The Parting Glass. Emilie Richards
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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.”
“Isn’t that part of his condition? Not to bond with the people who love him, at least not in the way we want him to?”
Peggy had been surprised and touched to discover all that Irene had taught herself about autism. She had done a concerted search on her beloved Internet and knew just about everything it had to teach about the disorder. “It is part of it, but I worry that I caused it.”
“You and every mother of such a child.”
“He needs lots of time with me now.”
“That he’ll get, no matter what you decide. But won’t he improve quicker if you have a little help and more teaching time? A girl from the village, perhaps? Maybe one who wants to be a teacher herself someday. We could ask Nora for advice.”
“I’ll think about it.” Peggy rose to get her son before he fell asleep on his feet. “I did have a piece of good news this morning.”
“Did you?”
“Finn says he has toys for Kieran. I’m not sure what, exactly, but he says he doesn’t need them anymore.” She lifted Kieran, who immediately began to fuss. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’m not planning a holiday anytime soon.”
Peggy returned after Kieran was in his crib. She’d left him thumping his hand across the bars. He would continue until he fell asleep mid-thump.
“Toys?” Irene said. “That’s remarkable, you know.”
“How and why?” Peggy paused. “And Nora told me this morning that Finn isn’t a doctor anymore. The man’s a real mystery to me.”
“The stories are connected,” Irene said. “Sit a moment.”
Peggy did, although she was aching to get outside for a walk. She and Kieran had taken one earlier, but they hadn’t gotten far. Kieran was afraid of wind, of which there was a great deal on the coast, and she’d had to bring him inside after only a few minutes.
Irene went straight to the heart of the story. “Finn lost his wife and two sons just two years ago. They drowned in a storm. Finn’s sorry that he didn’t. He’s never forgiven himself.”
Peggy was stunned. “That’s too sad to comprehend.”
“Immeasurably so, yes. Luckily his daughter wasn’t with him. Bridie was older than the boys and spending the day with a friend. They found Finn near shore, nearly drowned himself. Afterward he simply gave up.” Irene shrugged. “Lost interest in practicing medicine. In living, as well…”