Enright Family Collection (130 page)

The rest of the day had seemed even easier after that, as if an obstacle had been rolled out of the way by a large unseen hand, and Matt had relaxed and had even begun to cautiously enjoy himself. He and Nick and a very soggy Ben—Zoey had not gone quietly into the pond—had folded the chairs and
tables and returned them to Laura’s van. He had built a fire in the living room of the farmhouse and they had all gathered around it for coffee and the last of the homemade ice cream that August had helped the girls to make after dinner. A sort of comfort had settled over the entire afternoon and evening, as if he had been embraced by wide arms that had folded around him and pulled him inside. The warmth of it had lightened his heart. He was too tired to analyze it, too weary to protest. Scrutiny could wait.

Laura’s new siblings—the whole extended family, for that matter—were a caring, lively, fun group. Even Delia had been nothing like he had imagined. There was an elegance about her, that much had not come as a surprise. But the woman had seemed to possess a true warmth, a way of listening to you that made you feel that there was nothing more important in the world at that moment than what you were saying. He had to admit that she was a compelling and fascinating woman, and that he didn’t know how he would feel if he learned, after all these years, that she was his birth mother.

Matt was beginning to understand how it had been so easy for Laura to have fit so effortlessly into her new family. He had a vision of the entire Enright clan lined up side by side on an ever extending park bench, cheerfully sliding over to make room for one more. For Laura’s sake, he hoped with all his heart that it was more than a temporary accommodation. Having seen firsthand how easy it was to slip into their stride, Matt’s heart squeezed at the thought of how very painful it would be for Laura if his worst
fears for her materialized, and they all vanished, one by one, from her life.

It had all gone really well till right there at the end, when Delia was leaving—she had a stop to make, she had said—and Laura had carved out a large square from the lower right corner of the enormous birthday cake, the piece with “Ally” written on it in blue frosting, and placed it on a large plate.

“This piece goes to Grandma, Ally,” Laura had said, and Ally had handed the plate to Delia, who had leaned down and kissed Ally on the forehead and whispered something in her ear.

It had been a family tradition started by Laura, continued by Matt and later Ally, that the piece of cake bearing the birthday name would be presented to Charity. That Laura could blithely pass on the honor to Delia had struck Matt like a sharp blow to the head.

Matt had offered a curt goodnight. Calling for his dog, he headed for the barn, putting the day and the Enrights behind him once again.

chapter fourteen

Georgia pulled the hood of her old gray sweatshirt up over her head. The light sprinkle of rain that had been falling when she left the farmhouse was turning into a steady downpour, and she headed for the big elm tree in the middle of the field for shelter.

“Come on, Spam, hurry.” She called to the pig who had wandered in the general direction of the pond. Upon hearing Georgia’s voice, Spam waddled at her top speed—which wasn’t very speedy—toward the tree.

Seating herself upon one of the gnarled roots that had long ago pushed above the surface of the earth, Georgia wiped beads of water from her face and shivered as a few strays slid down her throat and onto her chest. What, she wondered, had happened to yesterday’s beautiful weather?

Seems it disappeared as quickly as Matt’s pleasant disposition had the night before, she thought, trying for the hundredth time to figure out what could have caused him to close off and flee so suddenly.

Everything had been fine. Better than fine. Matt had seemed to be getting along with everyone—everyone liked him—and he even seemed to almost like them. It had appeared that even Delia had started to win him over. Then bam! out the door he went without so much as a fare-thee-well.

Even Laura had been at a loss to understand what had caused him to bolt like that, and Ally had been crushed that he had left without kissing her goodbye.

Georgia traced small circles on the ground with the toe of one foot, then leaned over and picked the small purple flower she had unintentionally torn from its plant. Violets had always been a spring favorite, so she picked a few more and tried to recall what Hope’s flower book had said about violets. Something about offering protection against wicked spirits. And that mixed with something—was it lavender?—they were a powerful love stimulant and something about arousing lust.

