Part XXIV

I reminded myself of Sean’s wise words many times in the ensuing weeks as Ronan healed, and did my best to be patient with him, but it wasn’t easy when he was as cantankerous during his recovery as he had been easygoing throughout every other adversity. Being at home with two non-functioning arms was endlessly frustrating for him, surrounded as he was by so many things he liked to do but couldn’t.

He discovered that he could read, at least, seated at my desk with his arms resting on its top, and had figured out a way to turn the pages, albeit clumsily, so he wasn’t quite as bored as he could have been. But when he wasn’t reading, his only other independent occupations were walking and sleeping. He took to pacing around the apartment from room to room, moody and restless, clearly wanting movement and exercise, yet refusing to take evening walks with me. When I pressed him for a reason, he made excuses about the weather, or his own fatigue.

I never quite accepted the fatigue story as truth, because it always seemed that, after he had insisted he was dead exhausted, he would pace from room to room like a caged animal, far into the night. More likely, he was afraid to venture out after dark, but I never dared to suggest that. In time, when he felt better physically, I intended to make him confront that fear, but for now, life was quieter and simpler if I let him have his way. Besides, I reasoned, one of Linda’s tasks was to take him out walking during the day when the weather was fine. Evening walks, from an exercise standpoint, were not absolutely necessary.

Just a week after Ronan was settled at home, Linda met me at the door as I was coming in from work and said she needed to talk to me. I feared the worst: that she and Ronan weren’t getting on, and she wanted to quit. I asked her point-blank once we were in the hallway with the apartment door closed, well out of Ronan’s hearing.

“Oh, no,” she assured me. “He’s pleasant enough, but I wanted you to know that he won’t set foot outside the apartment. I’ve been trying all week to get him to go out for walks, but he refuses. I know it’s cold out, but it’s been so nice and sunny this week, walking would have done him good. He won’t say why he doesn’t want to go, so I figured you might know.”

“I’m as much in the dark about it as you are, Linda. He won’t go out at night, either, though I think I can understand that. He was assaulted at night, and though he doesn’t say so, I know he’s afraid. But by daylight? I’ll see what I can find out.” I handed her an envelope with her pay enclosed. “Thank you so much. We’ll see you on Monday at eight?”

She nodded. “It’s supposed to be a nice weekend. I hope you can convince Mr. O’Malley to get out and enjoy it.”

“I hope so, too. It would certainly do him good.”

Linda started down the front steps, and I closed the door and went back upstairs. It was reassuring to hear that Ronan was being congenial to the young woman, as I had told him he must be. He did seem to understand equally as well as I did, that if he made her angry enough to quit, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to replace her.

As I walked slowly down the hall to my apartment, I wished Ronan would be at least half as congenial with me. I was not looking forward to what awaited me, but knew it was best to face it head-on, and be done with it.

“Hey, Ro,” I said pleasantly as I closed the door behind me.

“Hey,” he responded.

I walked into the living room and found him lying down on the sofa with the ripple afghan Emily had made me one Christmas draped over his legs. “Are you cold, hon?”

“A bit.”

I went over to the thermostat and turned it up a couple of notches, then crossed back to the sofa and sat down at his feet. When I lifted up the edge of the afghan, I saw that he was barefoot. “No wonder you’re cold!” I scolded, and took first one foot, then the other, into my hands and rubbed them. His toes felt like ice. “Why didn’t you ask Linda to get you some socks?”

“They’re too slippery on these wood floors. I’d wear shoes, but both pairs I brought have laces. I could kick them off easily enough when I want to put my feet up, but I couldn’t put them back on again. And you know how many times I take my shoes off in a day. ’Twas fine before I got hurt, but now—” He broke off and gave a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“Then we’ll go out and get you a pair of shoes you can manage on your own.”

He scowled. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not going out, before you finally get it through your head?”

“Give me a good reason for not going out, and I’ll get it through my head quickly enough. But so far you haven’t been able to do that.”

“What, being in agony twenty-four hours a day isn’t reason enough?”

I groaned inwardly. The same argument, over and over again, and after a solid week, I was really sick of it. Still, I figured I would try one more time, in hopes that he might come around to seeing things in a different light. “Ro, I believe you’re feeling really uncomfortable and awkward, and hurting quite a bit, but in agony? Well, when this first happened and you were in the hospital on morphine, yes. But now?”

