Immaculate Heart (8 page)

 

TERESA

She asked if I was … if I was ready to see.

 

FATHER DOWD

To see?

 

TERESA

(in an unsteady voice)

She clasped her hands in front of her … her bosom … and when she opened them again she … she was showing me … she showed me her heart.

From the look on his face, we can tell the priest is moved beyond words. For a while, neither of them speaks, and when the light changes inside the little office, neither of them can say if it's the sun coming out or something even more astonishing.

 

FATHER DOWD

And how did that make you feel?

 

TERESA

(sniffling)

I couldn't say, Father.

 

FATHER DOWD

Now, Tess. If we're to present this case to the bishop, as I've explained, you must answer each and every question posed to you.

The girl draws a clean handkerchief out of her pocket and presses it to her eyes.

 

TERESA

(muffled)

Sometimes I just don't know how to answer, Father. I can't see what's the right answer.

 

FATHER DOWD

There isn't any right answer. What you feel can't ever be wrong.

The girl is silent. He tries a different tack.

 

FATHER DOWD (CONT'D)

Let Our Lady guide you. Always remember: that's why she's come to you in the first place. Hold to your faith, and you'll always speak the truth.

The girl takes a deep breath, and when she opens her mouth, she speaks shakily.

 

TERESA

I don't know that I can speak to anyone. Anyone apart from you, Father. I don't know if I can.

 

FATHER DOWD

Don't worry yourself, Tess. You're a good girl; it's your very reluctance that speaks the world of you. I know you've nothing to hide.

 

TERESA

It's not that. I'm sorry, Father. I don't know that I can speak about this any more today.

That was the end of the first recording. For a few minutes, I just sat there—the old mattress springs digging into my ass—mulling over everything I'd heard. She'd put him off midway through her story, and yet that much-younger Tess had answered questions she hadn't wanted me to ask.

That day at the beach was coming into clearer focus now: the adults unpacking their picnic baskets and mold-speckled beach chairs, passing a thermos of tea down the line of white limbs and red noses; that strange woman walking alone down the length of the beach, who had spoken to me as if she'd mistaken me for someone she knew; Tess and Orla diving into the surf, Mallory and Síle laughing over their shoulders as if they'd been talking about me. I was outnumbered four to one, but it wasn't long before Tess called after me, wanting to know how old I was and had I ever been to Disneyland.

That I had known her once, years before any of this had happened to her—it gave me the willies.

 

4

NOVEMBER 8

I was up too late listening to Tess's interview tape, but I dragged myself out of bed for breakfast with Brona. Afterward I reached for Johnny's cell phone. “Hello, am I speaking with Orla Madden?”

A baby wailed in the background. “This is Orla.”

I gave her my name and said I was in town for Johnny Donegan's funeral. “I don't know if you remember that day we went to the beach? When we were kids?” Reading the silence that followed, it was clear she didn't. “Síle was quite good friends with my sister Mallory…?”

“Right,” she said cautiously, drawing out the word like a piece of taffy.

“So I'm back for the next week, and Brona and some of the others have been telling me about the visitation you experienced. I'm a journalist for an American magazine, and I have to say, it's one of the most compelling stories I've come across. I was wondering if you'd be willing to have a chat with me.”

Orla cleared her throat. “I really don't feel comfortable speaking to any members of the press about something that happened twenty years ago.”

“I understand, and I'm sorry if I've intruded on your privacy. It's just that I talked to Tess McGowan yesterday, and I guess it didn't occur to me that you might feel differently about being interviewed.”

Another silence on the line. Currency, to a different purpose. “You've spoken with Tess?”

“Yes, I have.”

“And you're a cousin of Brona Tuohy's, is that right?”

“I am, yes.”

“Well…,” she murmured, and I knew she was going to agree, I
knew
it. Finally she said, “I suppose I could speak with you, for a little while.” I let the smile of satisfaction linger on my face for only a second, or else she'd hear it in my voice. “Ordinarily I'd suggest meeting you someplace in town,” she went on, “but given the subject, it might be best if you call round to the house.”

I rubbed the last of the smile away with the back of my hand before I spoke. “That's fine. When works for you?”

“I've an hour right now, if now suits you?”

*   *   *

Orla lived only a ten-minute walk from Brona's place, but at some point on Kilbride Road, I passed into the Celtic Tiger section of town, where the houses were big and new and exactly alike, apart from different-colored front doors. I found the right house number and passed a silver Lexus parked in the driveway.

When Orla opened the door, I saw right away why Leo made fun of her—the woman's skin was almost as orange as the Oompa Loompas out of
Willie Wonka & the Chocolate Factory
. Her dark hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and she wore pink velour pants and a clingy white T-shirt that rode up at the midriff, which was tinted to match the rest of her.

Of the three Irish girls on that beach outing, my memories of Orla were the haziest. We hadn't talked much, hadn't bonded over something cool or unusual like Tess and I had, so I was surprised at how much she seemed to remember.

“Yeah,” she said slowly when she opened the door. “I do know you, now you're here. Síle dropped her chips on the floor, and you gave her the rest of yours.” Her laugh had an edge to it. “I was grateful to you. Saved me having to give her mine to shut her up. You probably remember how she would carry on.”

I did remember that, now that she mentioned it: not Síle making a scene, but sliding my paper boat of french fries across the table, and how she cooed with delight. “Thanks for making the time to meet with me,” I said as Orla took my jacket. Through the sitting-room doorway I could see a pair of sleek leather couches and a glass-topped coffee table, strange choice of furniture for a family with young children.

