Le Bon Bon was her favorite middle of the week lunch spot in Jacksonville.
Or at least it had been two years ago.
Sarah looked around at the French décor. A six-foot metal replica of the Eiffel Tower anchored the center of the little restaurant. Nothing seemed changed about the place that she could see. The fragrance of the fresh-baked croissants was as pervasive as ever. The patisserie case in the front of the shop was still crammed full of every imaginable kind of petit four, tart and gateau. The quiche du jour was as heavenly as she remembered. But that was the problem, she realized as she held her fork over the delectable golden brown crust, the creamy, cheesy filling nestled perfectly within.
She had imagined it during other times. She had used the memory of this dish to keep herself from eating her leather shoes one day during her trek through the Brecon Beacons in Wales last year. She had kept the texture of its rich custard uppermost in her mind the day she had needed to force down a mouthful of rabbit—raw and still bloody from her slingshot—to keep from starving to death.
She placed her fork back on the plate, noticing her fingers shook as she did.
No. There was no longer a place in her mind for this favorite dish, one that was assembled without effort and very little cost.
Not in her world. Not ever again.
“Is something wrong with your quiche?”
Sarah looked up, her mouth smiling before she engaged eye contact—something she had started to do more and more since she’d been home. Her girlfriend, Debbie, sat across from her and frowned.
Debbie looked exactly as she had the last time Sarah had seen her—a steak dinner out with both husbands just before Sarah and David had flown to Ireland for a much-needed vacation. Her nails had been recently gelled, the lines in her forehead recently smoothed, her blonde hair recently highlighted.
She must think I look very different, Sarah thought. She had gotten out of the habit of looking in mirrors while living in Ireland. Involuntarily, Sarah’s hand reached up to touch her hair. She’d pulled it back in a rubber band but there was no question of it having any kind of style. She’d bought some makeup at the mall last week but kept forgetting to wear it.
“No, I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought.”
“I want to put together a little welcome home party for you,” Debbie said. “Will you be up for that? Everybody knows you’re back and they’re all dying to see you.”
Sarah nodded, being careful to keep her smile nailed in place. “Yeah, no, I don’t think so, Debbie,” she said. “Thank you.”
Debbie reached across the table to touch Sarah’s hand. “Is it because of David?” she asked earnestly.
Well, it’s true that nothing puts a damper on a party like somebody being dead, Sarah thought, forcing herself not to extricate her hand from beneath her friend’s touch.
“Partly,” she said. “But I just thought I’d get back in touch with everyone in my own time.”
“Of course. It’s just that everyone so wants to see you.”
Sarah didn’t answer. She eased her hand away on the pretense of making another try with her quiche.
She found it somewhat surprising that Debbie—and Sarah’s parents, too—hadn’t asked for many details about what her life had been like in Ireland. Sarah assumed it might be too difficult to imagine it hadn’t been so bad if they had evidence to counter it.
What they don’t know, they don’t have to deal with.
That was fine with Sarah. She didn’t want to talk about Balinagh, or Mike or Fiona, or where David’s grave was, or what happened during her two months in the UK last year. No, their instincts were definitely sound as far as not asking her too many questions, she decided.
If they think I’m awkward to be around now, just imagine if I were to tell them about how seven months ago we took a young, fit and healthy twenty-five year old, put a rope around his neck while he screamed and wept and then…
“Dessert, Sarah?”
The waitress had materialized at their table with a tall blackboard she was settling onto an easel. On the board were dozens of different kinds of desserts. A subhead touted the fact each was made on the premises every day.
How is that possible? Sarah wondered as she craned her neck to look past the waitress in the direction of the kitchen.
“Sarah?”
She looked back at Debbie who was staring at her now with a worried expression.
“I’m so sorry,” Sarah said.
“That’s okay. Do you—”
“I need to go.” She scraped back her chair and grabbed for her purse. “I’m sorry, Debbie. I can’t do this.”
Without stopping to see the horrified look she knew she would find on her friend’s face, Sarah pushed past the chalkboard easel and ran out of the restaurant into the blinding sunshine of the parking lot. She hurried to her car, slipped inside and blinked at the bright light. She had very few memories of it being sunny in Ireland. Whether that was because she wasn’t paying attention or because the sun rarely came out, she wasn’t sure.
She put her hands on the steering wheel and stared ahead at the strip mall parking lot, watching people come and go, carrying dry cleaning, entering and leaving the little French restaurant, standing in line holding boxes at the postal store.