“How can you presume to know, when you’ve never broken a bone in your life?” he retorted, using the one bit of ammunition I had unwittingly handed him the first time we had this argument.

“We’ve been over that and over that. I’m not going there again. I’ll go start supper.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Maybe you’re not, but I am. I didn’t get much of a lunch break today, and a cup of yogurt doesn’t carry a person very far.” I stood up and put the afghan back over his feet, then went into the kitchen to fix supper. I had some fish defrosted, enough haddock for two generous portions, and I beat an egg and poured breadcrumbs in a dish, then set my skillet on the stove to heat. I was just breading the last piece of fish when Ronan came into the room.

“Did you find the bowl in the fridge?” he asked.

“What bowl?”

“On the bottom shelf. The big pottery bowl. You might want to set that in the oven for awhile, or take off the foil and put on some plastic wrap and throw it in the microwave for ten minutes or so.”

“What is it?”

“Colcannon,” he said, and smiled. “I talked Linda through the making of it this morning, so you’d not have to fret about making a vegetable to go with the fish.”

“That’s nice, Ro, but I don’t get it. You’re in too much pain to go for a walk, but you can hang out in the kitchen teaching Linda to make colcannon?”

“It provided a much-needed distraction.”

“That’s nice,” I said, as I wrapped the dish and stowed it in the microwave. “Walking would distract you, too, and give you fresh air and exercise. The doctor said that’s important for your well-being, even if it won’t make your arms heal any faster.”

“I’ll do it when I’ve a mind to,” he said stubbornly. “Until then, would you please stop hammering on that subject?”

Though worded as a request, his tone of voice said he had issued a command, and I knew I had better let the matter drop, or things would get unpleasant very quickly.

Fine. I could let it lie for the time being. After all, it was equally important for him to eat a good, healthy meal. I would declare a truce until we had finished supper.

He was a little more at ease with having me feed him now, after three weeks, and didn’t complain about it much anymore, unless I happened to spill something, or attempted to give him a mouthful that was still a bit too hot. Tonight’s meal went off without a hitch, though, and the food was good and satisfying. Now I was glad he had taken the time to teach Linda to make colcannon. It was nearly as good as if Ronan had made it himself, and I told him so.

“The taste is right,” he agreed, “but she didn’t mash the potatoes properly and there are lumps. I tried to get her to lug out the mixer and whip them, but she didn’t want to be bothered with that.”

I studied the contents of the serving bowl and noted all the lumps created by the chopped kale and leeks. “Ro, how can you tell? Colcannnon’s not exactly a smooth purée.”

“No, but I’ve eaten enough of it in my life to know when it’s not quite up to the standard. Still, it tastes right, and it’s not bad for a first attempt.”

“No, not at all.” I fed him his last few bites, then got up and started gathering the dishes. “Let me clean up a bit, and then you wanted me to work on your hair, right?”

“Yes, please. It wants a trim, about an inch or so.”

It didn’t take long to wash the few dishes and utensils. Ronan had gotten up and paced around for a bit, then disappeared, presumably into the bathroom. I set the last dish in the drying rack and went down the hall to meet him.

“You know I hate to ask,” he greeted me, “but would you mind—”

So I assisted him, then got him put back together quickly and neatly. “Ronan, sweetie, you don’t have to mince words, y’know. If you have to go, say so. You don’t have to keep falling all over yourself to find a polite way to ask.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, blushing. “No matter how nice you are about it, I can’t help feeling embarrassed.”

“We have a few more weeks of this ahead, so if I were you, I’d try to get over it, especially since you know it can’t be helped.”

“I know,” he replied, sighing.

I took some towels from the linen closet and arranged them around the sink, turned on the taps, and took the shampoo and conditioner bottles from the shower. Once satisfied with the water temperature, I beckoned to him. “Come on, Ro.”

He bent over and flipped his hair forward, and I guided him to the sink. It was a lucky thing that I had a spray nozzle put in a few years ago. Without it, I would have had to wash his hair in the kitchen sink, and it would have been even more awkward a procedure than this. I was clumsy, not having figured out the most efficient way of doing things, but within fifteen minutes the job was done. Then I toweled him off and got him seated on the closed toilet, straddling it so his back was turned to me.

“Please be quick, if you can. This isn’t very comfortable.”

“I’ll do my best. An inch, right?”

