Soaring (56 page)

“Dela wants to speak with you, hon,” she repeated.

I stared at her, nodded and went to the door that led to the administration wing. I didn’t have to punch in the code because Ruth buzzed me in.

I walked down the short hall to Dela’s office, jacket over my arm, purse over my shoulder, and stopped in her opened office door. I knocked on the jamb, and when her head came up and she looked at me, I said, “Hey, Dela. Ruth wanted me to check in with you?”

“Yes, Amelia, come in, would you? Have a seat.”

She swept an arm to the chairs in front of her messy desk, and cautiously, I moved to one, feeling funny.

I’d been working there a while. I knew the lay of the land. I knew my duties. I knew when to pitch in, where and how. I knew the chain of command. I took tough stuff and easy stuff. Unless they thought I was a Nazi, all the residents liked me. I thought I did a good job.

I could not imagine I’d done something wrong.

Studying Dela’s face as I sat and tucked my purse and jacket into my lap, I couldn’t get a read on if it was saying I was in trouble or something else.

I just knew whatever it was saying wasn’t good.

“What’s going on?” I asked once I’d settled.

“Amelia, honey, worst part of this job but I have bad news for you, girl.”

I tensed.

She gave it to me.

“Mrs. McMurphy passed away last night.”

My lips parted and my throat started burning.

“I’m sorry, Amelia,” she went on, sounding like she absolutely was. “You were real good with her and I know she liked you, even if she thought you were a Nazi. This is tough news to hear and I hate havin’ to give it to you.”

“But, she was okay yesterday,” my mouth said for me, my voice sounding far away in my head.

Dela shrugged, keeping kind eyes on me. “Happens. Sometimes outta the blue like that. One minute their accusin’ you of bein’ in cahoots with Hitler. The next minute, peace.” She got up, walked around her desk, sat in the chair next to me and leaned in to grab my hand. She held it between us and said softly, “First one’s always the hardest, girl. Gotta say, plain truth, second one isn’t a whole lot better. We know ’em. We care for ’em. We give ’em what we can to make their time with us as best as it can be. It isn’t easy for them to be in here. And one thing we give ’em that they don’t know they’re gettin’ is how hard it is to find it in us to be able to say good-bye.”

I heard her. She was saying the right things.

But I looked to the window, wondering how on earth I could spend my days at Dove House without Mrs. McMurphy.

It was raining outside, gray, cold and windy, but I didn’t see that.

I saw Mrs. McMurphy walking down the front walk in her coat with her umbrella on a sunny day.

It was no longer funny.

Right then, it pierced my heart and made it bleed.

I felt a tug at my hand and my eyes drifted to Dela.

“You with me?” she asked.

“They’ll all go.” My mouth was still speaking for me in that distant way.

“Eventually, we all go, honey.”

She was right.

Mrs. Osborn.

Mrs. Porter.

God. Mr. Dennison.

“Not many folk have gifts like you and me.”

I focused again on Dela at her words.

“We get it,” she said, still gentle, but also now firm. “We got the strength others don’t have not ever to show to them we know they’ll go but we’ll suffer the good-bye. We just keep on givin’ ’em the good. That’s our job. That’s our gift. You with me?”

Somewhere in my dazed brain I understood she was challenging me.

And somewhere in my dazed brain I wondered if she actually saw that strength in me or if she wanted me to reach for it, believe in me, grab hold and give that to the folks I helped look after.

Perhaps the Amelia Hathaway my parents raised wouldn’t actually have that gift Dela was talking about.

But the Amelia Hathaway I’d become in spite of that definitely had it.

So it wasn’t just my mouth that replied, “I’m with you, Dela.”

I saw relief flash in her eyes, knew then she thought this sad event, like it had probably with others, would have me leaving.

But truly, if I did, who would Mr. Dennison flirt with?

I tipped my head toward the wall. “Are they upset?” I asked.

Her hand clenched in mine before she let it go and sat back. “The ones who been around awhile, they’re dealing. The new ones, not so much.”

“I better get out there,” I told her.

“Yeah,” she replied.

“Thanks for being so kind in telling me.”