She and John had been home for two weeks now. While he still stayed in his room playing video games, after the first week of doing all the responsible things she knew she had to do, Sarah spent this last week holed up in her room. Sometimes she watched the TV that was in there. Sometimes she read or took long blistering hot baths. But always, she wept. Silently, intensely, hopelessly.
I’ve made a terrible mistake.
This outing with Debbie had been set up by Sarah’s mother and she’d only obliged because it was clear to anyone with eyes that Sarah was hell-bent upon descending into a lengthy and nonproductive depression. Not unlike what John was doing.
She bent her forehead to the steering wheel. She had figured out days ago that a depression was just about the only thing that was going to prevent her from thinking about what was happening back in Ireland. She had happily made the self-pact to sink into despair if the alternative was to obsessively wonder what was happening with Mike and Fi and Dec and the camp. It was madness to think Caitlin would let Fiona and Declan live in peace. Or Mike. She tried to envision them all packed up on a big horse cart—not unlike the Okies of the Dust Bowl—and leaving the area for the coast where Mike could fish and help support them all.
Would Declan agree to leave his family? Would the other gypsies come too?
Sarah shook her head. Could she really just force herself to believe that it would all turn out well for them? That Caitlin wouldn’t catch Fiona alone one night…or that Mike wouldn’t one day tire of forbidding himself the succor and love of a willing woman?
And what about Siobhan? Who was going to put up with her bullshit and help her with the laundry?
Sarah covered her head with her arms and did what she had done every day since she’d arrived back home— wept without restraint or hope until all her tears were gone and she could only croak in agony. And then when things got as bad as they could get, when she knew she couldn’t possibly feel any worse, that was when she called to mind her memory’s best snap-shot image of Papin laughing or winking at her—full of life and energy and hope.
And then, and only then, did Sarah feel sufficiently punished for having taken John so far away from home.
That night, after a quiet dinner of roast pork loin and scalloped potatoes, John excused himself and retreated to his bedroom. Sarah watched him go without comment.
“Well, at least he hasn’t asked to start taking his meals in there,” her father said.
“Or decided he won’t eat at all,” her mother said as they all heard the bedroom door close firmly.
“I’ll help you clear the table in a minute,” Sarah said, tossing her napkin down and standing up. “I just need a word with him.”
“Now, don’t be too hard on the boy,” her father said, reaching for another piece of meat. “He’ll snap out of it as soon as football season starts. Trust me.”
Sarah tapped lightly on John’s door and then slipped inside without waiting for permission to enter. He was lying on the bed, earphones on that were attached to his iPod, an on-demand video playing mutely on his laptop. It occurred to her that he’d missed a great deal as far as technological advances while he was gone.
But he hadn’t missed a beat in reconnecting.
She went to his bed and sat down. He didn’t look at her. She reached over and gently pulled one earphone bud out of his left ear. He frowned but didn’t stop her.
“John.”
When he turned to her, she realized his eyes were red. He wrestled his own demons in this room every day and every night.
“I made a mistake.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry for not realizing sooner.”
“Even though everyone told you.”
“Especially because everyone told me.”
“It’s okay, Mom.” He reached for the ear bud she still held.
“Not this time it isn’t,” she said, handing it to him. “Although I appreciate your forgiveness.”
He popped the earphone back in and turned his attention to the laptop screen.
“We’re going home,” she said without thinking.
His head never turned but his eyes flicked in her direction.
“Home where?” he asked.
It was right. As soon as she had said the words out loud, she knew it was right.
“You know where.”
She watched his eyes light up. He sat up straight, the first unprovoked movement he’d displayed since they returned. “Are you sure? What about college?”
“You’ve got plenty of time for that. I’ll homeschool you.” The thoughts came faster and faster. Why hadn’t she thought of this before? “We’ll bring the books back with us that we’ll need. You might not be ready to take your MCATs, but you’ll at least get into college.”
He launched himself into her arms, wires and earphones springing free as he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. The feeling of connection after so many months of distance was so profound that Sarah laughed out loud. When she pulled back to see her boy’s face—his eyes alive for the first time in weeks— mixed with his elation she saw hope and trust.
That he should still believe in me after all I’ve put him through…
“I’m just sorry it took me so long to figure it out,” she whispered, hugging him close.
A tap on the bedroom door made both of them turn. Her mother stood in the opening, beaming broadly at the two of them. “Oh, I’m so happy to see smiles again!” she said, clapping her hands together. “Can I count two more then for rice pudding?”
Sarah looked at John who grinned. “Absolutely, Grandma,” he said. “You can count us both in.”
The next morning, for the first time since she arrived back in the States, Sarah awoke to a purpose and a full slate of errands—each more pressing and vital than the one before. While she was looking over her to-do list at breakfast, her mother placed a tall stack of blueberry pancakes in front of her.
