An Irish Christmas Part 6

"And did you meet someone important?"

"Oh, I'll admit there were some impressive people at that party. And, yes, I did meet someone who changed my life . . ." I remember the crowded room now, seeing the handsome man at the piano, the way his head bent ever so slightly as he played, just the way my son's had done tonight. He was a friend of the host's, just playing for the fun of it. "But not in the way I had planned." I sighed, remembering the way I felt when he picked me out of the crowd, the way he spoke to me as if he really knew me, knew everything about me, and later the way he touched my face, our first kiss. A delightful s.h.i.+ver ran down my spine just to remember the feel of his touch, how my heart raced when we danced, when he held me close. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced before . . . or since.

Kerry smiled. "And you fell in love?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Your cheeks are flushed."

I touched my face. "Oh . . ."

"It's lovely."

I took in another deep breath, trying to decide how much more to say to her. And yet it felt good to finally tell this to someone-like a confession, wasn't it supposed to be good for the soul? Especially if I could tell someone who I would, in all likelihood, never have to see again. "I'd never been with a man," I admitted. "I was saving myself for marriage. But something happened when I was with him-something wild and uncontrollable. We spent the next three days together, and I felt as if I would follow that man anywhere . . . I'd do anything to be with him forever. Do you know what I mean?"

She had a wistful expression now. "It's been many years ago, but I do remember that feeling. So, what happened?" "He was an officer in the Navy, a communications specialist, and was being s.h.i.+pped to Honolulu. Pearl Harbor."

Her pale brows arched. "Oh . . ."

"Yes. It was 1941 and he s.h.i.+pped off a few days before Thanksgiving. He was due to arrive the third of December. But before he left, he asked me to marry him. He told me he loved me and he wanted us to go down to city hall and do it right then and there, but I wanted to wait . . ." I bit my lip and for the millionth time asked myself why-why didn't I agree to marry him that day?

"So, you didn't marry?"

"No. I wanted to plan a small wedding. I wanted some of my family to come out and meet him. He was so wonderful, I knew they'd all love him. And Liam didn't think he'd be in Honolulu more than a couple of weeks. He felt certain he'd be back for Christmas."

"Liam?" she said with interest. "Was he Irish by chance?" I nodded eagerly. "Yes! Rather, his parents had been-they had immigrated before he was born. But it had always been his dream to come to Ireland someday. That was why I wanted to come here now, and why I brought my son. I thought it would be a good place to tell him . . . the truth."

"So am I correct to a.s.sume that Liam died in the bombing of Pearl Harbor?"

I swallowed hard, then nodded. "Because we weren't married . . . I was never notified of his death . . . but all my letters were returned. I searched the Red Cross lists, but I'd heard that many names hadn't been included yet. But then I never heard a word from him either."

Kerry reached over and put her hand on mine. "And you were with child."

"Yes . . . and I knew that Liam had been going over there to work on the Arizona," I said. "So many were killed . . . I knew in my heart that he was gone."

"What did you do?"

"I considered going home and lying to my parents, telling them that I'd been briefly married, then widowed, and I could almost convince myself that it was true. And I wanted to stay in California, in case he came back. But while I was waiting, hoping to hear from Liam, Wanda got married, and I couldn't afford the apartment. So I took a job at a shoe store in a nearby town and rented a room there. I knew my Hollywood dreams were finished by then."

"Not much call for actresses with a bulging belly, I'll venture."

I shook my head. "The man I worked for, the owner of the shoe store, was so kind and generous to me. He was the one who helped me find a room to rent. Although it didn't take him long to figure things out. I tried to cover it up, but I began to show in the spring. Plus I had morning sickness for nearly half of the pregnancy. One day, when I'd been late for work again, he called me into his office and I just knew that he was going to fire me. But, instead, he proposed."

"And you accepted."

"I didn't know what else to do. I told Hal the truth, the complete truth. He said it didn't matter and that we would raise the child as our own. The only thing he asked of me was to never speak of it again. So I didn't."

"Until now."

"Yes. He died a year and a half ago."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I. But I feel that Jamie needs to know the truth. Perhaps more than ever after hearing him tonight. He is his father's son."

