An Irish Christmas Read online

  Maybe it had something to do with freezing to death and being stuck somewhere I’d rather not be—a prison of sorts—but I felt that the time had come to get honest with myself. And I had to admit I’d probably overreacted to Mom’s revelation in order to create a smoke screen of sorts. It was my sorry little attempt to cover my own mistakes. I’d blown her revelation out of proportion just to get the limelight off of me and back onto her.

  Sometimes the truth was ugly.

  Still, and to be fair, I was pretty stunned to think that Mom—my mom—had been involved like that with another man. And they weren’t even married. It was equally shocking to think that she’d then married my dad, rather Hal, while pregnant with another man’s child. Man, she would’ve had a fit if I’d pulled a stunt like that. My mom, the same woman who’d given me all those speeches about what kind of girls were nice and what kind were not, back when I first started dating. But didn’t this change things? How could my mom have been so opinionated about what she called “fast” girls. Was it possible that she had been a “fast” girl herself? I even recalled how sometimes, like right before a date, she pressured my dad into giving me the speech, although it made him extremely uncomfortable, even more so than for her. Now I had an idea of why she’d been so worried that I might get a girl “in trouble.” She’d been a girl “in trouble” once. It was really mind-blowing.

  I’d heard the phrase “dark night of the soul” before, I think it was in my English lit class, but I guess that would pretty much describe how I felt that night in Inishbofin. Combine thunder, lightning, darkness, and lack of heat with an overall lost feeling, and I couldn’t recall a darker or longer night. And before the torturous night was to end, and before I would finally find relief in sleep, I wrestled with many demons. I had moments when I questioned the state of my mind—I wondered if maybe this was all my own doing. Then finally I remembered how Dad, the dad who raised me, had always told me that God was there in times of trouble.

  “God wants you to call out to him, Jamie.” Dad told me this right before I set off on that crazy summer road trip—the last time I’d seen him alive. “God knows you’re going to have some hard times and challenges ahead, son, and that’s okay. He just wants you to know that he’s there, always ready to help. He’s a lifeline. Just grab onto him and don’t let go.”

  At the time I’d taken those words completely in stride. To be polite, I had even pretended to listen, but I knew I’d dismiss his advice, right along with most of the other parental warnings that were so generously dished out whenever I got ready to attempt something new. And that’s exactly what I did. I felt that I had control of things, that I was the master of my own fate, and that I could do whatever I pleased and everything would turn out just fine.

  But suddenly I wasn’t so sure about that. In fact, I wasn’t so sure about much of anything. Maybe the time had really come to call out to God. Maybe I wasn’t doing such a fantastic job of handling everything on my own. And so, after struggling with my demons and my selfishness and the cold and the dark of the night, I finally did cry out to God. I did admit my weaknesses, my failings, my insecurities, and my fears. And then I cried like a baby, crying to God. And I pleaded with him to help me. And at last I went to sleep.

  13

  Colleen

  I felt like a cat on a hot tin roof as I got ready for bed. Not that it was particularly warm in Ireland, especially since a storm had stirred up that evening. But I felt edgy and anxious and unable to settle down. As far as I knew, Jamie had not returned to the hotel at any time today. At least no one had seen him. For a while I’d held out the faint hope that perhaps he’d sneaked in when the clerk was away from the desk, but I’d tried knocking on Jamie’s door just a few minutes ago and there was no answer. Still, I reminded myself, it wouldn’t be the first night my son had stayed out late. And I had no doubts that he needed some time to himself just now. For that matter, so did I.

  Now, I hadn’t expected this to be easy. But I’d hoped it would go more smoothly than it had. I had known my news would be a shock to Jamie, but I had no idea it would drive such a wedge between us. Perhaps it had been unrealistic to think that Jamie would be interested in hearing about his biological father. Yet somehow I had convinced myself that once he recovered from the shock, he would’ve been understanding, perhaps even compassionate. And I’d thought he’d have questions. But, as I’d walked the streets of Clifden earlier today, I’d come to grips with the possibility that I’d been wrong. Perhaps about everything.

