Part VIII

Ronan flinched when I applied the saline-filled eye bath to his left eye. “It stings,” he complained.

“Yes, it does at first. You know that from the last time, so don’t act like it’s a surprise. Come on, don’t screw your eye shut like that.”

He made a face and finally got his eyelids to function, blinking rapidly as he rolled his eyeball around, exposing as much of its surface as possible to the saline. I could see it all, oddly distorted, through the thick, clear glass of the eyebath. “Is that enough?” he asked, after a few seconds.

“You know it’s not. Keep going.”

He sighed impatiently, but did as I’d directed.

I waited a bit longer, then allowed him to tip his head forward so I could take the cup away without spilling the solution all over him. The liquid was cloudy now, and I poured it down the drain quickly, then washed the cup thoroughly before adding fresh solution. “Let’s do the other one.”

Ronan acquiesced more easily this time. The right eye was much less irritated than the left and the saline didn’t sting as badly.

After he was done with it, I took the cup away and repeated the washing process, then left it to air-dry on a clean paper towel. I tore a second towel from the roll, soaked it in cool water, and wrung it out. Then I turned back to Ronan and wiped his eyes and face, washing away any remaining traces of the saline. Leaning down, I kissed his brow. “All done. How do you feel?”

He rose from his perch on the edge of the bathtub. “It’s nasty while I’m doing it, but afterwards my eyes do feel a bit better.” He peered into the mirror over my shoulder as I washed my hands. “Maybe it’s my imagination, but—they look a little better, too, don’t you think?”

“Hard to say.” I dried my hands on a fresh paper towel. No way would either of us be using cloth towels to dry our hands and faces now. I didn’t think Ronan’s infection was contagious, but I didn’t want to take any chances. “Come on,” I said, tapping his shoulder. “You’re not going to see dramatic improvement, watching yourself in the mirror. You need to lie down and rest, and put on another cold pack.”

“I know, I know.” He put his arm around me and nuzzled my cheek. “I think maybe a lot of my problem is that I don’t take care of me the way you take care of me. Thank you.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he said, as we walked back to the music room. “I mean, if I were you, I’d be none too pleased about having to play nurse and housemaid when I’d planned to be on holiday.”

“I told you, I’ve had a lovely holiday. We covered a lot of territory before your eyes got worse, and besides—” My voice broke unexpectedly, and I couldn’t speak.

Ronan took my arm and pulled me down on the sofa beside him. “Hey!” he exclaimed softly. “Oh, hey!” His hand stroked my cheek. “Maybe it’s time you told me your story, eh? Seems I’m not the only one who’s been harboring secrets.”

“There really isn’t anything to tell,” I said, looking down.

He tucked his fingers under my chin, lifted it, and held it so I couldn’t look away. I was faced with those ridiculous glasses again, but foolish as they made him look, I couldn’t find it in me to laugh. “You’re not afraid to tell me, are you, a chuisle?”

“Not afraid, exactly. It’s just been so nice with you since I came here, not having to think about it.”

“Hmm. And you thought I was running from my past?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Indeed, and it doesn’t take much effort for me to identify a fellow traveler. We do tend to recognize each other, don’t we?”

I nodded.

His arm tightened around me, drawing me closer. “Come, now. You’re safe with me. And sometimes—well, telling your tale to a sympathetic listener can work wonders. I know. Don’t make my mistake and carry it alone.”

So I unlocked the cell in my mind where Hal resided, and invited Ronan to come inside.

***

“How sad!” he said afterwards. “How terribly, terribly sad for both of you! If I had known—”

“You would never have invited me to visit you.”

He sighed. “Probably not. It wouldn’t have been fitting.”

“Why not? Hal and I are in limbo. We were never married, and besides, how does one have a valid relationship with a man who’s brain-dead?”