“I know you said not to, but I made them for John this morning so if you don’t want them, you can—”
“No, they’re great, Mom. Thanks,” Sarah said, pulling the plate closer to her.
Her mother hesitated and then sat down at the table. She slid a small pitcher of warmed maple syrup across the table to Sarah. “John’s already up and gone,” she said.
Sarah slathered the stack of pancakes with butter and then poured the syrup over the top. “Oh?”
“Which shocked me,” her mother said, picking up her coffee mug. “I mean, since the child hasn’t left his room in nearly three weeks.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“His friend, Luke, came by with his mother. They picked him up.”
“That’s nice. I’m glad he’s seeing some of his old friends.”
“That’s what I thought, too. He’s really a changed boy since…well, ever since you went into his room last night.”
Sarah raised her eyes to her mother’s, which were quickly filling with tears.
“Mom…”
“What are you thinking of doing, Sarah?”
“I never should have left, Mom.”
“That’s ridiculous. This is your home.”
“Not anymore it isn’t.” Sarah put down her fork, the pancakes untasted, and reached out for her mother’s hand. “I didn’t want to upset you, Mom. Maybe you can pretend we live in Seattle or something and we’re just here for our annual visit.”
“Seattle.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. But this isn’t home for us anymore. We have a life we’ve built back there. I was so focused on…on getting John here and back on track that I didn’t think of anything else. I’ve caused a lot of people a lot of pain because of it.”
“You’d rather go back and live in a tent with no electricity than here.”
“Yes, but honestly I think I can bring a few things back with me to make it better this time. That’s my plan, anyway.”
“Eat your pancakes, dear. They’re getting cold.”
“Mom, are you okay?”
“Yes, of course. When were you thinking of leaving, may I ask?”
“I…I guess there’s no real hurry, but probably in the next few weeks.”
“Well, then I guess we’ll just have to enjoy the two of you as much as we can in the meantime.” Sarah watched her mother hold her emotions firmly into place. She stood with her coffee mug and walked into the kitchen without another word.
Sarah drove down the residential street feeling the familiarity kick in as her body automatically braked and accelerated to take her to Debbie’s comfortable Craftsman-style home in the gated community.
She’d even remembered the gate code.
When she parked her parents’ SUV in Debbie’s driveway, she noticed that Rick’s Honda was in the garage and that surprised her since normally he’d be at work.
Debbie answered the door as if she’d been watching Sarah drive up and was waiting for her. “Sarah!” she said in unconvincing surprise.
“Hey, Debbie, I am so sorry about yesterday. I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”
“Not at all. Come in. I was just putting the coffee on.”
Sarah entered the home and stepped over a large dog toy in the foyer. She had always envied Debbie’s home over the older split level that she and David owned. She tried to remember if she’d ever visited unannounced before. The place looked…unlived in.
“Is Rick home? I saw his car in the garage.”
“No,” Debbie called from the kitchen. “The Honda’s mine now. Rick got a Mustang. He’d been wanting one for ages.” She handed Sarah the coffee and motioned for her to sit at the kitchen table. “Compliments of the divorce,” she said.
Sarah froze. “You and Rick?”
Debbie smiled woodenly. “Yeah, I was going to tell you yesterday but you didn’t look like you could handle it. I’m glad to see you’re better. You had me worried there.”
“What happened? Are the kids okay?”
Sarah sat at the table and looked around the quiet living room from the kitchen. Debbie joined her with her coffee cup.
“Not really. They took it badly.” She shrugged. “This is their week with Rick, which is why they aren’t here. Is there enough sugar in that?”
“I got used to drinking it black,” Sarah murmured. When I could get it at all. “I’m just so sorry to hear that, Debbie. I had no idea y’all were in trouble.”
“Me, neither.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, then, let’s don’t go there. Let’s talk about what you’re going to do now that you’re back. I can’t tell you how much I missed you, Sarah. I really needed you.”
Sarah nodded. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you.”
“But you are now. The truth is, I’ve had to go back to work since the divorce and that sucks, but it is what it is. The house goes on the market next month. I waited as long as I could because the kids just had so much to deal with I didn’t want to add to it but I can’t afford it.”
This beautiful house, Sarah thought, glancing around, that I have coveted every day since she moved into it. “I can’t believe this happened,” she said softly.
“Hey! If you’re interested in a roommate situation, we could move in together at your place. I know Brady and Jemmy both adore John. Yours is a four bedroom, right?”
Sarah nodded.
“I mean, do you want to think about it? I swear the idea just came to me. But it would be so perfect. Screw men! We could create a good life together for the kids, you know? What do you think?”