“It's no bother,” she said. “My daughters are at the crèche until two, and I just put my son down for a nap.” As I followed her into the kitchen, I noticed a certain tautness in her muscles and movements. A human dynamo, never still—but I guessed stillness was an impossible luxury when you had three little kids and a husband working long hours. “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked over her shoulder.

I watched her fill the kettle and draw a new package of digestive biscuits out of a cabinet. “I have to say, I'm a little surprised at the welcome,” I said as she opened the package and carefully laid out the cookies on a plate. “You seemed hesitant over the phone.”

Orla sighed. “It's not a chapter in my life I ever wanted to revisit.”

“I understand.”

As she pulled out the box of Barry's, she gave me a look over her shoulder—
How
can
you?

“I mean, I know I can't understand,” I said. “But I'd like to try to.”

“Which magazine did you say you work for?”

I told her, and she lifted her eyebrows. “And you think
they'd
be interested in a story about ‘the Virgin of Ballymorris'?”

I had yet to pitch the story to my editor, but I nodded anyway. “Like I told you, I spoke with Tess yesterday, and then she introduced me to Father Lynch…”

Orla's back was turned as she poured the boiling water into the teapot, but I could see her stiffen. After twenty years, they were still cringing at the mention of each other's names.

She brought the teapot and mugs to the table. I drew my digital recorder out of my pocket, and she nodded when I held it up for her to see. “But before we go any further, I want to hear everything Tess told you. What did she say about me?”

“Only that you were best friends growing up. But I got the sense that the apparition was the beginning of the end of your friendship.”

“Did she say that?”

I shook my head. “She didn't have to.”

“I'll be perfectly honest with you: if you find me uncooperative, it's because I've blocked it completely. I don't remember anything about it. Even my memories of school and home in those days are hazy at best.”

“You think you wanted to forget?”

“Oh, I've no doubt it's my own doing,” she replied. “I'll never be able to say for certain whether or not I saw anything. But I tend to think not.”

“Are you saying you imagined it—that you all imagined it?” I watched her face as I spoke. “Or is there some other explanation I haven't considered?”

She hesitated. “Look, would you mind turning off the recorder?”

I reached over and switched it off.

“Thank you.”

I waited. “What was it you wanted to say…?”

“Right, well. If I saw it—and I'm not saying I did, because I truly can't remember—I suspect it was only some part of me trying to cover for Síle. What I mean is, if she was the only one to see it, then there could very well be something wrong with her, but that wouldn't hold if we saw it together.”

“What about Tess?”

“Knowing Tess was seeing it too made me think it was real, at least at the time,” she replied as she poured the tea. “Tess was always the sensible one. She was also the most devout of all of us, but she'd be the last person ever to say she'd seen something just so people would pay attention to her.”

I took the implication out of the silence and made it plain: “Unlike your sister?”

Orla sighed. “Mam and Dad took her to a psychologist a few years after this happened, and he gave her a diagnosis. Hysterical personality disorder. I thought she might have been schizophrenic. You know how they hear voices? See things, even people who aren't there?” She stirred in the sugar and milk, and I followed suit. “But there was a name for what she had—
has,
” she corrected herself—“though it wasn't something to be medicated so much as managed. And that was well before everyone started pill popping, anyway.”

“So is that diagnosis why you thought afterward that you might have made it up?”

“Not only that.” She stared down at the table between us, her mug poised at her mouth. “There are lots of reasons.”

“Pick one,” I said. “Whichever is easiest to talk about.”

Orla let out a sharp little laugh. “The first doesn't have much to do with us, personally. It's to do with Ballymorris. Suddenly people had money again, and even those who didn't had something to gab about—and all because of what we'd seen, and because we went to the priest with it. Everyone wanted so badly for it to be real, which makes me think even more now that it wasn't.”

“I get it,” I said. “That makes sense.” I watched her sip her tea. “What's another reason?”

She sighed. “The other reason
is
personal. Our lives were never the same after the apparition, not even after it stopped.”

“When was that? Tess told me they started in November of eighty-seven and continued through the winter…?”

“It continued through the beginning of May. Then Declan took off for Australia, Tess moved to Galway, and I went to UCD. Síle was still here at home, of course.”

“Did you have any plans to follow Declan to Australia?”

“Did Tess tell you that?” Orla was still staring through the table, sour at the lips. “I was never going to follow him. He knew it, and I knew it, and Tess ought to have known it, too.”

“But you did talk about going at the time?”

She shrugged. “You hatch all sorts of plans when you think you're in love.”

And that, unfortunately, reminded me of Laurel.
You hatch all sorts of plans when she thinks you're in love.
Here I was, undoing them all in absentia. “How did you know you'd never go with him?” I asked. “You didn't want to travel?”

“Not the way Declan did, no. My husband, Joe, and I go to Malaga on holidays, and that's always been enough travel for me.”

“Did you keep in touch?”

“He wrote me a letter, but I never replied to it.”

“Have you had any contact with him since?”

She let out a derisive little laugh. “Never.”

“Ever hear about him?”

“Just what his mother tells people—but between you and me, I'm not sure she isn't only making it up to console herself. Declan was never what you'd call a devoted son.”

“Father Lynch told me as much,” I said. “So can you tell me what changed for you? You'd said your lives were never the same afterward. Not for the better, I take it.”

Orla shot me a hard look. “You're right about that.”

“Tell me how your life was different?”

“As I say, I can't remember much, but when I try to think back on those days, I do remember the confusion. Nothing was clear to me, and none of the things that had made me happy in the old days could cut through the fog. The feeling only worsened when I got to Dublin, and at some point it occurred to me…” She gazed vaguely around her immaculate kitchen as if trying to recall the one small thing she'd neglected to do.