“At least. Probably closer to two.”

“All right.” I smoothed his hair with the towel, ran my fingers through to neaten it up a bit, then picked up the comb. The stitches from the head wound were long gone, and his hair was already growing in to cover the scar. So far, it was just stubble, but the area was not large, and it was easy enough to hide by brushing the surrounding hair over it. I set to work on the back first, determined to get the unpleasant part of the process out of the way first. Ronan’s hair really was very thick for a man of his age, and with his waves and curls it was prone to tangling. It still surprised me, how a man who had worn his hair long for so many years could react so badly to snarls. He was pretty strong and fearless about many things, but combing into a snarl too hard really made him yell. It didn’t matter if I did it, or he did it himself. The result was always the same. The worst ones always made themselves known after I was sure I had gotten them all and had started combing or brushing harder. This time, though, I had been even more careful than usual, so when the comb hit one at the nape of his neck, I was moving more vigorously than I normally would on an initial comb-through.

“Jaysus Christ, woman!” he roared, jerking his head away and taking the comb with it. “What the fuck are you trying to do to me?”

“Ro, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“The hell you didn’t! Fuck sake! That happens every single damn time you work on my hair!”

“It tangles. I can’t help—”

“You could if you wanted to.”

Now I was getting angry, too. “What exactly are you suggesting? That I pull your hair on purpose, like a child in a schoolyard fight?”

“Not like a child, no, but in anger, to punish me for being an inconvenience, and—”

“Ronan O’Farrell, how dare you?” I stepped back, and when he rose and turned to face me, I glared at him. “Of all the nasty assumptions you could make!”

“Go ahead and deny it, then. Look me in the eye and deny it!”

Things degenerated from there.

Looking back, I can’t remember exactly what he said to push me over the edge, but whatever it was, he flung it at me so cruelly, I responded impulsively and slapped his face. In the shocked silence that followed, still boiling mad, I did the meanest thing I had ever done in my life. Helpless as he was, with the print of my hand reddening and swelling on his cheek, I walked out on him, declining to answer as he called after me: “No, Sarah! Wait! Where are you going? Don’t leave me—”

I’m ashamed to admit that it gave me real pleasure to slam the door in his face, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to open it and follow me.

“Go ahead and wonder,” I muttered, as I descended to the street. “Go ahead and wonder!”

***

I took the T to Beacon Hill and, still seething, quickly made my way to Sean and Mary’s house. Mary buzzed me in and welcomed me with a smile when I finally made it upstairs. “Come in, Sarah. How’s Ronan?”

“Exactly the same,” I complained. “In pain, frustrated, cranky, and taking it all out on me.”

“Oh, dear. Do you think maybe Sean could help?”

“I was hoping he might be willing to try. There’s just no reasoning with the man right now.”

She nodded. “Where is he?”

“Home. I—I kind of left him there to stew for awhile.”

Mary’s eyebrows arched up. “Alone?”

“Yes.”

One look at her face told me she disapproved, though she made no comment. “Well, Sean’s in the studio, but I’m sure he can spare a few minutes to talk with you. Come on up.”

I followed her to the stairs and together we ascended to Sean’s work space in the attic. He was seated before a massive console, eyes closed, headphones covering his ears, intently focused on the music. I hated to disturb him, but before I could say so, Mary had tapped his shoulder and gestured in my direction.

He pressed a button on the console, slipped off the headphones, and swiveled his desk chair around to face me. “Sarah! What’s wrong?”

“Well, I—I’m so sorry to intrude. You were busy. I should have called.”

“It’s nothing I can’t pick up again. In fact, I was working on the session recordings so Ronan can have a copy to study soon. Once he’s feeling up to it, we’ve really got to work on laying down the vocal tracks. Has he said anything about when he might feel like starting?”

I shook my head. “Sean, he hasn’t talked about music at all. Seems like all he wants to do is argue about everything under the sun. We just had a screaming fight that started with me trying to comb his hair. I don’t know what to do with him!”

“Ah, well, he’s frustrated, I suppose. There’s no pleasure in a man’s losing his self-sufficiency, even if it’s only temporary.”

