Jon, now without the apron and flour smudge, led us to the table. It was beautifully set with Emily’s best china, crystal, and silver. The food, which smelled heavenly, surrounded a lovely, simple centerpiece of gourds and bittersweet arrranged in a wooden bowl. Ronan admired the deep fall colors most New Englanders take for granted: blazing reds and oranges, mossy green, endless shades of brown, and splashes of vivid yellow. “’Tis a feast for all the senses, isn’t it?” he observed.
Emily smiled. “I’ve always thought so. The culmination of a glorious season. One last splash of brightness and plenty before we move in earnest towards the dark of winter.”
“Though I remember a lot of snowy Thanksgiving days from my childhood,” I said. “You must have had a few, too.”
“Yes. Not quite over the river and through the woods, but some long, gray, snowy slogs up the pike to my grandmother’s place in the Berkshires. The ride wasn’t always a lot of fun, but it was nice knowing we could stay for a few days once we got there. What’s the weather like in New Zealand at this time of year?”
Ronan smiled as I helped him settle in the armchair Emily had designated as his. “In late November, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Well, now, with New Zealand being halfway around the world and below the equator, late November is spring, meandering toward summer. But even in the proper seasons, we don’t see much snow. There’s quite a bit in the mountains, of course, but not in the lowlands or on the coast where I live.”
“Which island, Liam?” Jon asked.
“The South, on the southwestern coast, near Manapouri and Lake Te Anau. Are you familiar with the area?”
“Only from a Social Studies class I had to take in grade school,” Jon answered regretfully. “Our textbook had a chapter about the life of a Maori family in New Zealand. I didn’t have a clue how idealized it was until I got a bit older. The information about the place iself was pretty true, geographically speaking, and I never lost my fascination with it. Tell me: what’s it really like? Do you have an autumn like ours?”
“There’s autumn, yes,” Ronan replied, smiling. “It’s quite beautiful in its own way, though different from what I’ve seen here. We have glorious blazes of color, but our trees are mostly on ground level with the gray of the mountains showing above them. It’s not a drift of color from top to bottom, the way it is here. I couldn’t quite believe my eyes when Sarah took me through the Berkshires.”
“It really is an amazing sight,” Emily agreed. “When did you go?”
“In October, before—” He sighed, frowning slightly. “Well, before I got hurt. ’Twas peak time for the foliage, and that coincided with a wool fair Sarah wanted to attend.”
“Wool fair? Oh, Sarah! You dragged the poor man to Rhinebeck?”
I could feel myself blushing. “Well—”
Ronan defended me. “There was no dragging involved, Emily. When Sarah told me about it, I was perfectly game to go along with her. ’Twas a long drive, yes, but the weather was perfect and I had no trouble keeping myself busy while Sarah shopped. I’m rather fond of sheep, being as we had some on Inis Meáin, and their wool kept us well-protected in the wind and weather. If I could have borne staying a lifetime there, I might well have become a shepherd. But sheep-farming already wasn’t what it used to be when I came of age to choose, and I didn’t feel inclined to spearhead its renaissance once music started leading me in other directions. The wool fair gave me an opportunity to re-connect with a bit of my past, without my having to do any more work than to scratch a few questing noses.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I went with her once, a few years ago, and I was bored out of my mind. And the smell—”
Ronan chuckled. “City born and bred, are ye?”
Emily nodded.
“A lot of city folk don’t care for the more pungent aspects of rural life. If you ever decide to visit Inis Meáin, do yourself a favor and keep to the tourist areas. ’Tis a lovely place, but the main industry is fishing, and if you can’t abide the relatively benign smell of sheep dung, then the stench of ripe fish guts’ll lay you out flat.”
“Ugh! Could we please change the subject?”
“What, you don’t care to know how I made my living before I left the island?”
“Thanks, but no. I’ll leave it up to my imagination.”
I could see that Ronan wanted to pursue the subject and tease her a little, but Jon, making the rounds with a bottle of Chablis, distracted him. He filled my glass, then stood poised over Ronan’s, ready to pour. “Liam, will you have some, too, or would you rather have red?”
“The white is fine, but just half a glass, please. I don’t drink, as a rule, but on a special occasion, a small taste can’t do me any harm.”
“You’re sure?” Jon asked anxiously. “I mean, I can get you something else easily enough. More cider, maybe?”
“No, really, it’s all right. I’ll take the wine.”
“Tell me when.”
Jon’s hand trembled as he poured, and I felt sorry for him. He was clearly upset with himself for not remembering, but who could blame his forgetting? The one time Ronan had told him he didn’t drink, Jon had been intent on Emily, and where the remainder of his evening with her might lead.
