“Do you know how old your mother would be right now if she were still alive?”
That was a dagger straight to the center of my heart. “Of course I do. Fifty-five.” I didn't like to think about what-ifs very often, mostly because it was hard for me to imagine things that hadn't happened. Too much of my brain was taken up by real events. But I did wonder every now and then what our mom would be like now.
“That’s right. Fifty-five. Prime of her life. She should be here right now. If she was, I might not be living here. But she's not here and I'll never get over it. Never.”
The guilt was pressing down on me, threatening to crush me right there, sitting on my old squeaky bed. Of course Mom should've been here right now. If I could take back everything I did, I would. But I couldn't. It had taken years to learn to live with that fact, and it was only to varying degrees of success. Some days it was much harder to accept.
“Do you think about that, Katherine? Because I do.” Her voice started to fall apart at the seams. “My little girl should be here and she isn't. That's why I'm not giving you a damn thing. It's all I have left.”
The line went dead, leaving me in silence. I ended the call and put the phone facedown on the bed. My face felt numb. There was an unsettling calmness to my thoughts. It was like everything had slowed down, stuck in the cold, creating too much quiet. One of the few ties I still had to my mother still blamed me. All these years later and she hadn't forgiven me for any of it. In some ways, I felt sorry for her. How could she walk the earth holding onto that much pain and misery? Did she think that was the only way to keep my mother’s memory alive?
More questions came, dribbling into my brain like a slow leak. Was I coping any better? Tamping everything down and hiding it, although a legitimate strategy, didn’t help me move forward. So what would? Because the plain reality was that my heart and conscience were as heavy today as they’d been the day she died. I was simply used to the weight. Nothing could make the load lighter. No amount of doing good would ever change my part in what happened.
The rattle of the door downstairs pierced the silence, the sound of happy voices wound up the stairs. That was when the tears came. I loved hearing Eamon's voice alongside my dad's and my sister's. I loved hearing Fiona's bubbly giggle. It made me laugh, even when I didn’t know the joke.
Eamon was coming up the stairs. I could tell by the pace of his footsteps. I wiped my cheeks dry with my hands. I didn’t want him to see me crying.
“Howya.” He appeared in the doorway. In this old house, especially on the second floor, his head came close to scraping the top of the doorframe. “We're back.”
“Did you have fun?”
“I’ve never seen anyone shop like your father.” He sat next to me on the bed and I instantly felt better. It was amazing how his presence calmed me. “It's a bloody tactical operation. Very fast. Very organized. No extra time allowed.” He made chopping motions with his hand.
A breathy laugh burst from my lips. For as laid back as my dad could be, he didn’t like being around a lot of people, and that meant most outings were swift affairs. “You should've seen Amy and I trying to keep up when we were kids. Now we don't even bother. We just hang back and let him gripe at us about dawdling.”
He inched back and sat against the wall, pulling his leg up onto the bed. “Fiona was the only one he’d stop for. She had a lot of questions. It's the first time she's been in a proper American grocery store.”
“Those two are totally hitting it off. It's adorable.” My dad was having the fun with Fiona that he'd missed out on with me and Amy. It was so lovely to see that I couldn't even be melancholy about it. It only made me happy.
There were more footfalls on the stairs and Amy turned up. “Hey. Fiona wants to go for a walk in the woods. Just us girls. And Julia's dogs, of course. She said they could use some wearing out.”
“Sounds good. I need some fresh air.” I reached over and placed my hand on Eamon's knee. “You won't be bored if we leave you at home? It sounds like no boys allowed.”
He shook his head. “It'll give me some time with your dad.”
“Dad!” Fiona called up the stairs. “Come here! Grandpa Mark is doing magic!”
“The fun around here is non-stop,” Eamon said.
“It was one of his many hobbies when we were little,” Amy said. “It's been years since he's done any of that.” She looked right at me, a bit horror-stricken. “I hope he doesn't try to do the one where he lights the dollar bill on fire.”
“I’d better go down and supervise, huh?” Eamon got up from the bed.
“Yes. Please.” A fire was the absolute last thing we needed.
Eamon left and Amy leaned against the doorway. “You okay? You seem down.”
“I talked to Grandma Price. I called about Mom's necklace.”
“You did? What did she say?”
I wanted so badly to spill my guts to my sister. She was the one person in the world who could understand what I was feeling. Plus, she'd experienced our grandmother's ire up close. She knew exactly how ugly it could be. But I couldn't do that to her. I'd promised her the necklace and I would deliver it. Maybe not on this trip. Maybe I'd have to bring in Aunt Lucy. But somehow I would get that damn necklace. Even if it killed me.
“She was her normal grumpy self. She's pissed at Aunt Lucy. She doesn’t want to be living in that home.”
Amy sat next to me and crossed her legs. “Can you blame her? I wouldn't want to live somewhere like that either.”
“I’m sure it's not fun.”