"'Tis amazing . . . a son would play music like the father, and yet they never met." She just shook her head.

The dining room was quiet now. All the other diners had left, and I suddenly realized it was getting quite late. "I should be going," I said, standing and opening my purse. "I'm worried about Jamie. I should check on him." I reached for the bill.

But Kerry got it before I could and she crumpled it up in her hand. "Dinner is on the house tonight."

"No," I insisted. "You must let me pay."

She gave me a stern look. "You need to respect Irish hospitality, Colleen. If I say you're my guest for dinner, ya should not argue with me."

"May I leave a tip?"

She smiled. "Certainly."

I slipped what I hoped would be a generous tip beneath my teacup and thanked her.

"Do come again," she said. "And bring Jamie along. I would love to hear the lad play some more of that lovely music. He has a gift, you know, a real gift."

I forced a smile, unsure if I'd ever be able to talk my son into playing anything again. At least not for me. "I'll tell him you said that."

"Or if you'd like to come on up here for a spot of tea," she said hopefully. "Please, drop by. We have a lovely view in the daytime and I make some scones that are renown in the region."

"Yes," I said suddenly. "I'd like that. Thank you!"

10.

Jamie I didn't know how things had gone so crooked for me tonight. Everything had seemed just about perfect, and then- bam-it all went sideways. I was walking back toward town, trying to find my way in the dark, and wondering why there weren't more streetlamps out here. Although, to be fair, I was still a ways from town. I could hear the sound of the ocean to my right, the waves smas.h.i.+ng onto the rocks in a lonely way, a way that made me long for something . . . something I couldn't even put my finger on.

Finally-feeling like, what was the use, why try to figure it out?-I found a boulder planted next to the gravel road and just sat down on it. I could see some sort of light off in the distance, and to my surprise it turned out to be the moon, rising up over the sea. I watched with fascination as it came over the surface of the ocean, reflecting a long, cool slice of blue light over the water. It wasn't a full moon, but it was getting close. Maybe three-quarters or seven-eighths. I'd never been great at geometry.

Like an LP record with a deep scratch, I kept replaying Mom's reaction to my confession tonight, trying to understand where it had gone wrong, and why. Why hadn't I been able to use the music and some of the charm I've been accused of misusing to bring this whole thing around and make her understand that my choices had really been for the best in the end? Why had she gotten so upset? I knew that no parents want to be deceived, but sometimes it just happened. To be fair, it had happened all my life. Mom was well aware that her son was no angel. But she'd always forgiven me before. I usually got off pretty easily too-even my friends thought I was a little spoiled. And yet, my mother just didn't seem like herself tonight. As if she'd been caught off guard, she'd seemed so shocked, so taken aback, and so unlike her usual cool, calm, and well-mannered self. Looking back, it was just plain weird.

I picked up a stone and chucked it out as far as I could, trying to make it to the sea, but hearing no splash. I thought about my dad, wondering how he would've reacted to all this, and I honestly felt like he might've taken it better. Sure, he would've been shocked at first, but then he would've listened, he would've tried to see my side. Despite the fact that he'd always wanted me to go into the shoe business, that he'd never thought music could ever provide a means to live, but something a guy ought to do just for the fun of it, I still think he would've understood me eventually. Oh, he would've been disappointed in me for lying to him. No doubt about that. Especially since Dad lived by a strict code of ethics, a code that was ruled by his faith in G.o.d. But he would've gotten over it. And because of his faith, he would've forgiven me too. I knew that for a fact. Plus he probably would've forgiven me a whole lot quicker than Mom, that was a.s.suming that she ever would. Man, I wished I had told the truth sooner, back when Dad was still alive. I thought about that old saying about weaving tangled webs by telling lies. It seemed to be true.