Ronan turned to me and tilted his head in the direction of the wineglass, and raised his eyebrows.
I nodded, understanding. I would give him a small sip, and discreetly consume the rest of his wine myself.
Jon resumed his place, and Emily smiled at Ronan. “Liam, would you say grace?”
Ronan’s eyebrows lifted yet again. “Me? Well, I suppose—” He closed his eyes and fell silent for a few moments, his brow furrowing thoughtfully. “In the Name of the Father,” he began softly, “and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Emily, Jon, and I, lapsed Catholics that we were, clumsily made the sign of the cross. Then, recalling that Ronan couldn’t do it for himself, I traced the sign on him as well, touching his forehead, heart, left shoulder, and right shoulder.
Ronan smiled and continued, his eyes still closed. “For all Thou givest from Thy bountiful earth and sea, and for the hands that prepared the feast, o Father, may our hearts be unfeignedly thankful. Amen.”
“Thank you, Liam. That was lovely, but it’s not the prayer I remember.”
“It’s one my family always used on special occasions. The other was for daily usage.”
Emily began to pass the serving dishes. “Your family said grace every day?”
“Not just every day, but at every meal. ’Twas part of the daily routine for most of us in a simple place where just about everyone was a practicing Catholic.”
“Are you still?”
“What, Catholic?”
“Yes, going to Mass and all that.”
“Not so much anymore. I generally make sure I go on Christmas and Easter, and sometimes on Pentecost, if I remember to make note of the date. And I do carry a set of beads with me most of the time, though I confess it’s more out of superstition than for devotional purposes. I only use them if I’m anxious about something. On a plane, for instance. I don’t enjoy flying. Chattering away at the Blessed Mother calms me, though I suppose chanting a mantra might well serve the same purpose.”
He turned towards me so I could tuck a napkin into the neck of his sweater. As the dishes came to me, I took food for myself first, then added a bit of everything to Ronan’s plate. Though it all looked and smelled wonderful, I knew he was tenser than ever, now that the moment he had both anticipated and dreaded had come.
Jon and Emily, more sensitive to his feelings than I had realized, were focusing intently on their own plates.
I picked up Ronan’s fork and gathered a small bite of turkey and stuffing, and raised it to his lips.
He opened his mouth to receive it, and everything went exactly where it was supposed to, without mishap.
I gave him the one sip of wine he had agreed to take, and continued to feed him, slowly and carefully. It seemed to take forever, but it was really just a few minutes before he relaxed and accepted the situation.
After that, we were all at our ease and really enjoyed the meal.
True to his word, Ronan did not eat to the bursting point the way the rest of us did, and when we would have chosen to collapse, groaning and sleepy, on to the sofa and into easy-chairs, he insisted that we all go out for a walk instead. No one was very enthusiastic about it, but we agreed to go, since he seemed to want it so badly.
I had one anxious moment when our ramble took us to the entrance of the Public Garden at Arlington and Boylston, but Ronan seemed completely at ease and resolutely passed through it, and into the park. Only when I drew closer to him and put my arm around his waist did I realize he was nowhere near as calm as he pretended to be.
“Ro, are you all right?” I murmured, after Emily and Jon had moved a distance ahead of us.
“As all right as I’ll ever be,” he returned, his jaw tight.
“I wish Jon had chosen a different route.”
“He didn’t choose it, I did. Remember, you and I were leading when we set out.”
“But why would you—?”
“To face my last demon, a ghrá. I had to do it, and I didn’t want to be alone when the right moment came.”
“You’re sure this is the right moment?”
“Aye. If I’d waited much longer, I might never have done it at all. I’d just have kept on avoiding the place.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Nice to know there’s nothing to be afraid of now, by daylight.”
“Then why are you shaking?”
“Am I? Must be the cold.”
“It’s not that cold out.”
He sighed. “Well, if you had an experience like mine, how would you feel going back to the place where it happened?”
“Nervous, at least, and probably a bit scared.”
“Angry, too,” he said.
“Why angry?”
“I’m still really pissed off at myself for ignoring what my intuition was telling me, and taking such a stupid chance. And I’m angry that this world has become the sort of place where a man’s simple error in judgment could wreak this kind of havoc.” He moved his arms slightly and sighed. “I’m very lucky the arms were the worst of it. If those bastards had more time on their hands that night, I wouldn’t be walking here beside you now.”
“You really believe that?”
“Aye. They were fucked up on something nasty, and in that state a man’s capable of anything. Thank God they must have been suffering from paranoia, too, and got spooked off by something before they could finish what they started.”
