Chapter Twenty-Four

she didn’t move her eyes from the back of his head, couldn’t

move her eyes anywhere else. She tried not to breathe in the smell, but it gathered in her throat, blocking her windpipes.

“Hello?” she croaked.

He didn’t move, just kept his head straight ahead.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Hello?” She detected an air of panic in her

voice. Without thinking, she stepped into the room and rushed over toward him. She fell to her knees and examined his face. He still didn’t move and kept his eyes straight ahead. Her heart quickened. “Daddy?” rushed out of her mouth in a panic, sounding childlike. It felt real to her then. The word meant something. She placed one hand on his face and another on his

shoulder. “Dad, it’s me, are you OK? Talk to me.” Her voice shook. His

skin was warm.

He blinked and she breathed a sigh of relief.

He slowly turned to look at her. “Ah, Elizabeth, I didn’t hear you come in.” His voice sounded like it was coming from another room. It was gentle, gone were his gravel tones.

“I was calling you,” she said gently. “I drove down the road, didn’t you see me?”

“No,” he said in surprise, turning his head back to face the window.

Elizabeth frowned. “Then what were you looking at?” She turned to

C e c e l i a A h e r n

face the window and the view took her breath away. The vision of her window, the path, the garden gate, and the long stretch of road momentarily threw her into the same coma as her father. The same hopes and wishes of the past came back in that instant. On the windowsill sat a photograph of her mother which had never been there before. In fact, Elizabeth thought her father had gotten rid of all the photographs after her mother left. But the image of her silenced Elizabeth. It was so long since she had seen her

mother; she no longer had a face in Elizabeth’s mind. She was just a fuzzy memory, more like a feeling than a picture. Seeing her was a shock; it was like looking at herself, a perfect mirror-image. When she found her voice again, she spoke quietly.

“What are you doing, Dad?”

He didn’t move his head, didn’t blink, just had a faraway look in his

eye and an unfamiliar voice that came deep from within him. “I saw her, Elizabeth.”

Palpitations. “Saw who?” She knew who.

“Gráinne, your mother. I saw her. At least I think I did. It’s been so

long since I’ve seen her that I wasn’t sure. So I got the photo just so I can remember. So that when she walks down the road, I’ll remember.”

Elizabeth gulped. “Where did you see her, Dad?”

His voice was higher-pitched and slightly bewildered. “In a field.”

“A field? What field?”

“A field of magic.” His eyes glistened, seeing it all over again. “A field of dreams, as they say. She looked so happy, dancing and laughing just like she always did. She hasn’t aged a day.” He looked confused. “But she

should have, shouldn’t she? She should be older, like me,” he questioned himself.

“Are you sure it was her, Dad?” Her whole body was shaking.

“Oh, aye, ’twas her, moving in the wind like the dandelions, sun shin-

ing on her like she was an angel. ’Twas her all right.” He was sitting upright in the chair, two hands resting on the armrests, looking more relaxed than ever.

“She had a child with her, though, and it wasn’t Saoirse. No, Saoirse’s grown up now,” he reminded himself. “It was a boy, I think. Little blond I f Yo u C o u l d S e e M e N o w

fella, like Saoirse’s boy.” His thick caterpillar-like eyebrows furrowed for the first time.

“When did you see her?” Elizabeth asked, dread and relief both filling

her body at the same time, realizing it was she her father had seen in the field.

“Yesterday.” He smiled, remembering. “Yesterday morning. She’ll be

coming to me soon.”

Tears filled Elizabeth’s eyes. “Have you been sitting here since yesterday, Dad?”

“Aye, I don’t mind, she’ll be here soon, but I need to remember her

face. I sometimes don’t remember, you see.”

“Dad.” Elizabeth’s voice was a whisper. “Wasn’t there someone else in

the field with her?”

“No.” Brendan smiled. “Just her and the boy. He looked so happy too.”

“What I mean is”—Elizabeth held his hand; hers was childlike next to

his tough-skinned fingers—“I was in the field yesterday. It was me, Dad, catching dandelion seeds with Luke and a man.”

“No.” He shook his head and scowled. “There was no man. Gráinne

was with no man. She’s coming home soon.”

“Dad, I promise you it was me, Luke, and Ivan. Perhaps you were mis-

taken,” she said as gently as she could.

“No!” he yelled, causing Elizabeth to jump. He faced her with a look of disgust. “She’s coming home to me!” He glared at her. “Get out!” he finally yelled, waving his hand and knocking her small hand off his.

“What?” Her heart beat wildly. “Why, Dad?”

“You’re a liar,” he spat. “I saw no man in the field. You know she’s here and you’re keeping her from me,” he hissed. “You wear suits and sit behind desks, you know nothing of dancing in fields. You’re a liar, pollutin’ the place. Get out,” he repeated quietly.

She looked at him in shock. “I’ve met a man, Dad, a beautiful, wonder-

ful man, who’s been teaching me of all these things,” she started to explain.

He moved his face in front of hers until they were almost touching nose to nose. “GET OUT!” he yelled.

Tears spilled from her eyes and her body shook as she rushed to her

C e c e l i a A h e r n

feet. Her room became a whirl as she saw everything she didn’t want to see in her disoriented state, old teddies, dolls, books, a writing desk, the same duvet cover. She charged for the door, not wanting to see any more, not being able to see any more. Her trembling hands fumbled with the latch as her father’s yells for her to leave got louder and louder.

She pulled the door open and ran outside into the garden, breathing

the fresh air into her lungs. A knocking on the window spun her around; she faced her father, waving angrily at her to get out of his garden. She gasped for breath. Tears raced down her face and she pulled open the gate and left it open, not wanting to hear the creak of its joints.

She sped down the road in her car as fast as she could, not looking in

the rearview mirror, not wanting to ever see the place again, not wanting to ever have to drive down the road of disappointment again.

There would be no more looking back.

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 466