I didn't know how long I'd been sitting there, but I finally decided that I was cold and I should probably get back to the hotel. I knew that Mom would be worried about me, but I thought maybe that was a good thing. Maybe she'd have time to think and maybe even feel bad about her reaction. It seemed the least she could've done was to compliment me on learning to play piano. Even if she didn't like the style or whatever it was that seemed to displease her. Who could figure out mothers these days? That reminded me of her main purpose in bringing me to Ireland. How could I have forgotten? Oh, she hadn't really spoken of it lately and I was sure if I confronted her now, she'd deny it. But I had no doubt that her plan was to talk me out of joining the Air Force while we were here. I knew that she wanted to keep me home, and I suspected she thought if she kept me on a tight leash, playing the handyman around her house, that I would be safe and sound.

Well, my mother still had a few lessons to learn. As far as joining the Air Force went, I was more committed to it now than ever before. The first thing I'd do once we got back home would be to go sign up. And I knew they'd take me too. I'd done sports throughout high school and for fun afterward, so I was in pretty good shape. Plus nearly two full years of business college wouldn't hurt either. Hopefully it'd get me a better status once I enlisted, maybe even an officer. I'd have to look into that.

So, as I stood up and started walking toward town, it was with a new authority. I was going to join the Air Force. I might even become a pilot. And eventually, like it or not, my mother would learn to respect me for it.

Once I got to town, I decided I wasn't ready to face Mom quite yet. It wasn't even ten, and I suspected that she'd still be up. Probably waiting for me. So I went into the pub where the live music was playing, and although this band wasn't as good as the one in Dublin, probably because they were older and maybe a little more traditional, they were still good. Very good. And I enjoyed listening to them. I decided to stick around until the place closed up. That way I could probably avoid seeing my mother altogether tonight. And even if it made her worry a little, I didn't see how that could hurt. As I drank my second pint of stout, I wondered if my mother had any idea of how deeply she had hurt my feelings tonight. Or if she even cared.

11.

Colleen I tossed and turned until after midnight, worried sick about Jamie, but hoping he was all right and that I hadn't hurt him too badly. Although I knew I had. Oh, I'm sure he expected me to be upset, but normally, we would discuss such things in a civilized way if we were in public. I knew I'd have to explain myself. Jamie had no idea that I was reacting more to his music and my memories of Liam than I was to the news that he dropped out of college. In fact, I think I suspected he hadn't graduated. My own sister had suggested as much. Somehow I needed to make him understand. I needed to tell him the truth . . . perhaps even tomorrow.

Finally when it was nearly one, I heard footsteps down the hallway and then a key turning in the door next to mine, and I knew he'd made it back safely.

Still, it was hard to shut down my mind. So many old and new feelings tumbled inside my head; like my old Whirlpool washer when it got stuck on the spin cycle, things just kept spinning round and round. Would I ever be able to sort it all out? And how was I going to explain it all to Jamie? Telling my story to Kerry tonight had been a relief of sorts, but at the same time it had stirred up the pot, a pot that I'd managed to keep quiet for a long time. Now I was plagued with old questions, haunted by forgotten longings, and even obsessing over that old what might have been. . . . What if things had gone differently? What if I'd said yes to Liam, instead of wait?

But I'd been through all that before . . . so long ago that it seemed like another person, another lifetime. At the time I'd picked up the only survival skill that seemed to work-I learned to move on. I learned to focus my emotions and energies on the task at hand, whether it was having a baby, being a new mom, helping to sell shoes, or volunteering in the community. I simply moved on.

But I felt blindsided by this misunderstanding with Jamie-without even making my disclosure, our relations.h.i.+p had already hit the rocks. What if things got worse? What if I lost him completely? I wasn't sure I could survive that. Maybe I needed to rethink my plan. Maybe I was being too hasty.

Suddenly I wondered why I'd ever felt the need to tell him about his birth father in the first place. What difference did it really make? What was done was done. Nothing I could say or do would change the past. Why not let sleeping dogs lie? Then I remembered how he'd announced his intention to join the Air Force, and the chill of fear that had rushed through me when I imagined him going to war. It seemed just my luck that Jamie wanted to follow in his birth father's footsteps-whether he knew about him or not. Hadn't his style of music been a clear sign of that tonight? I was stunned to hear him playing-so like Liam that it was eerie. And, for one brief, crazy moment, I thought I'd gone back into time. I thought that Liam was still alive, still young and handsome, still playing the piano. It was as if Pearl Harbor had never happened. And then I actually pinched myself, realizing it wasn't Liam, it was my son. And Liam's son. So strange.