Behind us, there was a sharp crack, a rustling noise, and a light thump.
Ronan gasped and froze in his tracks.
I whirled around and looked up and saw the source of the noise: a fat, gray squirrel. The animal had come close to the edge of an overhanging branch from which some dry leaves still clung, broken off some twigs, and dropped a big acorn.
“It’s all right, Ro. Look.” I pointed, then tightened my arm around him.
He sighed with relief as he watched the squirrel’s plumed tail retreating along the branch. “Och, ye cheeky beggar!” he scolded, laughing nervously. “The squirrel, I mean, not you, Sarah. Know what Sean calls ’em?”
“What?”
“Tree rats.”
I laughed, too. “I never heard that before, but I guess Sean’s right. At least they’re cute and do silly things that make a person laugh. Rats, on the other hand—”
“I know,” Ronan replied, with a shiver. “It’s like something from Bowie’s apocalypse on the Diamond Dogs record. D’you know it?”
I nodded and quoted a bit: “Rats the size of cats. This ain’t rock and roll, this is genocide. Yes, you’re right. I take it you’ve crossed paths with a rat or two in your ramblings?”
“Here, there, and everywhere. Name a city, and I’ve seen its rats, being as I’ve tended to be out and about in the hours they prefer. I suppose I’ve been lucky, not to have been mugged before this.”
I thought back to that night after his concert, so many years ago, and how it had shocked me at the time, that Ronan clearly intended to make his way down those shadowy streets alone. Jesse and I had certainly seen more than one unsavory character along the way, and had guarded him carefully as we walked along, doing our best to look intimidating. Ronan himself had appeared oblivious to his surroundings.
“It might even have happened after my concert that night,” he remarked, as if he had reached inside my head and plucked out the thought. “I did have a bit of a deathwish going. I’d gladly have taken it any way I could get it. Beaten to death by a mugger, run down by a car, or drowned in the river: it didn’t matter to me, so long as the end result was the same. You know that.”
“Yes.”
“Miserable as things have been these past few weeks, I still say it’s a damn good thing you came along when you did that night. You saved me from myself.”
“For that night, at least.”
“Indeed. I was far from finished with my journey to self-annihilation.”
“I’m glad you never got there.”
“Didn’t I?”
“What do you mean, Ro?”
“Well, I’m certainly not the man I was then, nor do I bear any resemblance to my younger self. Those personnae are long gone, the young man drowned in a bottle of whiskey and the older one obliterated by illness.”
“Do you ever miss anything about those aspects of yourself?”
“Sometimes, but I certainly don’t miss the self-loathing they both carried.”
“You never came across that way, you know.”
“Not on stage, no. You never really saw me offstage but that one time, and when I saw you standing there I still hadn’t fully taken my mask off yet. ’Twas a simple matter to press it back into place until I was alone again.”
Not knowing what to say to that, I fell silent, and so did he. We ambled along at a relaxed pace for a few minutes, simply enjoying being close to one another in the peace and quiet.
The silence was broken, suddenly, by Ronan’s soft, low chuckle.
“What?” I asked.
“Just look at the two of them!”
Jon and Emily were quite a distance ahead of us now, inclined as they both were to keeping up a fast pace. But they lost momentum every few paces as they stopped to kiss. Jon was a cheerful, smiley person by nature, unless he was in work mode, but Emily was serious way too much of the time. Now she was laughing and smiling, too, completely relaxed.
“That’s nice to see, isn’t it?” he asked.
I nodded. “Doubly so for me, Ro, ’cause I’ve known Em for years and I’ve never seen her like this. There have been times when I wondered if she was really an android or something.”
“I dunno. She’s always seemed fine around me. Remember the cheesecake?”
“I never said she couldn’t be funny when she wanted to be, but I’ve never seen her so—unfettered. I think it’s good for her.”
“That kind of ease is good for everyone. Pity it takes such a damn long time for some of us to find it. Better late than never, though.”
“Yes.”
Emily and Jon reached the exit before we did, but had no trouble keeping themselves occupied until we caught up.
“Who’s ready for dessert and coffee?” Jon asked, as we drew closer.
“I think I could manage it now,” Ronan answered pleasantly. “But please, Jon, not in mammoth proportions. My appetite’s healthy enough, but I’m not Fionn mac Cumhaill.”
“Who?” Jon asked, laughing.
“Och, do ye not know Fionn mac Cumhaill, then?”
“Can’t say that I do,” Jon answered.
“Then I’ve quite a story to tell ye over coffee, boyo. Quite a story indeed.”