Ronan’s brow furrowed as he pondered. “I don’t think it’s possible,” he said thoughtfully. “I mean, your relationship is with a past that no longer exists. With your memories, right? Hal himself is gone, even if his body lives on. You aren’t honoring what you had with him by slavishly attending on what little substance remains of him. But I never knew Hal and you did. What do you think he would want you to do?”

“He was a strong, fearless person, Ronan. Lost his sight in an accident long before I ever met him, and if he resented it or had any anger about it, I never knew. It seemed he had closed that chapter and moved on, embracing life with every fiber of his being. He was confident and energetic, accomplished and talented. If he could say anything to me now, I believe he would tell me what I just said—to close the chapter and move on. To stop wasting my time grieving for what’s been lost, and honor him by seizing the day. Carpe diem. That was one of his favorite expressions.”

“It’s a good motto to live by, but do you really believe it? Or are you just trying to convince yourself?”

Ronan was posing tougher questions than I’d expected, probing truths that still hurt, and reinforcing all the guilty feelings I’d been having since our friendship began to turn the relationship corner. I was angry, but more at myself than at him.

“Dear one,” he said tenderly, “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but you’ve at least got to tell yourself, honestly, or you’ll never get past this.”

He was right. I could envision the future easily enough. Once Ronan had returned to New Zealand, I’d return to spending my few free hours silently at Hal’s bedside. Despite my best resolutions, nothing would change.

Ronan’s soft voice interrupted my thoughts once again. “There’s something else I want you to consider, Sarah.”

“What?”

“I want you to think about why you really want me to come back to Boston with you. I do believe you want to help me with my eyes, but I think there’s more to it than that. Like, maybe you’re hoping that if you have me and my situation to keep you occupied, you’ll have an excuse to stay away from Hal, without having to make your own conscious decision to stay away.”

I gasped and tried to pull away from him, but he was stronger than I’d realized and held me fast. “How dare you—?”

“Hush!” His commanding tone said he would brook no opposition.

I fell silent and stopped struggling, though I yearned to slap him.

When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. “Fellow traveler, there’s truth to what I said, or you’d not be so angry. I’m sorry it sounded harsh, but—”

I found my voice at last, if only for a moment. “Harsh? Christ, Ronan!” I choked, feeling as if he’d torn an enormous scab from a very deep, old wound. The pain was unbearable.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he murmured, rocking me against him. “Honestly, I only meant to help!”

I knew that, but couldn’t say so. We were both standing outside that cell in my mind, and the door was swinging shut, and he wouldn’t let me go and stop it. I wailed in frustration.

“That’s right,” he said, clasping me even tighter. “Let it go. Close the chapter. Seize the day. No matter how much it hurts—move on before it’s too late!”

I believe that every tear I’d ever held back came out then, soaking Ronan’s shirt as he continued to hold me. It took a long time for me to calm down, and even then it wasn’t because there was no grief left to spend, but because I was too exhausted to spend it. I could only wilt against him, the occasional gasping sob still escaping as the storm passed.

In the stillness of this new dawn, Ronan began to sing, softly and sweetly, a simple tune in his native tongue. The rhythm of the Gaelic words soothed and relaxed me, and it wasn’t long before I settled more firmly against him and slept.

***

It was dark when I awoke. I was lying down with soft pillows beneath my head and a warm blanket tucked around me. A small wood fire crackled in the fireplace, and a single candle glowed on the mantel. I sat up and looked around the room. I seemed to be alone.

“Ronan?” My voice came out sounding congested, and it hurt my throat to speak.

A shadow stirred and rose from the wing-chair. “I’m right here. Do you need anything?”

“Water?”

A moment later he was at my side, offering a glass.

I took it from his hand and drank deeply, gratefully. “Thank you,” I said. My throat felt better, but my head was still stuffy.

“You must be hungry.”

“Kind of.”

“I’m heating up some soup. Will you come eat when it’s ready?”