  The next morning, after I’d had breakfast and waited what seemed a reasonable amount of time for a young man to sleep in after a late night, I tried knocking on Jamie’s door again. Still no answer. It was nearly ten o’clock and I’d kept a close eye on the front door while eating, so I felt certain he hadn’t slipped past me and gone out again. I knocked even louder now, calling out his name. But the door remained firmly shut. Silent. That’s when I suspected that he hadn’t returned to the hotel at all last night. But, if that was the case, where could he be? He didn’t have too much money on him. Oh, enough for a night or two in another hotel and some meals. But he didn’t have enough to get far away, and if he did, he wouldn’t last long.

  The storm that had started up yesterday evening grew even more violent as the following day wore on. By midmorning, the wooden shutters on the ocean side of the hotel had been closed up tight, blocking the light and giving the interior of my room a dark and somber appearance. Despite the dismal-looking weather, I took a morning walk, which was really an excuse to search for my son again, but I noticed shopkeepers taking signs and things inside, and they too were closing shutters, bolting things down tight.

  “The cat’s tail is in the hot ashes,” an old woman said as she scurried away from the grocery store with a bag of provisions. I had no idea what she meant by this strange comment, but her eyes looked foreboding. Also, the wind whipped at my skirt, slapping it back and forth against my legs as I walked back to the hotel. It seemed that everyone in town was holing up and hiding out, and as I rushed into the lobby, followed by a gust, I was informed by the hotel manager that we might be in for “a class ten gale.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means ya best stay inside unless ya want to be blown clear to Dublin.” Then he hurried off, I felt sure, to batten down more hatches.

  As far as I could tell, Jamie still wasn’t back yet. He didn’t answer his door, and when I pressed my ear to it, all I heard was silence—that and the howling of the wind outside. Now I was beginning to feel seriously alarmed. What if he was out in the elements during this storm? Maybe he wasn’t aware that we were in for a class ten gale, whatever that might be. Or what if he’d been hurt or was in some kind of danger? Once again, anything and everything seemed possible.

  Suddenly I felt completely enraged by my wayward son. That he dared to do this to me—his mother—that he dared to treat me like this! After all I’d done for him, all I’d given up to secure his future, making sure that he had everything he needed, everything he wanted, setting my own needs and feelings aside! After all that—that he would put me through something like this—it seemed unpardonable. All I’d ever done in my life, every decision I’d ever made, every sacrifice . . . it had all been for Jamie. Well, for Jamie and Hal. But everything about my whole life had been to make them happy. It had always been my primary focus and concern. And this was the thanks I got?

  I probably spent a couple of hours going through this rage, working my way through these feelings, trying to make sense of what seemed totally senseless.

  I finally wore myself down. No more rage, no more fury. These emotions were replaced with worry. And so, as I sat alone in my darkened room with shuttered windows just waiting for this storm to pass, my imagination was assaulted with all the horrible possibilities. Instead of being angry at Jamie, I became obsessed over his safety. Where could he be during this horrible storm? What if he was injured? Or dead? Finally I knew that m
y only recourse was to pray. It was all I had left. But, as I prayed, I couldn’t help but imagine how my life might be without my son. And that picture was bleak and dismal.

  I’d never wanted to be one of those controlling mothers, the kind of women who doted on an only child, expecting that son or daughter to bring fulfillment and happiness to her, a comfort in her old age, make a life where none existed. I didn’t really want that and I knew that wasn’t fair. It was selfish and wrong. And yet I just didn’t think I could survive losing Jamie. I’d lost Liam twenty-two years ago, and not long after that I’d lost my father, and then most recently Hal. How much more loss could I handle?

  “I can’t take any more!” I yelled out to God. The wind was blowing so loudly now that I wasn’t even concerned that other guests would hear me. “I don’t think I can stand it!” I cried. Then, pouring out all my tumultuous feelings and heartaches and worries, it was as if I just dumped the whole sorry load at God’s feet. Finally, I had nothing more to say, nothing more to do, nothing more to think. I felt completely emptied. And yet somehow I believed that God could deal with it.

