“Before I tell you anything more,” I say, dabbing my face, “we have something for you. Matthew found it. It belonged to you, and we want to give it back.”
The locket has been hidden inside my turtleneck, and now I reach behind my neck to unclasp the chain. I hold it out to her.
She makes a little cry of recognition and reaches for the locket. I lay it in her palm, and her arthritic finger carefully touches the letters etched into the silver. “Sweet sacred heart. How can this be? Ah now, do you see these letters?RR & DW. He did that for me. My Damien had almost nothing to his name, but he spent every penny to give this to me. It was his promise. And then I… I lost it on that awful day.”
“Miss Ryan, may I?” Matthew asks, gesturing toward the necklace.
Anticipation blooms in her papery cheeks. “Yes, please.”
He fastens it behind her neck, and her shriveled fingertips tap it. It’s been almost a hundred years, I realize, since she’d last done that.
“I never thought I’d see this treasure again,” she whispers, then she closes her eyes. “I miss him so much, you know. Ah, may God rest him, he was the love of my life. The only one I ever loved, really. Damien and Mary. All I ever needed, and God help me, I lost them both.”
She pats her face dry using the Kleenex, then resurrects a weak smile. “Tell me then, my dear, about your grandmother. Was she happy? Please God she was happy.”
How can I tell her the truth? That yes, Mary was happy enough, but that she would never forgive her mother for abandoning her, no matter the reasons. I open my mouth to try, then hear a sound behind me, in the open doorway.
“Hello, Miss Ryan.”
I spin around and stare at Grandma. How on earth did she get here? Pale and shaking, she walks to my chair and uses the back of it for support.
Rosie blinks up at her, but again, she doesn’t understand.
“Miss Ryan,” I say, “this is—”
“It feels wrong after all this time for me to call you ‘Mother.’?”
Any colour that was on Rosie’s cheeks is suddenly gone. Her lips struggle over the whisper of “Mary? Is it you?”
Grandma is unmoving, but there’s something a little softer in her stance. How long has she been hiding there? How much did she hear?
“I’m ninety-four years old, Miss Ryan. You abandoned me ninety-four years ago.”
Rosie’s head is shaking helplessly. “I’m so sorry, Mary. I’m so sorry. Please, please forgive me. Oh, Holy Mother of God above. I prayed every day, and now… I cannot believe you—”
“Grandma,” I interject, hoping to bring the temperature in the roomback to normal. “Were you listening? She did what she had to do. She did the right—”
Grandma holds up a hand to silence me. She’s still staring at her mother. Right now, I see some tiny similarities between them, and I long to compare younger photos of them both. Where do I fit in? Do I show up in either of them? Did Mom?
“I knew nothing about you my whole life,” Grandma replied, “and all of a sudden you want forgiveness? I don’t know if I have that in me.”
I want to help, to bridge them after all this time, but Matthew takes my hand in his and holds me still. He’s right. This has nothing to do with me. I brought them together, but it’s up to them to take those final steps.
Rosie’s sorrow is so deep. My heart aches, thinking about her tragic story. She lost everything along the way, and now that her life is almost done, here is an astonishing opportunity to get some of it back. I watch Grandma, whose story was just as awful, but for the opposite reason. I will her to back down.Give her a break, I implore her with my thoughts.You and I are both in this world because of her!
“I… I see your father in your eyes,” Rosie says carefully. “They were a beautiful green colour, like yours.”
Grandma considers this. “You kept your maiden name.”
“We never got a chance to get married. He was killed before we could get to a priest.”
“I would like to hear more about him,” Grandma eventually allows, fortifying Rosie.
“He was a wonderful man. Such a rascal. He would have loved you with all his heart, Mary. He already did, and you were barely even a bump.” She extends her arm to the side, pointing at a photograph in a somewhat tarnished silver frame. “There he is now, God rest him.”
Grandma edges farther into the room, her scrutiny passing between Rosie and the photograph. When she reaches it, she holds the photo up close and squints. I see the beginnings of a smile.
“I do have his eyes,” she says. “He was handsome.”