Sarah smiled. “Let me sleep on it, okay?”
Now that she looked at Debbie more closely, without the helpful soft lighting of the restaurant, she could see that the nails were press-ons and the highlights were streaks of gray.
“Where’s Brody?” As long as Sarah and David had been friends with Debbie and Rick, they had known the playful Labrador retriever the two had bought as a puppy before their first child was born.
“Rick got him in the settlement,” Debbie said, her eyes dull and lifeless. “Which is good. He was a lot of work.”
“Oh, wow.”
“It worked out.”
“Well, that’s good then. So, tell me about your job, Debbie. Tell me all about your job.”
As a result of her visit with Debbie, the day had been a mixed bag Sarah realized as she hit the garage door opener at her parents’ house and guided the large SUV into its interior bay. She’d spent nearly four hours at the warehouse home improvement store near their neighborhood and almost two on the phone at a coffee shop talking with financial planners and professional services people.
If it hadn’t been for the necessary stop at Debbie’s, which had depressed Sarah for a full thirty minutes before she finally shook it off with images of her homecoming back in Ireland, the day would have ranked as one of her best ever.
One of the main pleasures she was now allowing herself was to think of Mike, to remember how he looked, how he moved, how he laughed and how he looked at her in that special way of his. Until now it had been too painful to do anything but scrub all thoughts of him from her mind. Now she allowed the thought of his arms around her to fill up her day. She envisioned the moment he saw her again—the unbelievably delightful surprise in his eyes when he knew she was back and that they would finally have their time.
She replayed the images of the fantasy in her head over and over in every possible, imaginable form. And she never tired of them.
When she opened the garage door she saw her father was home from whatever recent pleasurable activity he’d taken up—Ma Jong at the clubhouse, golf, or antique hunting. Her father liked to keep busy and his hobbies had always taken first place in his life for as long as Sarah had known him.
She walked into the kitchen and saw him standing up at the counter sorting through mail. “Hey, Dad,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Mom and John around?”
“No. Perhaps they’re together,” he said, turning to her and smiling. “You look good. I hope you’ve just come back from a spa treatment or some other well-deserved pampering?”
“No, just errands.” She twisted her neck as if it were stiff. “But after two hours sitting on a wooden chair at the coffee shop making phone calls, I have to say I’m tempted to book a spa day.”
“What phone calls?” Her father frowned.
She had hoped to delay this conversation for at least a few days but another part of her wanted it behind her. She took in a deep breath. “I was talking to my financial advisor about cashing out my ROTH and my 401K.”
The look on her father’s face did not surprise her. His mouth hung open. “You…you cashed out your 401K?”
“And David’s.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“I can see how you’d think that, Dad. The fact is I made a mistake coming back.”
“What in the world are you talking about?”
When she didn’t immediately answer, he tossed down the mail in exasperation and put a hand on her arm to command her complete attention. “You haven’t given yourself enough time. Is it John? You’ve allowed him to manipulate you.”
“He’s not like that, Dad. If you knew him at all, you’d know that.”
“I know he’s a teen boy who isn’t getting his way and has been acting out for nearly three weeks now.”
“You and I see things differently.”
“May I be so bold as to inquire what you did with your retirement funds? You know you paid insane fees to cash out early?”
“I bought what I consider necessary items.”
“What in the world are you talking about? Has your Irish experience unhinged you? What possible necessary items do you feel you need?”
“Generators, for one. Seeds. Tools. Guns. Ammunition. Books.”
Her father looked at her as if she had just suggested the immediate overthrow of the US government. “And why in the name of all that is holy do you believe you need these items? Are you afraid the US will be under attack like Ireland was? Because I can assure you—”
“These items aren’t for here, Dad.”
“You think you’re going back to Ireland?”
“I am going back. John and I both are. I’m going to go out on a limb here and ask you and Mom to come too.”
He simply stared at her.
“Well, that last part was a bit of a long shot, I’ll admit,” Sarah said. “It’s not comfortable where I’m going. But you would have family there.” She shrugged.
“You would ask your mother—a seventy year old woman—to go live in a post-apocalyptic battleground with no medical facilities and no…amenities, in order that she could see her only grandchild?”
“Yeah, it doesn’t sound like a very good deal when you put it like that.”
“The idea is not only insane, it’s impossible. The fact is, you can’t go back.”
“I knew you would say that, Dad but I feel very—”
“No, sweetheart. You misunderstand. You will not be permitted to go.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The US government just announced this morning the immediate cessation of all travel outside the country. Nobody’s going anywhere. For years.”