“Practice,” she murmured like she wished she didn’t have it.

I figured she didn’t want that practice (because who would?) as I gave her a smile that I hoped reassured her, got up and went to the door.

I turned in it to see she was up and rounding her desk.

“Do you have any idea why she thought I was a Nazi?”

Dela lifted her eyes to me as I spoke and shook her head after I was done. “No clue. The woman thought I was Rosa Parks. Every time she saw me she congratulated me on the courage I showed on that bus. Now I’ve seen a fair few pictures of Ms. Parks and not in one of them did the woman have braids. But didn’t matter. Mrs. McMurphy lived in her own world and until the end it was a safe world. Somethin’ else we can give. Somethin’ she got.”

Yes. That was something we gave. Even as a Nazi, she never feared me.

So that was something she got.

“Thanks, Dela,” I said.

“Not a problem, honey,” she replied.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Long time ago, I learned what was important to give and through that, how to deal.”

I nodded, gave her a wave and walked out of her door to get to the residents.

I spent part of my time there seeing to things that needed to get done, but most of it I spent being with the resident, taking their pulse, being sensitive and as business as usual in the circumstances as I could be.

It was not a fun day.

And at the end of it, I did something that was probably not right.

But I didn’t care.

I went to Mrs. McMurphy’s room, stole that broken umbrella and took it home with me.

I didn’t know why I wanted it.

What I did know was that it would always be with me.

* * * * *

I stood at my wall of windows, the double-paned glass surprisingly warm on the inside when I knew the day, still gray, damp and windy, was chill.

I stared at the stormy sea and thought I needed some kind of seating up there. The landing was wide, two people could walk across it comfortably. Maybe three. A nice seating arrangement or chaise lounge that you could relax in, watch the sea and brood when you had really crappy days that no book or TV would help would be just the ticket.

My phone chimed and I looked over my shoulder to it sitting on the kitchen counter.

I wanted to continue to mope about Mrs. McMurphy but it was the Wednesday after the week Mickey met my kids. My kids weren’t over that night and Mickey had texted that morning to say we should get together if they weren’t coming since both Cillian and Aisling had something going on at friends’ houses.

Since it might be Mickey, I went to the phone, picked it up and saw it was a text from Auden.

I opened it. It said,
Found it
and it had a web link.

I touched the link and a page on the official Magdalene site came up with the title of “Town of Magdalene: Budget, Financials and Annual Reports.”

In continuing to search but not finding the information, I’d asked Auden to help and obviously he’d done it.

I looked at the web address and saw that this information was buried under “About Magdalene” then “Meet the Town Council” then “Our Administrative Staff” and finally “Other Information.”

No wonder I couldn’t find it.

I went back to my texts, thanked my son, and forwarded it to Robin, telling her,
Auden got it. Here it is. Can you look and report back?

She knew what it was about because I’d mentioned it. And I was asking for her help because once, in a very brief period of deciding that perhaps her life was more than wreaking havoc on her ex, she’d decided to become an accountant (part of this, admittedly, was to be around accountants in order to find a new man because, “Amelia, sweets, a boring accountant wouldn’t have it in him to cheat”).

This had started with bookkeeping classes. And even though she switched back to wreaking havoc on her ex, it included her finishing those classes as during one of their clashes he’d baited her about them, telling her she’d never finished anything she started.

She finished those. Two years of them.

But even before that, she was good with numbers.

Roger wilco.

That made my mouth curve up.

Five minutes later, I was back to moping at the same time considering cueing up a movie in order to take my mind off things.

I was considering this because I could be brain dead doing it. I actually should be going over some of the online paperwork I’d told Mickey I’d fill out for him in order to file it so he could establish his new company. I also knew I should check email because, in his stead, I’d requested some insurance quotes for his new enterprise and I knew those would be coming in imminently.

I’d done this after Josie had told me that in order to cope with a busy life, Jake had found a wife.

I was not Mickey’s wife but that didn’t mean I couldn’t help. And when I’d offered, I knew the extent of his gratitude just with the way he looked at me.

So I was on it, and although it was a slow process, I was getting there.

