at the washbasins. They were all there, except for Patricia, who had started her instructions as a novice.
When the Magdalens saw Teagan, who was staring at them like animals in a zoo, they responded in kind. They dropped their work and came to the windows. Sister Ruth sat in her chair, but the nun didn’t object—Teagan thought she might hear her rough bark over the cacophony inside—but instead, Sister Ruth joined the others. Nora stood near the back, working at the sorting bins. A nun came through the door, took Nora by the shoulders, and guided her to the windows. When the nun turned, she was surprised to see Sister Anne. The Mother Superior had come to the laundry to find her friend. They stared with the others.
Nora stood, immobile, with the Mother Superior behind her. The Magdalens raised their hands one by one. A few wiped away tears.
Teagan’s breath caught, and her eyes clouded over with emotion. She concentrated on Nora, but saw no sign of recognition. Her friend looked like a broken doll with its owner hanging over her shoulder.
Teagan pointed to herself and then to Nora, using the sign language they had devised, then mouthed silently, “I’ll come back for you.”
Nora didn’t appear to recognize what she said. Her friend trudged back to her station.
The Mother Superior was still watching when Teagan left the railing. In the southwest corner, where the dead children lay buried, a voice caught her ear. She stopped—not sure she had heard it—and shivered in the sun.
Good luck, Teagan. I’ll miss you.
She rocked on her feet, convinced she had heard Lea’s voice. In the corner, something shimmered in the light. Rippling waves, evanescent, melted like a rainbow obscured by clouds.
“I’ll miss you, too,” she said to the air. “I’ll make sure someone knows about the children. They won’t have died in vain.”
She returned to the taxi and slid into the backseat with her aunt. Florence clutched her hand as the vehicle accelerated down the driveway. Teagan hardly gave a glance to Mr. Roche, who opened the gate. She looked back over her shoulder in time to see the iron enclosure swing shut.
* * *
Little had changed in the house since she had been there. Florence had shifted a few things around, and marked a few plates to be sent to America. This time Teagan was determined to stay in her own room. It felt different, not as threatening as before. It would be her last night there.
Her aunt took her out to dinner at a neighborhood restaurant, where Teagan spotted several of her parents’ friends. Most didn’t recognize her. The few who did came by and offered condolences, adding that they had “missed her.” They had wondered where she had been. She thanked them, but didn’t want to talk about the past. In fact, she had a hard time talking about the present.
She was exhausted when they got back to the house. She plopped down on the living room couch. Nothing seemed real. Most of her mother’s decorative items, the bric-a-brac, the furnishings, the plants, the house itself, would soon belong to someone else. What was it all for? Why had it ended this way?
“Why so quiet?” Florence asked, sitting in a chair across from her.
“I can’t believe I’m going to America, and that our house will belong to someone else. Ballsbridge is all I’ve ever known, except for—”
“Don’t think about it. It’s over now.” Florence leaned back. Her aunt seemed so composed compared to the nervous anxiety that tied Teagan in knots. “I suppose you could back out of going to New York, but I hope you don’t. Where would you stay? What would you do?”
Teagan shook her head. Her life had been turned upside down because of a priest. Nothing made sense since her father had ripped her away from home. “I don’t know.” She paused. “I hate those words. Life should be more than not knowing.”
“Well, tomorrow’s flight reservations have been made.” Her aunt’s voice vibrated with excitement. “You’ll love New York. There’s so much to do—to see. There’s a little Catholic church in the neighborhood. You can go to temple with us if you wish, but we certainly don’t expect it.” Her eyes brightened. “Harold is very excited about your move.”
She hadn’t even considered religion. She’d had her fill of it. In the past, her father had grumbled about Florence’s conversion to Judaism, but it wasn’t an issue with her. In fact, she didn’t want to think about it. No more religion. Only making friends and going to school. Cullen flashed through her mind, and she blanched.
“Everything’s taken care of,” Florence continued. “I’ll handle it all from New York, with your consent and advice, of course. It’ll give us something to do.” Her aunt explained how the sale would be handled through the solicitor and his agents, how the funds would be wired to the trust in New York, what needed to be done to complete the guardianship, even how she had arranged for a “rush” passport to be issued tomorrow morning.
It all seemed too good to be true—but as if it was meant to be—something that she had experienced little of during her life. The feeling that everything was falling into place was foreign to her. But as her aunt spoke, a dull ache cradled her heart.
“I’ve got to phone Cullen,” she said when her aunt finished.
“I’m going to get ready for bed,” Florence said. Teagan knew it was an excuse to leave her alone for the call. Her aunt kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning. We have a lot of packing to do before we get on that plane.”
As Florence headed upstairs, Teagan made her way to the kitchen. She sat at the small table near the window and admired her mother’s plants. She hoped they wouldn’t die from neglect after they left, but her aunt had assured her that the smallest details would be handled with care.
The green wall phone stared at her. She reached for it several times, her heart pounding, before getting up the nerve to actually dial the number. A man answered—Cullen’s father. When she identified herself, a chill spread over the line. Despite his frosty reception, he called out for his son. In a few seconds, Cullen, excited and eager, was on the line. He greeted her.
“Hello,” was all she could say.
A rocky silence grew between them.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“I know you, Teagan,” Cullen replied. “At least I think I do. Are you at home? I heard the rumors.”
“Yes,” she said, dreading what she had to tell him.
His voice dropped. “When can I see you?”
“It’ll be a while.”
He was silent.
“Cullen? Are you there? Cullen? Please don’t do this.”
“You’re going away, aren’t you?”
She nodded, even though he couldn’t see what she was doing. A tear rolled down her cheek. “I have to. I need some time away from Dublin—to sort things out. Things are too raw right now. I hope you understand.” She wanted to say something to ease Cullen’s pain. It resonated through the line. “I’ll be back soon.”
His breath caught; she heard it clearly and pictured the anguish on his face. “No, you won’t.”
She swiped another tear away and tried to laugh. “Don’t talk like that. You know I keep my word, especially when it comes to friends.”
“When are you leaving?”
“About nine, tomorrow evening. We land in New York the same night.”
Cullen coughed and his voice tightened. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Da doesn’t like it when I spend too much time on the phone.”
“All right. I’ll call you in a couple of days, after I’ve had a chance to settle in.”
“Sure,” he said and hung up.
She sat at the table for a half hour brushing away tears, thinking of Cullen and contemplating a life-to-be. She hoped the nightmare that had been her life was evaporating like fog in the sun. Finally, she’d had enough moping about. She turned off the lights and climbed the stairs. Her parents’ door was closed. She stepped into her room and left the door ajar. She didn’t want to be shut in; that feeling of claustrophobia was too much like the convent. Rain fell outside. A cool breeze brushed through the window.
She lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The textured plaster, in various places, reminded her of objects: the surface of the moon; a cathedral; a building at Trinity College, where she had hoped to go. When she blinked, they popped into focus as the swirls, circles, and lines they were.
The transistor radio her father had given her lay near the pillow. She turned it on and listened to several current tunes before an “oldie” came on. It was a big hit before she had been whisked away. She’d first heard it in the bedroom where she slept tonight. Somehow, it meant more in this moment.
“I Can’t Stop Loving You.”