Emilie Richards - The Parting Glass

A piece of bread hit the floor, and she stooped to pick it up and carry it to the trash container under the sink. When she straightened, Finn was standing in the doorway.

“He loses more than he eats,” Finn said.

“Does he look malnourished to you, Doctor?”

“Finn. Nora tells me you have advice for me?”

Peggy realized he was talking about the anti-inflammatories. “Not advice. I’m not that presumptuous. I did have a question, though. Irene’s hip has been giving her fits.”

“She refused surgery when it was an option. It’s not an option now.”

Peggy knew that much. She also knew Finn wanted to cut the conversation short. He was always curt with her, but by the same token, he was always warm and reassuring with Irene, a completely different man. She forgave him a lot because of that.

“Is there anything else we can do for the pain? Increase her anti-inflammatories? She won’t tell you she’s hurting.”

His expression softened. “But I know.”

“And there’s nothing you can do?”

“Her medication is a careful balance. She’s reached that unenviable stage when one need overshadows another, and hard choices have to be made.”

Peggy felt just a glimmer of the excitement that had highlighted each moment of her brief med school career. This was what she had studied so hard for. The choices. The careful balancing of priorities. The ability to alleviate pain and change lives for the better. “I know it’s difficult,” she said. “Quantity vs. quality of life.”

“It’s rarely that simple.”

“I thought you’d want to know,” she said. “I’m not trying to step on your toes.”

“I do, you’re right. Thank you.”

She studied him. During her week in Ireland she had come to the conclusion that Finn was one of the handsomest men she’d ever meet. He was tall and lithe, but not too thin. His black hair was curly and just a little too long. She liked it that way. It gave him a brooding, Byronesque appearance that wasn’t belied by the man himself. He had strong bones and dark brows sheltering eyes that took in everything but gave little in return.

The few men who had briefly shared her life—including Phil—had been stark opposites. Open, friendly faces, stores of small talk so that she didn’t have to work when she was with them. She didn’t like to guess thoughts or feelings. She’d never had the inclination or the leisure to try.

This man was different. Perhaps it was the relative peace of life here, the additional time for contemplation, but at odd moments she found herself wondering about Finn. He was a mystery, and for once in her life she had the time to look for solutions.

“How has the boy taken to life here?” Finn asked.

The question surprised her. Except for grilling her about her tenuous relationship to Irene, he had asked very few questions since picking her up at Shannon. “He’s adjusting,” Peggy said. “Finn, would you like some coffee?”

He shook his head. “You have plans to work with him yourself?”

“I’ve already begun. We’ve made a little classroom in the third bedroom. I’m starting today.”

“You’re qualified?”

“Who could be more qualified? Who loves him more and cares more about what happens to him?”

“Love gets in the way more often than not.” He said this as if he were Moses recapping the Ten Commandments for the Israelites.

“It can.” Peggy put more bread on the table in front of Kieran before she went to the slate counter to pour herself some of the coffee Finn had refused. “I know I have to be objective. But I have great materials, contacts on the Internet and a therapist I’ll consult with by telephone when I need to.” She waited until her cup was full before she turned. “And frankly, I’m cheap enough that I can afford myself.”

He actually smiled. She had the same feeling she’d had that morning when Kieran smiled. For a moment the sun came out and life seemed filled with potential.

“You don’t strike me as cheap, Miss Donaghue.”

“If you’re Finn, I’m Peggy. Otherwise I’ll have to reconsider.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. The smile was gone now, the face carefully blank. When he spoke at last, the words seemed to come from some place where he hadn’t lived for a while. “I have some children’s toys. Irene says you brought very few and need more. I can bring them for Kieran, if you’d like.”

The last things she had expected from Finn were assistance or the depth of emotion that seemed to echo in the simple offer. For a moment she didn’t know what to say. Then she nodded. “We’ll be very careful with them, but, Finn, I can’t guarantee—”

He lifted a hand, as if to ward off the rest of her words. “No need. I won’t want them back. Give them away if there’s anything left when he’s finished.” He turned without another word and disappeared into the living room.

She was left wondering exactly what price the man had just paid. And for what.

Irene Tierney was too thin, and it took her too long to get from one place to the other on legs that no longer seemed to do what they were told. Her hair was as white as the waves cresting at the shoreline, and her gray eyes behind thick glasses were filmed with early stage cataracts. She was bent, gnarled and blissfully young in spirit.

“It’s a blessing of growing old,” she told Peggy that afternoon after lunch. “You see yourself the way you were once upon a time. Not the way others see you. I’m twenty-seven. Just a bit older than you, dear.”

“Do you have pictures? So I can see you that way, too?”

“I have an album as thick as your forearm, but later, when you aren’t so worn out.”

Peggy was tired. The morning hadn’t gone well. She knew it would take time for Kieran to get used to the classroom and the “lessons” they were working on together. She had chosen the simplest things to start with. Holding a spoon. Stacking two blocks. Pointing to herself when she said “Where’s Mommy? Here’s Mommy.” She had worked in the smallest increments, planning to reward him with cheese or crackers, two of his favorite foods, if any progress was made.

No progress had been made.

“It didn’t go well, did it?” Irene asked. “Today, with the bábai.”

“As well as I expected.” Peggy watched Kieran’s eyes droop. He looked as tired as she felt, although he hadn’t yet abandoned his favorite window. “Everything takes time.”

“He has gifts. I’m sure of it. I feel them in his soul when I look at him. What does he see, do you suppose, when he stares out that window?”

“I wish I knew. I wish I could step into his world and see. It would help so much.”

“You know, don’t you, that you can’t manage this on your own?”

Peggy started to protest, but Irene shushed her. “You’re patient and hardworking, but even the best teacher needs help. And it will be good for the boy to have other people interact with him.”

“He’s always had lots of people interacting with him. Too many. My family took charge of him, carried him everywhere, fussed over him. That’s one of the reasons—” Peggy abruptly fell silent.

“I’m guessing now, but could it be you feel a tiny bit guilty about that? That so many others took care of him while you went to school and worked?”

Irene wasn’t psychic. Peggy had led her to that conclusion, she supposed, with other things she’d said. From the beginning Irene had wanted to know everything about her life and that of her sisters. Irene was hungry for family and couldn’t be filled up quickly enough. They had talked nonstop for a week.

“I do feel guilty,” Peggy admitted. “I keep thinking that if I’d just been there all the time, he would have bonded to me. That he would need me in a way he doesn’t seem to now.”