But at that moment, in the doldrums, I didn’t think I had the brain capacity.

These were my mental meanderings when my phone rang.

It was Mickey.

“Hey,” I greeted.

“Hey back,” he replied. “Listen, babe, Ash’s plans changed. She’s home tonight. Thought you could come over for dinner.”

To my surprise, I didn’t like this idea.

If it was just Mickey, I’d take time with Mickey. I’d be with Mickey anytime I could.

Except right then, with Ash.

It was nothing against Ash. It was just that I felt I had to be upbeat around her, keeping things light, keeping myself open should she wish to bond or unload or anything with me. She hadn’t been back at Mickey’s house long enough for Mickey to have another try at a sit down so it wasn’t that.

It was that both of us moping I didn’t think would be a good thing. I knew I didn’t have it in me to be upbeat. And Ash was such a concern I didn’t want to introduce any kind of bad mood that she might catch, making her even worse.

“Why don’t you have some time with Ash, Mickey? I’ll stay home and let you have that.”

There was a moment of silence before, “You okay?”

“Not really,” I told him.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Conrad called this morning. He was a dick to me, but reading between the lines, something’s up with him and Martine and he’s taking that out on me,” I told him.

“Fuck,” he growled.

“More importantly, Mrs. McMurphy died last night.”

“Babe,” he whispered.

Then it happened. Like it had happened the time I talked to him when my kids came back to me.

And as a repeat, my sob was audible.

Mickey heard it. “Amy, baby.”

“I haven’t cried yet,” I sniffed.

“Have at it, then,” he offered.

It was a lovely offer, so very Mickey, but I didn’t “have at it.”

I wiped my face, took a deep breath and said, “Maybe it’s good that tonight I just hang at home, watch a movie…”

I trailed off, thinking of myself clutching Mrs. McMurphy’s umbrella and watching
Cocoon
.

Maybe I
should
mope with Ash at Mickey’s.

Mickey spoke my thoughts. “Not sure that’s a good idea.”

“I won’t be good company, Mickey. I’ll be okay and I’ll come over another night.”

“Amy—”

“I’ll be okay.”

He didn’t respond immediately and when he did, it was, “Hang on.”

I hung on.

He came back. “Shit, got a patch job that’s come through. After work, gotta go see to that.”

“See?” I asked. “This is not our night.”

“Right,” he replied. “Touch base with you later.”

“Okay, Mickey.”

“Keep your chin up ’til then.”

“I will, honey.”

“Later, babe.”

“’Bye, Mickey.”

We hung up and I pulled myself together, getting some hummus and tortilla chips and camping out in front of the TV
not
watching
Cocoon
(or
The Notebook
or
Fried Green Tomatoes
). Instead I watched
Rock of Ages
and did it hoping Cillian didn’t see it because emulating Tom Cruise from that movie might make Mickey’s head explode.

I was channel surfing after the movie when I jerked and lifted up, looking over the back of the couch toward the door because the bell rang.

I didn’t have the best view but I still could see it was Mickey through the stained glass.

“Touching base,” I mumbled to myself, liking that I had a guy who would do that in person after I got really bad news that ruined my day.

I rolled off the couch, went to the door, unlocked it and tipped my head back.

“Hey,” I greeted.

“Hey back,” he replied then pushed a handled, glossy bag my way. “That the right shit?”

I stared at him, brows drawn, before I took the bag, opened it and saw inside a bottle of my cleanser and another of my moisturizer. These were rattling around with a toothbrush in its plastic.

I didn’t use stuff you got at Walgreen’s.

My stuff was expensive and you got it direct from the salon or at the mall.

He’d gone to the mall for me.

Slowly, I lifted my head and, not knowing what else to say, said, “Yes.”

“Right,” he replied, pushed past me, walked to the kitchen, nabbed my purse, snatched up my phone then came right back to me. “Keys in your purse?”

“Yes,” I repeated.

He handed my purse to me. “Get ’em out.”

“Mickey, I—”

“Let’s go, babe. I’m starved and Ash has dinner ready.” My mouth dropped open as his eyes moved to the TV. “Fuck. That’s on. I’ll get that.”