She twirled the flowers around on their stems between two fingers, pondering their reputation and wondering just what exactly one
did
with them that could inspire love—to say nothing of lust—from another.

Several clumps of dandelions, their flowers having already gone to seedheads, grew around the base of the tree. When she and Zoey were little, they had called the milky white globes of seeds
wishes,
and had spent many a spring and summer afternoon contributing to the plants proliferation by blowing countless wishes to the wind to ensure that they would come true.

Georgia had never wished for material things, or for beauty, or for love. She had wanted only to become a dancer, to dance upon a big stage in a beautiful costume, to feel the music invade her body and to move with it. It had been her constant wish, her only wish, and eventually, it had come true.

Maybe there’s something to these things after all,
she mused.

Hope’s book had listed many magical uses for dandelions, and Georgia tried to remember them all as she picked one, causing it’s sticky juice to cling to her fingers.

If you blow the seeds off the head, the remaining number of seeds will be equal to the remaining number of years of her life.

She blew, and the seeds scattered. There were lots of seeds left clinging, though, too many to count, so she figured she was good to go for a few more years.

She picked another one.

Blow three times and the number of seeds left will tell you what time it is.

After the third puff she paused and counted. Seven seeds remained. It had been about eight-thirty when she left the house. Close enough.

Amused now, she picked another, and tried to recall another of the entries in Hope’s book.

Blow the seeds in the direction of someone you love, and they will receive whatever message you send.

The rain had slowed, and Spam grunted loudly. She might be cold from the dampness, Georgia frowned, and having read something about taking
care not to let your pig get chilled, she said aloud, “Okay, we’ll go back and you can curl back up on your little pig bed and sleep away a rainy Sunday. Which, actually, is not a bad idea ...”

Thinking about the pleasures of a hot cup of tea and a good book, Georgia pulled back the sweatshirt hood and followed a straight furrow to the end of the field. Realizing she still held the last dandelion in her hand, she pointed the stem in the direction of the barn and blew. She stood for a long moment, watching the tiny white seed heads drift upwards toward the second floor, wondering if, in fact, her message had been received.

Matt stared out his living room window, his eyes fixed on the small figure walking toward the farmhouse. If things had gone otherwise last night, he might have pulled on a parka and joined her on her early morning walk. In his mind’s eye, he could almost see them as they followed the deeply cut rows, walking closely enough for their shoulders to occasionally tap as they navigated the muddy furrows. Then maybe they’d sit in the farmhouse kitchen for a cup of coffee and some easy Sunday morning conversation. He scowled and turned from the window, picked up his coffee cup, and sat down at his own table to drink it, alone.

He glanced at the clock, the hour hand of which approached nine. He’d flown out of the farmhouse last night and jumped into his truck, banged the key into the ignition and ... nothing. His battery was dead. Clear as day, he could see cables on a shelf in
his garage back in Shawsburg, right where he’d left them the last time he’d cleaned out the truck. He’d been forced to wait until morning to call a local service station to come out to give him a charge. The delay in leaving was frustrating him even further. He had wanted to be at the nursing home early this morning. And Doc Espey had asked him to stop over this afternoon around two—there was something he’d wanted to talk about—and Matt promised he’d be there.
Probably wanted an update on the success of that new canine antibiotic we’ve been using,
Matt thought as he drained the last bit off coffee from the cup just as the tow truck pulled into the drive. He ran down the steps and out into the rain to go about the business of getting his truck running.

Later, after the service truck had done it’s duty and returned to O’Hearn proper, Matt washed the cup and the plate from breakfast, then rinsed out Artie’s water dish before turning out the light and heading for his bedroom, where he repacked his clothes, made his bed, and whistled for his dog. He locked the door behind him, then paused there on the landing, to stand in the rain and look across the yard.

There was a light in the kitchen. He wondered what she was doing, and wished he could have felt free to join her. A crack of thunder from someplace out beyond the woods shook the ground beneath his feet. Calling to Artie, he opened the door of his truck, threw in his overnight bag, and hopped in after the dog. Whatever Georgia Enright was doing on this stormy morning, it had nothing to do with him.