And who could tell with fate? Perhaps the son was designed to be a shadow of the father, something predisposed even before his birth. What if my attempts to intervene made no difference? What would be, would simply be. Que sera, sera. Why try to fight what seemed written in stone, or perhaps in the stars? What if G.o.d's cosmic sense of humor was cynical? Maybe he got a kick out of watching history repeating itself. My dear Liam had played the piano, gone off to war, and died. In all likelihood Jamie would do the same. I callously wondered if Jamie might even get a girl pregnant before he trucked off to war and an early grave.

Finally I told my mind to be quiet-to just shut up! Quit dwelling on all that was negative and pessimistic and frightening . . . I reminded myself of what Hal had often said, whenever I was fretting over Jamie or life in general. He'd quietly put his hand on my shoulder and say, "Why work yourself into a fit over things you can't control, Colleen? Why not simply pray?"

Maybe he had been right. Perhaps prayer was my only ally now. And so I did pray. But first I had to apologize for imagining G.o.d as some heartless practical joker. I had a feeling that wasn't quite right. Then I prayed for help and mercy and wisdom. And then I fell into a fretful sleep and dreamed some crazy, mixed-up dreams involving Liam, Hal, and Jamie.

The next morning, I got up early, but I was not refreshed. I didn't feel the least bit rested or peaceful, and I wasn't even happy about being here in Ireland. Doubtful thoughts clouded my head as I pulled on my quilted bathrobe and opened the curtains. It was still dark out, but the sky looked as if it might be clear again today, and I could see a sliver of golden light off to the southeastern horizon, out over the ocean. It seemed likely that we could have another nice day, not that I cared since I felt certain another storm brewed, one between Jamie and me. Yet, I knew what had to be done. I knew I must place one foot in front of the other, and I must speak to my son, and somehow I must make amends. I would take the high road and apologize for how things went last night. I would forgive him for his wasted college money and his deceptions, and I would tell him that we needed a fresh start.

But would I tell him the truth about his father? I still felt unsure. Was it best to just get these things out in the open, to lay my cards on the table and see what happened next? Or was it wrong to burden him with my mistakes? It was too early to figure that out. Instead, I slowly bathed, then dressed, s.h.i.+vering in the cool air of the bathroom and wondering why the Irish hadn't discovered the lovely convenience of bathroom wall heaters.

Then I busied myself in my room until 7:30, and although I knew it was still pretty early for Jamie, I went out and tapped on his door. When there was no answer, I tapped a bit louder. Surely he hadn't gotten up and left already. I hadn't heard a peep from his room since last night. And he'd come in so late. I knocked even louder now, calling out his name, and eventually I heard some thumping around, and he opened the door, blinked sleepily at me, and asked me what time it was.

"It's after 7:30," I told him. "I was going down for breakfast and wondered if you'd like to join me. I think we should talk."

"Give me a few minutes," he said groggily as he closed the door. "Gotta wake up and stuff."

This seemed reasonable, so I got my new book, an Irish novel set in the eighteenth century, and went down to the lobby to read for a while. Then, when it was a quarter past eight, I went on into the dining room. I figured forty-five minutes was plenty of time for Jamie to clean up. I knew that, if in a hurry, like back in high school and he had slept in too late, that boy could be out the door in five minutes flat.

I ordered a pot of tea. But after another fifteen minutes, with no Jamie, I went ahead and ordered my breakfast.

"My son seems to be running late," I told the waitress as she brought me my bacon and eggs. Then, although I ate slowly, glancing every now and then to the door, I was finally finished with my meal, and the only thing left to do was to sign for the bill and go back upstairs to see what was keeping Jamie. I hoped he hadn't sneaked out on me. It was nine o'clock when I knocked on the door again and after a couple of minutes, Jamie answered, looking exactly as he had the first time.

"I waited for you," I told him in a slightly irritated tone. "For an hour and a half."

