If You Could See Me Now (27 page)

She began to walk toward the kitchen, hoping her father would hear her moving around and come out to her. She had no desire to revisit her old bedroom. Her high heels echoed against the stone
floor, another sound unfamiliar to the house. She held her breath as she stepped into the kitchen and dining area. Everything and nothing was the same. The smells, the clock on the mantel, the lace tablecloth, the rug, the chair by the
fireplace, the red teapot on the green Aga, the curtains. Everything still had its place, had aged and was faded with time, but still belonged. It was as though no one had lived there since Elizabeth had left. Maybe no one
had
truly lived there.

She stayed standing in the center of the room for a while, eyeing the ornaments, reaching out to touch them but only allowing her
fingers to linger. Nothing had been disturbed; she felt as though she were in a museum, even the sounds of tears, laughter,
fights, and love had been preserved and hung in the air like cigarette smoke.

Eventually she couldn’t take it anymore; she needed to talk to her father to
find out where Saoirse was and in order to do that she needed to go to her bedroom. She slowly turned the brass doorknob that was still hanging loose from her childhood. She pushed the door open, didn’t step in, and didn’t look around. She just looked straight at her father, who sat in an armchair in front of the window, not moving.

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 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 shining 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 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 mistaken,” 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, wonderful 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 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.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“What’s wrong?” a voice called
from the back patio door. Elizabeth was sitting at the kitchen table, head in her hands, as still as Muckross Lake on a calm day.

“Jesus,” Elizabeth said under her breath, not looking up but wondering how it was that Ivan always managed to appear at the moments when she least expected him, but needed him most.

“Jesus? Has he been giving you a hard time?” He stepped into the kitchen.

Elizabeth looked up from her hands. “It’s actually his father I’m having an issue with right now.”

Ivan took another step toward her; he had the ability to overstep the boundaries, but never in a threatening or intrusive way. “I hear that a lot.”

Elizabeth wiped her eyes with a mascara-stained crumpled tissue. “Don’t you ever work?”

“I work all the time. May I?” He gestured to the chair opposite her.

She nodded. “All the time? So is this work for you? Am I just another hopeless case for you to deal with today?” she asked sarcastically, catching a tear halfway down her cheek with the tissue.

“There’s nothing hopeless about you, Elizabeth, however, you are a case; I’ve already told you that,” he said seriously.

She laughed. “A headcase.”

Ivan looked sad. Misunderstood again.

“So, is that your uniform?” She nodded at his attire.

Ivan looked down at himself in surprise.

“You’ve been wearing that outfit
every day I’ve seen you.” She smiled. “So it’s either a uniform or you’re completely unhygienic and lack imagination.”

Ivan’s eyes widened. “Oh, Elizabeth, I don’t lack imagination at all.”

Elizabeth laughed wearily.

Not realizing what he had implied, Ivan continued, “Do you want to talk about why you are so sad?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, we’re always talking about me and my problems. Let’s talk about you for a change. What did you do today?” she asked, trying to perk herself up. It had seemed like such a long time since she had kissed Ivan on the main street that morning. She had thought about it all day and had worried about who had seen her, but amazingly, for a town that learned of everything quicker than Sky News, nobody had mentioned a thing to her about the mystery man.

She had longed to kiss Ivan all day, had felt scared about that longing and tried to numb herself of feeling for him, but she couldn’t. There was something about him so pure and untarnished, yet he was powerful and well-versed on life. He was like the drug she knew she shouldn’t take, but the drug that kept coming back to feed her addiction. As her weariness set in later in the day, the memory of the kiss had become a comfort to her and the uneasiness vanished. All she wanted now was a repeat of that moment when her troubles
fizzled away.

“What did I do today?” Ivan twiddled his thumbs and thought aloud. “Well, today I gave Baile na gCroíthe a big wake-up call, kissed a very beautiful woman, and then spent the rest of the day being unable to do anything but think of her.”

Elizabeth’s face brightened and his piercing blue eyes warmed her heart.

“And then I couldn’t stop thinking.”

“About what?”

“Apart from the beautiful woman?” Ivan smiled.

“Apart from her.” Elizabeth laughed.

“You don’t want to know.”