Emilie Richards - The Parting Glass

If only she could unlock the mystery that was Kieran Rowan Donaghue.

She opened the door and saw that she had been right. Kieran was awake, but he wasn’t sitting up. He was lying silently, waving his hand back and forth in time to the movements of the curtain. If Kieran was capable of happiness, then he was happiest at moments like this. Happiest when he was alone, with no one asking more of him, no one expecting recognition or, worse, love. No one to distract him from the isolation he craved.

“Kieran?”

He didn’t turn, but she hadn’t expected him to. He heard her, though. She knew he did from the way his plump little body stiffened and his hand no longer kept rhythm. His mouth tightened, and he made a sound of distress, an animal sound. Cornered prey.

“Sweetheart, it’s Mommy. How’s my Kieran boy?” She moved slowly toward him. She knew better than to ask him to quickly give up his solitary world. Not so long ago the family had teased about Kieran’s “sensitivity.” He would be an artist, a poet, a musician, their Kieran. He was a visionary, this youngest Donaghue. He saw the world differently, experienced it at a level more visceral, more elemental, than most children.

In those happy days, before the diagnosis of autism arrived with the crocuses and early daffodils and turned a Cleveland spring into Peggy’s personal nightmare.

“Kieran,” she crooned. “Kie—ran.”

He turned to her at last. His angelic little face registered dismay. He had a rose-petal complexion and soft auburn curls. His pale blue eyes were as bright as stars, but whatever dwelled behind them was Kieran’s own secret.

“Mommy’s here,” she crooned. “Mommy loves you, and she’s here. Mommy’s not going anywhere, sweetheart. Kieran. Love.”

He didn’t lift his arms. He didn’t smile. His body, which had been soft with sleep, stiffened into steel. Then he turned away, turned toward the open window and the waving curtain, and began to hum.

So far, Megan had survived. Rooney’s appearance at her side had been a gift. She had never expected to walk down the aisle on her father’s arm, and that small miracle had gotten her to the front, where the man she loved waited to hold her up. Niccolo’s smile and Father Brady’s patient prompting got her through the service.

Now, hopefully, champagne and Guinness would get her through the rest of the reception.

“My car’s missing,” Niccolo shouted in her ear.

For a moment she didn’t understand. The Civic was nearly new. If the engine was missing, that was a bad omen.

“I think somebody took it to decorate it,” he elaborated.

She felt herself turning shades of mottled pink, the curse of a redhead. After the reception, she and Niccolo were leaving for a relative’s cottage on Michigan’s Drummond Island. She had envisioned anonymity and absolute peace on the drive.

“We’re stopping at the first car wash,” she warned.

He grinned. She couldn’t recall ever seeing Niccolo look happier. She wondered what she had done to deserve him, this man who had stood by her through all her doubts, fears and general neuroses.

“I’d like to outrun this storm,” Niccolo said, “but I think we’ll be driving right into it.”

“It’s raining again? Maybe we won’t need a car wash.”

“Pouring. I’m used to odd weather, but this takes the cake.”

Casey pushed through the crowd with a full plate of food and handed it to Megan. “You haven’t eaten a bite. This is fabulous. Both the Andreanis and the Donaghues outdid themselves.”

Megan realized she was starving. “Nick?” But she needn’t have worried. She saw that Jon was hauling him to the bar to fill his own plate. Niccolo’s brother Marco was helping.

“Having fun?” Casey said.

Megan dug into the best manicotti she’d ever tasted. She wondered if Mrs. Andreani would share the recipe. It was probably too soon in their relationship to ask, considering that until just hours ago Niccolo’s mother hadn’t wanted to acknowledge her existence.

“Is this supposed to be fun?” Megan said.

“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

A cousin with a full tray of Guinness stopped, and Megan took a pint, suffering a hug while she was at it. “How do I eat and hold this?”

“I’ll hold it.” Casey took the Guinness.

“I’m doing okay,” Megan admitted.

“Everyone’s so happy you married Nick.”

Megan had never realized the Donaghue clan had such remarkable taste. “Nick tells me his car is missing?” She watched her sister’s face. “Casey? I don’t think I like your expression.”

“What did Nick say, exactly?”

“That somebody had probably taken it away to decorate it.”

“That’s the kind of thing people do for weddings, right?”

“You know more than you’re saying.”

“There are good times and bad times to discuss surprises.”

“And there are good and bad surprises.” The band started a chorus of “Cockles and Mussels,” and over her head, drifts of white tulle swayed frantically when someone opened the front door. “This had better not be one of the bad ones,” she continued in a louder voice. “Just tell me that whatever damage you did to the car, soap on the windows, shoes on the bumper, whatever, can be quickly dispensed with once we’re out of sight.”

Peggy arrived with Kieran in her arms. “What’s out of sight?”

Megan’s heart squeezed painfully as it always did when she saw her nephew. “Hey, kiddo.”

She tried to keep her voice low, although that made it inaudible. Kieran responded badly to noise and confusion of any sort, and now, in the center of the raucous crowd, he was eyeing her as if she were a stranger, although Megan had fed and rocked and changed him as often as anyone else in the world.

Kieran had seemed perfectly normal at birth. When he was still an infant, Peggy had started medical school, and Kieran had been lovingly passed among family members who were thrilled by the chance to care for the little boy while Peggy attended classes and studied. But no matter how much time they spent with him, Kieran had never seemed to remember them.

Peggy brushed his auburn curls with her fingertips. “Try saying hi,” she told Megan.

“Hi,” Megan said warmly.

Kieran stared at her, his cherubic face expressionless, then he focused his gaze just behind her. Megan turned to see what had interested him and saw a reflection of the swaying tulle in the bar mirror.

“Hi,” Megan repeated.

Kieran didn’t look at her. He seemed hypnotized by the movement. Just as she started to change the subject, he gave a lopsided smile, then reached toward the mirror. “Hi. Hi. Hi.”

Peggy looked disappointed. “Better than nothing.”

“He’s not quite two,” Casey pointed out. “Boys don’t talk as early as girls.”

“But most boys know the difference between reflections dancing in a mirror and their favorite aunts.” Peggy sounded matter-of-fact. “Well, that’s going to change. When you see him again, you’re going to be surprised at the improvement.”

Megan wanted to argue. She wanted to shake some sense into her sister. When Peggy had learned Kieran’s diagnosis, she’d quit medical school, perhaps forever, divorcing herself from a lifelong dream in order to devote herself to her son. Now she was taking Kieran all the way to Ireland to live with a distant cousin the family hadn’t even known about until two months ago. All so that she could somehow turn him into a “normal” child.

Unfortunately, Peggy was the only Donaghue who believed this was the right course to follow.

“He seems pretty perky, considering all the chaos in here,” Casey said.