I flop back on my bed with a sigh.“I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster of emotions.I’ll be completely fine one minute, and then the least little thing will set me off, and I’ll be crying.I know it’s all part of the grieving process, but it’s exhausting.A couple of days ago, Mum suddenly reverted to the state she was in right after Dad died: back to wearing his clothes, wandering the house aimlessly, and rarely eating or drinking.”
Joss wondered if Mum’s behaviour was brought on by the added change in routine with the movie crew renting out Sweet Escapes on a part-time basis to use as a filming location.Then there was the reading of Dad’s will, which I think drove home that he’s truly gone.
Mila makes a sympathetic sound.“Poor Mama Murphy.And pooryou.I wish I could be there with you.”
“I love you for that, but you’re exactly where you need to be.And these phone chats help.”I feel a pang as I realize my dad said those exact words to me countless times.
“And you’re exactly whereyouneed to be,” Mila says.“I know you’re carrying a lot of guilt, and I hope some of it will be soothed by being there for your mom.Your presence will help her get through this and start the journey toward healing.”
“It does feel good to be useful, even in a small way,” I agree.“To know that even though I don’t feel like I’m actuallydoingmuch, just being here is helping Mum.”
There’s a pause, and then Mila says, “But?”
She knows me too well.Before I can speak, she says, “You and I aren’t meant to stay in one place for long, are we?What was it Seamus always said?We have the rivers of the world running through our veins.”
“Always the poet,” I murmur.
“Thatwas inhisveins.”Her voice is soft, and I can hear a smile in it.“He had those rivers in him too, don’t forget.We’re wanderers, not meant to put down roots.At least not yet.”
Not meant to put down roots.I’ve been thinking about that a lot recently.Part of me wonders if I should stay in Honeywell, especially if my suspension leads to something more permanent.I could live with Mum, work at Sweet Escapes, maybe even get a part-time job at the small travel agency in the next town over.If I couldn’t travel for a living like I’ve been doing, I could at least plan other people’s adventures.And I wouldn’t have to stop travelling altogether; I could just limit my trips to short vacations like most other people do.
My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the piano starting up again.I can’t imagine who’s playing it, but with Mum’s fragile state the last few days, I should investigate and maybe tell whoever it is to stop.I ask Mila if we can talk later, and we exchange I love yous and goodbyes as I climb out of bed and head downstairs.
When I reach the living room doorway, I peer around the corner.My brain can barely compute the image of Nathan at the piano, playing “Claire de Lune”.His eyes are closed, head tilted slightly to the side as if he’s feeling the music as much as playing it.
Mum is curled up in Dad’s chair, draped in a heavy blanket that mostly obscures the Leary’s Pub sweatshirt she’s taken to wearing again the last few days.I’m no better; I’ve been wearing one of Dad’s cardigans on and off.It’s at the point where I should wash it, but every once in a while, my mind tricks me into believing I can still smell him on it.
Like Nathan, Mum’s eyes are closed.Tears slide down her face, but there’s something almost serene in her expression.At the sound of my shaky inhale, Nathan’s eyes open.His posture stiffens, and his fingers stumble on the keys.I expect him to stop playing, but he keeps going.Mum’s eyes remain closed until silence rings in the air after the last note.
“Oh, Fiona, you’re up.”She blinks as if she’s coming out of a deep sleep.“Nathan didn’t want to play while you were still asleep, but I asked him to.”
“That’s okay,” I say quickly.
Mum disentangles herself from the blanket and pushes slowly to her feet.“I’ll go make some coffee.”
“Let me do it,” Nathan and I say at the same time.
A ghost of a smile flits across Mum’s face.“It’s okay, you two, I can do it.Ineedto do it.”
She heads for the kitchen.Nathan and I remain where we are.I still haven’t gotten over the shock of him playing piano and playingwell, which likely means he didn’t learn recently.I always wanted to play, and my parents even paid for lessons when I was younger, but I never learned anything past a simple melody.The notes wouldn’t stick in my brain for some reason.Dad said it was because I’d rather be outside exploring, or making mud pies, or traipsing through the wooded area at the back of our property.
“Murph taught me to play about five years ago,” Nathan says.He stares straight ahead at the framed photos on top of the piano.He can look anywhere he wants if he’s actually willing to have a conversation with me.“He came over to my place one day and heard me playing guitar.He suggested we play together, and I agreed, even though playing had always been something just for me.”He flicks a glance my way, and I’m certain we’re both thinking the same thing: Nathan would always play for me when I asked him.
“He said his Irish blood craved music in a communal way,” he continues.“After the first few times we played together, he said what a shame it was that no one else ever used this piano.You know that tone he had when he was fishing?”
He doesn’t look at me, but I give a jerky nod anyway.Dad was charming and self-assured, and he had a way of convincing people to do things and making them think it was their idea.Not in a conniving or manipulative way, but because he thought it was what they needed.He wanted to help people grow and be their best selves.
“In what I later considered a moment of insanity, I asked if he’d teach me to play,” Nathan says.“I hated it at first, and I wasterrible, but we kept at it, even when I wanted to quit.Murph assured me I could stop at any time, but he knew I was stubborn enough to stick with it.”He gives a low laugh that loosens something inside me.Whatever it is makes me want to crumple to the floor and sob.
“So we kept at it, and I eventually got the hang of it.Even started to enjoy it.Murph told me…”
“Told you what?”I whisper when he doesn’t continue.
Nathan’s throat works for several seconds before he clears it loudly.“He told me I was born to make beautiful things.Music, my woodworking, the things I build for others.His pride in me made it all worth it.”
His words suck the air straight out of my lungs.Despite my best efforts to keep my emotions under wraps, I let out a pathetic little whimper followed by a sniffle as my eyes flood with tears.Nathan still isn’t looking at me, although his jaw is clenched so tight I’m surprised his teeth don’t crack.
I stumble backward, intending to leave the room.I don’t want Mum to see me fall apart.I’ve done my best to be strong for her these last few weeks, but I’m only human.Sometimes the emotions come in such powerful waves, I can’t contain them, no matter how hard I try.Whenever I see Mum’s face twisted in agony, or hear her soul-wracking sobs, it’s nearly impossible to keep the tears at bay.She’s told me I don’t need to be strong for her, that I’m in pain too and I’m allowed to express that any way I need to, but if I can shelter her from my own pain even a bit, I will.