  For the first time in my life, I knew I must completely trust God to handle this. Or maybe I was simply at the end of my rope with no place left to turn. Perhaps for the first time ever, I realized that there was really nothing I could do to control anything. Not a single thing. Just one look at my life, and it should’ve been obvious to me long ago. For, no matter how hard I tried to hold it together, whether it had been with Liam or Hal or Jamie . . . it had never worked. Or if it appeared to work, it was only a temporary illusion. A false moment. Because then, just as if a class ten gale had swept through, it could all be blown away. Just like that—now you see it, now you don’t. It was gone. I might as well give it up.

  Somehow I fell into an exhausted sleep in the midst of the storm, and when I woke up, everything was quiet. The weather outside and my internal storm had both quit howling. I left my room and knocked on Jamie’s door, but still no answer. And yet I didn’t feel terribly upset by this. It was as if something in me had simply let go, and I knew it was up to God to work this thing out. I returned to my room, got on my coat, and went downstairs to inquire about my son. Just in case.

  “I haven’t seen him,” the desk clerk said. “But if da lad was smart, he’d a stayed put during that storm. ’Twas a bad one.”

  “Is it over now?”

  He nodded. “Aye. It seems to be. Go outside and have a look for yourself.”

  So I went outside and was surprised to see that not only had the sky cleared up, but the sun, now dipping low into the western horizon, was shining its spotlight onto a wet and sparkling world, and there was a glorious rainbow out over the ocean. And the crisp sea air was so fresh I wanted to drink it! But the day was coming to a swift end, and although it was barely four o’clock, it would soon be dark again. And yet I still didn’t feel that sense of panic that I’d felt earlier. Something in me, probably my strong will, had completely surrendered itself to God during today’s storm. For the first time in my life, I felt that I was really in his hands. Even with Jamie missing in a foreign country, I felt at peace. And I would get through this. God would help me.

  I ate a quiet and early dinner at the hotel, and although I still found myself thinking of Jamie, it wasn’t that old obsessive sort of fearful thinking. I wrapped my thoughts of my son in layers of prayers. And I eventually was able to go up to my room and to bed—and finally to sleep.

  The following morning, I wasn’t quite sure what to do. This was the third day that I had not seen my son, and despite my resolve to trust God, it was becoming more of a challenge. After all, I did have a missing son. I considered calling the authorities, but I had no idea what I’d say—and would I need to tell them that we’d had a squabble? And, if so, would they even take me seriously? I thought about asking the manager for advice, but wasn’t really sure that it would do much good. Finally I thought about Kerry and the Anchor Inn. She seemed such a wise and caring soul and the only actual friend I had in Connemara. And so, since the weather had continued to be clear today, I decided to walk on up there in time for afternoon tea. I was surprised to see some trees had fallen and some roofs had lost shingles and tiles and a small boat had blown onto shore. But other than that, it was a splendid day with sunshine and temperatures much warmer than the previous week. And as I walked up the hill toward the Anchor Inn, I was stunned by the gorgeous view of sea and sky. Really breathtaking!

  As I walked up to the restaurant, I hoped that I hadn’t made a mistake in coming up here. I didn’t see any cars or signs of customers. Perhaps they weren’t even open.

  “Welcome, welcome,” Kerry called out as she opened the door for me, waving me inside. “Isn’t it a lovely day!”

  I smiled at her. “Yes. A perfect afternoon for tea.”

  Soon we were seated at a small table near the fireplace, and I was pouring out my story, or most of it. And, once again, she proved a sympathetic listener.

  “So you haven’t seen the lad in three days?” she said as Dolan set a rose-covered porcelain teapot on our table, along with a silver plate of cookies and miniature tea sandwiches, all prettily arranged on a paper doily.

  I shook my head. “And I’m not sure what to do about it.”

  “But ya did tell him about his father, the way you’d planned to?”