I rubbed my eyes. “How did you manage that? Your arm—”

“Leftovers from the freezer. All I had to do was dump them in a pot and give a stir now and then. If I couldn’t manage that with one hand, then I’d really be pathetic, wouldn’t I?”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “Ronan O’Farrell, if there’s one thing you could never be—” I stretched and turned to set my feet on the floor.

“Well, that’s kind of you to say.” He sat down beside me. “You’re not still angry, are you?”

“No.”

“You had to face it, a chuisle.”

“I know.”

“It really tore me apart, putting you through that. Doubly so, because I knew in my heart that you might never forgive me for it.” His voice sounded shaky.

“I’m not the only one who cried today.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I am, too.” He reached for my hand. “Forgive me?”

“For what? For flinging yourself into the fray and helping me wrestle my demons? There’s nothing to forgive.” I leaned against him and felt his lips brush my cheek.

“Thank you. I don’t feel quite such a villain now. Come and eat.”

***

Supper was a quiet, simple affair, eaten under dim lights so Ronan could take his glasses off for a bit. He served me, despite my protests, then filled his own bowl and took his place across from me. For the first time, I noticed that he made a quick sign of the cross before picking up his spoon.

“Have you always done that?”

“What?”

I copied the gesture.

“Not always. Sometimes I forget. Why?”

“I wondered, that’s all. I’d never seen you do that before. You’re Catholic?”

“Born and bred. Is that a problem?” A faintly challenging tone had crept into his voice, and he was looking at me directly, not smiling.

“Not at all. I’m Catholic, too, though my parents weren’t big on going to church and I never got into the habit. But even if I had been raised Protestant, I wouldn’t have an issue with you being Catholic.”

“Not everyone feels that way.”

“I know.”

“People I knew and loved died in the Troubles, just for being Catholic in the wrong place at the wrong time, so I’m a little sensitive on the subject, to put it mildly.”

“I don’t blame you for that.”

“Sometimes I still feel guilty for embracing music and leaving the homeland, rather than staying to fight for justice alongside my countrymen and women. But I made my choice, and what’s done is done.” He picked up his water glass and drank, and when he set it back down he seemed relaxed again, and resumed the conversation where he had left off, as if he had never mentioned the Troubles.

“Anyway, I always used to go to Mass as often as I could, but it was hard to be consistent about it in my years on the road. Now—well, by my upbringing I’m Catholic, and when I die I suppose that’s how I’ll be sent off, but in the meantime I find my spiritual sustenance in the world around me. You’ve seen, too. How can a place like Doubtful Sound not be holy? And how could I have survived my illness without the hand of God pulling me through?”

“I can relate to what you say about nature, but do you really believe God is actively involved in your life?”

“Yes, though I’m only consciously aware of that when I’ve been brought low. The rest of the time I know there’s someone or something higher than myself keeping company with me. The Catholic gestures are just an habitual reflex. So, am I religious? Not really. But am I spiritual? Yes. Deeply so.” He worked on his soup for awhile and I watched him as I worked on mine. “More?” he asked, when he saw that I’d finished my portion.

“Please.”

He took the bowl and refilled it, and set it down before me.

“Ronan, would you say that your illness was the lowest time in your life?”

“Now I realize it was, but until I ended up in hospital, each preceding day had felt like a new all-time low. But being awake on a ventilator, fully aware of everything going on around me, yet unable to communicate, ranks as the worst experience of my life. I wanted to die to be free of it. I even willed myself to die, but whenever I slept I got the distinct message, over and over again, that it wasn’t my time, and I would have to endure, like it or not.”

“So you endured.”

“Yes, and the process of enduring was the hardest thing I ever had to live through. I had many bad moments when it would have been far easier to give up. I was helpless as a newborn for months, stuck in a rehab facility, and I really learned to appreciate simple things I had always taken for granted.” He raised his spoon to his lips and swallowed the last bit of soup. “This, for instance,” he continued, twirling his spoon between his thumb and forefinger. “At first, a spoon was too heavy for me to lift, and by the time I was strong enough to lift one, I’d lost my co-ordination so completely I couldn’t use it properly. I had to learn all over again, from the beginning, like a toddling child. There are so many simple things we all do on a daily basis that we don’t think about or appreciate, until we lose our ability to do them.”