It had saddened Matt in ways he could not express
to have seen Delia Enright take his mother’s place the night before as Ally had presented her with what had traditionally been reserved for Charity. It had only served as yet one more reminder of what they had lost as a family that had always been so close, of what Charity had lost of herself. He had wished that his mother had been there, for Ally’s sake, certainly, but mostly for Charity’s sake. She had so loved Ally, had always made such a fuss for Ally’s birthday, helping Laura to plan her parties and make certain that all was perfect for her only grandchild’s special day.

Whatever had made him think he could integrate these people into his life, Delia especially, who was obviously all too eager to step into his mother’s role? And Laura’s words—“This goes to Grandma.”—still rankled. Had Charity’s absence been felt by no one but him?

He played with the radio dial, searching for something other than Sunday morning sermons or hip-hop, which grated on his nerves. He lingered for a moment over the station that was playing gospel. Charity had loved gospel music. He left the station on, hoping that perhaps a little of the optimism of the music would have a positive effect on his state of mind. He hated being gloomy when he arrived at Riverview. It didn’t help his outlook, and surely couldn’t help Charity’s, for him to be on edge and miserable.

“I won’t be too long, Artie,” Matt said as he parked the car under the sheltering canopy of a large tree in the visitors lot. “I’ll leave the window partly down on your side if you promise not to keep sticking your
head out into the rain. And don’t bark at anyone unless they try to open the door, okay? Some of these folks might be late sleepers ...”

Out of habit, Matt locked his door, even though he knew that the chances were slim that anyone would steal his truck with a one hundred and thirty pound rottweiler sitting on the front seat. He tried to put a little life in his step as he walked toward the one-story white clapboard building that overlooked the river below, but his feet felt leaden and his spirits sagged. He pushed open the door and walked through the lobby, which on this rainy morning smelled musty and tired.

A glance into his mother’s room told him that she was already dressed and up for the day, her bed neatly made. He followed the hall leading to the morning room where he would be most likely to find her at this hour on a Sunday. Chapel having concluded for those who felt up to attending, there was often a social hour after the service. Matt could hear the chatter of the residents as he rounded the corner and poked his head through the door. There by the window Charity sat, a frail doll-like figure dressed in white, in her wheel chair. Pink and purple balloons were tied on long pink strings from the back of her chair.

The sight slowed Matt’s step, then stopped him, midstride, halfway across the room.

At one of the long tables, a young nurse’s aid was slicing a large wedge of cake into thin pieces and serving it to the residents.

On Charity’s lap, a square piece of birthday cake rested on a pink paper plate that was held by thin
fingers. The cake’s frosting was deep pink, and even from ten feet away, Matt could clearly make out the letters. A L L Y.

Matt pulled a chair close to his mother’s and stared at the plate.

This goes to Grandma.

“I have cake,” Charity looked up and told him happily.

“I see that you do.” He cleared his throat. “Is it good?”

“It’s delicious,” she nodded. “You should have some. It’s someone’s birthday, though I don’t remember whose ...” She paused, looking confused, then brightened, pointing to the nurse and saying, “I think it’s
her
birthday.”

“I see you have some balloons,” he noted.

“Well, of
course
I have balloons. It’s a birthday party.” Her voice rose, slightly strident, as she stated the obvious.

“Mrs. Enright brought the balloons in last night,” the nurse’s aide called to him, “but don’t worry, we’ll take them off the back of the chair before anyone gets the idea to pop them or to eat them.”

“Mrs. Enright?” he said, although he had already known.

“She dropped them off with the cake last night. It was too late for her to read, but she said that ...”

“Read?” he asked, confused.

The aide nodded, her brown ponytail bouncing up and down. “She usually comes in once during the week to read aloud to Mrs. Bishop and some of the others, and she sometimes stops in over the weekends, too.”