  I nodded now. “Unfortunately, that seemed to be the final straw.” Out of respect for Jamie, I hadn’t told her about his surprising confession that came first.

  She frowned. “Jamie seemed a sensible lad, to me. Perhaps he only needed a bit of time—to clear his head so to speak.”

  “I thought about that too. But now that he’s been gone two nights . . .” I sighed. “Well, I’m just not sure. What if something happened to him?”

  She waved her hand as if to dismiss my concerns. “Oh, now, what could’ve happened? Jamie is a strapping young man and I’m sure he’s quite able to look out for himself. Don’t ya think?”

  “Yes, I hope so . . .”

  “But you’re a bit worried all the same.”

  “I’m really trying to trust God right now.” I paused, wondering how much I wanted to share about this—in some ways it seemed rather personal, and yet . . . “You see, I’ve been such a worrier, and I spent so much time and energy trying to control everything about my life . . . and only recently I came to understand that, well, it seems I really can’t control much of anything.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?”

  “So I might as well trust God.”

  “Sometimes ’tis all we can do.” She refilled both of our dainty teacups. “’Tis a long road that has no turning, Colleen.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She seemed to consider this. “It means it may take him awhile to get there, my friend, but your Jamie will eventually find his way home—meaning home to you.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “What are you two doing for Christmas Day?” she asked, and I suspected she had changed the subject for my benefit.

  “Goodness,” I said, trying to remember what day it was today. “I’d almost forgotten all about Christmas.”

  “’Tis only a few days off now.”

  “I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,” I admitted. “To be honest, what with how things have gone lately, if Jamie were to come back today, I’d just as soon change my flight and go back home immediately and we’d have Christmas at home.”

  She frowned. “So you’ve gone sour on our country already?”

  I thought about this. “No, I really do love Ireland. But what with the storm yesterday . . . and Jamie being gone . . . well, I suppose I feel that it might be safer to be at home for the holidays.” Then I laughed. “Oh, there I go, thinking I can control things again.”

  “If you and Jamie find yourselves still here in Ireland by next week, I hope you’ll come on up to the old Anchor for Christmas dinner. We stay open for some of the older folks in t
own, ones who have no family about, and I’d be pleased to have you join us. We’ll have turkey and goose and all of the trimmings. Dinner is at two.”

  “Thank you, Kerry. That sounds wonderful, and I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “And tell your wayward laddie, when he comes home, that I’d be delighted to hear him play again. In fact, we have quite a crowd coming tonight. Dolan said we are almost full up. But then it’s the Saturday before Christmas, and folks like to go out, so it’s not so unusual.”

  I frowned. “Well, I don’t even know that Jamie will be back today.”

  She patted my hand. “Aye, I understand. Whether he comes back tonight or next week, just know that you’re both welcome . . . anytime.”

  The clear weather had continued to hold out, and so I walked back to town, praying as I went. Then, just as I turned the corner to the hotel, I noticed a familiar figure walking down the street directly toward me.

  “Jamie!” I cried, as I ran toward him, throwing my arms out to embrace him. “I’m so happy to see you!”

  “I’m really sorry, Mom,” he said immediately. “I know you must’ve been worried and I couldn’t—”

  “Never mind about that,” I said, which I knew must sound crazy after I made such a big deal of this only days ago. “I’m just relieved that you’re safe and sound.”

  “I really would’ve called you, Mom.” He kept one arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders as we walked side by side toward the hotel. “But I went to this island and then the storm hit and there were no phones and—”

  “What?” I blinked at him as he held open the door to the hotel. “No phones?” Hopefully my son hadn’t taken up the gift of blarney while he’d been gone. Come to think of it, maybe he’d been born with it.

  “Yeah, Mom,” he continued as we went into the lobby. “This place is called Inishbofin and they really don’t have phones there and—”

  “Ah, so that’s where ya been, laddie,” said the desk clerk, the one I’d haunted with my regular inquiries regarding the possible whereabouts of my long-lost son. “’Tis no wonder you were not able to make it back, nor to call your ma.”