“God, Ronan! It sounds like a nightmare.”

“Yes,” he answered gravely. “It was, and now you’ve an idea why I’m not terribly fazed about having my arm out of commission. It’s a nuisance and it aches a bit, but I’ve been through worse.”

He got up and carried his dish to the sink.

I followed with my own dish, and nudged his hip with mine to push him away from the sink. “I’ll take care of these.”

“There’s no need to get violent about it. I was going to ask if you’d mind doing the washing-up. Once I can quit wearing the sling it’ll be easy enough to throw on a rubber glove and do my share. But in the meantime—”

“Ronan, you’ve got to stop apologizing.” I reached out and patted the wounded appendage gently. “Do whatever you must to heal this quickly, ’cause I’m going to want to hear you play again as soon as you’ve got the cast off.”

“I’ll do my best, but I expect it won’t be pretty at first.”

“I don’t care, so long as I can watch you and hear you.”

***

We crept into bed exhausted and lay in each other’s arms. Once again, it seemed that there would be no attempt at lovemaking.

Ronan was certainly very different from any other man I’d ever known, and I wondered: was he being polite, or was there something wrong with him?

Tired as I was, I couldn’t fall asleep right away.

Neither could Ronan. He shifted restlessly.

As he moved in closer, I felt something questing its way along the cleft of my buttocks: an insistent presence well known to any woman who has ever shared a bed with a man. It made itself known even through his flannel pajama bottoms, and I smiled. Well! There was certainly nothing wrong with that part of himself!

“Ronan?”

“Mm?”

“Remember what you said about me moving on and seizing the day?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s something else I need to do as part of that.”

“Such as?"

I turned toward him and brought my face close to his. “I think you know.”

“Sarah—aah! Lord, your hands are cold, woman!”

He was rapidly shrinking beneath my touch.

“Sorry,” I said, withdrawing them. “I guess that wasn’t exactly a turn-on.” I tucked my hands under my arms to warm them.

His hand stroked my cheek. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“As sure as I’ve ever been.”

“Well, then.” His lips touched mine. “Let’s begin.”

***

It didn’t end up being the most auspicious beginning. Ronan was wonderful with hugs, and he kissed well, but beyond that he was clumsy as a teenager, and surprisingly clueless. He hadn’t made love to me so much as he had screwed me: a crude way to think of our first time together, but really the only accurate way to describe it. I was shocked, but managed not to show it. After awhile, I was even able to put it out of my mind, because he gave me a one-armed bear-hug and nuzzled my breasts and kissed me over and over again. There was a kind of youthful charm to feeling like I was having my first ever make-out session. Having it with Ronan was ever so much better than it had been back in the day with my first boyfriend and his mouthful of orthodontia.

After a time, Ronan was ready for a second go-round.

The second time was slightly better than the first, if only because it lasted longer and I was able to adjust to his rhythm. But ultimately, when he was done and we lay back on our pillows, I felt unsatisfied.

“It wasn’t good for you, was it?” he asked.

“Well—”

“If you’ll show me what you like as we go, I’ll be happy to oblige you.”

“All right.”

He moved closer to me and kissed my cheek. “I’m sorry if I failed you this time.”

“Was it good for you, at least?” There was a bitter edge to my voice that I couldn’t soften.

He seemed not to notice. “Wonderful!” he replied, with more enthusiasm than I thought was warranted. He planted one more kiss on my cheek, and within momets he was asleep and snoring.

Wonderful? Was he serious?

I lay awake for a long time, wondering.

***

C.P. Warner
© 16 June 2007

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