He yawned. "I must've fallen back asleep."

I studied his red-rimmed and slightly puffy eyes, then remembered he'd had a late night, which made me suspicious. "Were you out drinking last night?" I demanded.

"I had a couple of pints, no big deal." He frowned.

"Look, I didn't bring you all the way over to Ireland just so you could go on a drunken binge every night." I instantly regretted my words, aware that my voice sounded just like an old fishwife. But it was too late; like a gun that had been shot, my bullet words were out and they had hit their mark.

"I haven't been on any drunken binges, Mom." He was closing the door now.

"I heard you coming in after one in the morning." I wedged my foot in the door, keeping it open. Part of my brain warned me to be the grown-up here, to talk reasonably and make peace, but the other part was putting up its fists, ready to go the next round.

"I was listening to a band."

"After midnight?"

"What is this?" he shot back at me, eyes narrowed. "The Irish inquisition?"

"Well, I'm your mother, Jamie. And I brought you here to-"

"Yes, you are my mother," he said loudly. "Although I doubt that anyone would've known that last night when you raked me over the coals and didn't even acknowledge my music. What kind of mother does that anyway?"

I pushed open the door now, worried that our voices might be disturbing other hotel guests, not that there were many this time of year. Still, this was uncomfortable-and embarra.s.sing.

"We need to talk, Jamie," I said firmly as I went into his room and closed the door. I stood before him with my hands on my hips, just the way I had done so many times while he was growing up, times when he had to be nagged to clean his room, or to finish his homework, or to undo some childish prank. More than Hal, I had been the disciplinarian with my son, and it seemed I wasn't ready to give up my role yet.

"Sit down," I commanded him, pointing to his unmade bed. To my surprise he did this without arguing, and I sat on the chair across from him.

He perched on the edge of his bed just staring at me, but I could see the hurt in his deep blue eyes, and I knew I was the one responsible for it. And I knew why. But I wasn't sure I wanted to face that just yet.

Suddenly it occurred to me that I was coming at this thing completely backward. After all, he'd been the one to make that shocking confession last night. I still couldn't believe how casually he had lied to both Hal and me, pretending to go to college when he'd been wasting our money and just playing around. For two years he'd kept up this deception. What made him think it was acceptable to take our money, abuse our trust, and then lie about graduating? We hadn't brought him up to be like that, and I had every right to be indignant and angry. And yet . . . was I using these emotions for a smoke screen?

"Just say it, Mom," he said, breaking into my internal battlefield. "Tell me that you're ashamed of me, that I'm a good-for-nothing son, that I'm useless and hopeless, and that I stole the tuition money from you. Just say it. I know that's what you're thinking."

I blinked, then took in a sharp breath. "Yes, I am disappointed in you, Jamie." I reminded myself I had meant to be in control here. I had planned to be mature, whether or not I felt like it. I wondered how Hal would handle this. Probably much better than I was doing. "I really did want you to go to college, and I wanted you to graduate too. I thought a college degree would be your ticket, your way to get a solid heads-up in life, a key to success. And I wanted it even more after you decided not to go into the family business. I can't deny that it hurt me to hear that you'd deceived us, Jamie. I think it would've hurt your father too."

"Yeah, I know, Mom." He held up his hands in a helpless gesture. "But at least Dad would've forgiven me."

Now that stung. "I'll forgive you too, Jamie."

He scowled. "Yeah, maybe you'll forgive me, but not until you get good and ready. Not until you've punished me first."

"I don't want to punish you," I said. "I just want you to understand how I feel. You used your father's money . . . pretending to go to school . . . you took advantage of him, Jamie. And he's not even here to defend him-"

"Are you trying to lay some big guilt trip on me? Maybe you really do think it's my fault that Dad had a heart attack. And he's not here to set us straight."

"No . . . no, that's not it." I felt lost now. I was saying things that really didn't matter, going down rabbit trails that had nothing to do with why I brought Jamie to Ireland in the first place, or what I felt I needed to tell him. I leaned over and placed my head in my hands, trying to figure it out. What was I supposed to do here?