Sean could certainly speak with authority on that subject. He was on his feet again, but still wearing a rigid brace to support his back as he recovered from his muscle strain. Also, though he hadn’t said a word about it himself, Mary had reported a few days earlier that he had finally agreed to have his right leg braced. The brace stabilized his right foot, and now, though he still walked slowly, he was no longer dragging his leg to compensate for the problem. He didn’t like it much, but was wearing it as directed and doing his best to adapt. Tonight, as always, despite his own problems, he faced me with a kind smile.

“What can I do to help?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Could you talk to him, a stór?” Mary suggested.

“I’m willing to try, but—” He sighed. “Mair, if you’ll make us some tea first, I could gather my wits and decide how to approach this.”

She nodded. “Come with me, Sarah.”

***

We were already settled at the kitchen table with the tea steeping in a colorful ceramic pot when Sean finally came in from the studio. He pulled up his chair and sat down, propping his canes against the edge of the table. “I’ve been thinking,” he announced.

Mary chuckled. “So, what else is new? You and your big head full of brains!”

He glowered at her, and for a split second I thought he was really angry. Then I realized it was part of their banter, and no offense could be taken when both knew well how deep and strong their love ran.

Sure enough, Sean’s mock-scowl quickly transformed itself into a grin. “Well, now, ’tis all for a good cause. You want to help Ronan as much as I do, else you’d not have allowed Sarah in to see me.” He turned to me. “Mary’s awfully good at making sure I’m not disturbed when I’m working, unless it’s something really urgent.”

“And this is urgent, Sean. Ronan’s home alone,” Mary said, her disapproval even more evident.

“Must have been quite some argument you two had, for you to leave him there in the condition he’s in.”

“He had to learn that he can only push me so far,” I retorted, stubbornly.

“Yes, well, let’s just hope he has the sense to stay put where you left him. If he tries to go out, God knows what could happen.”

“I’m not worried about that. He can’t get a grip on a doorknob, much less turn one. He’s perfectly safe.”

“Unless of course your building catches fire,” Sean remarked.

I gasped, and Mary reached over and swatted his shoulder. “Really, Sean!” she rebuked him. “Was that necessary?”

He shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. All I know is, no matter how bad things get between you, it’s not right to run off and leave a helpless person alone. Anything could happen. Sarah, you’ve got to find a more constructive way to deal with him when he gets like this.”

“But this is the only time I’ve ever left him!”

“And you’d better be making it the last. Promise me?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

“Now mind, if he was being enough of a bastard to drive all concern for his safety out of your head, then I can understand why you walked out. You’re doing the best you can for him, and it sounds like he’s not exactly being appreciative.”

“Well—he is and he isn’t. Sometimes he does thank me when I do something for him, but mostly he acts like he resents it, and he snaps at me a lot, for no apparent reason. What would he have done, I wonder, if something like this had happened to him back in New Zealand? Who would have cared for him there?”

“First the hospital, and then a rehab facility. Sometimes I think he doesn’t know how lucky he is. It sucks having something this bad happen to you. No doubt about that. But if it had to happen, at least it happened in a place where he could recover comfortably, with a good friend to care for him.”

“Sean, you know damn well that I’m a more than a good friend.”

“All right: his lover, then, or partner, if you prefer. Regardless of the terminology, he’s not going through this alone.”

“He wouldn’t be going through it at all if I hadn’t made him come to Boston.”

“No, he wouldn’t. He’d be at home instead, banging into walls and tripping over the furniture, and thinking about getting himself a guide dog. That eye infection was out of control. I really do believe he’d have been stone-blind by now if you hadn’t brought him here.”

“I don’t know about that, but I do agree he was headed in that direction. I think he’s forgotten, though.”

“Remind him, and I bet you’ll see a marked improvement in his attitude.” Sean drained his teacup and rose from his seat. “Did you drive over?”

“No. I took the T. Can you—?”

“Yeah, I do ride the T sometimes, but it takes me forever to get down to the train. I’ll drive us to your place.”

“You’re O.K. to drive again?”

“Yeah, as long as I’m not going far. Mary, do you mind?”

“Not at all. Just be careful, Sean, and please use your crutches. You’re so unstable on those canes, I’m afraid you’re going to take a bad fall.”

Sean rolled his eyes. “You worry too much, a ghrá.”

“With good reason,” she returned. “You’re still not over that strain.” She handed him the crutches and dropped the canes in the umbrella stand by the door. They kissed, then Sean took his place on the lift chair and we started down the stairs as the door closed behind us.

***

C.P. Warner
© 6 October 2007

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