do with Ronan, but some featuring Mauro and even Michael’s mother. He wondered if she was happy wherever she was. But if she was never happy on earth, could she ever be happy off of it? During theology, his last class of the day, Michael wondered if he should ask Professor Joubert if a soul could find happiness by way of suicide, but somehow he didn’t think it would be appropriate since they were only just beginning to study the basics of the New Testament.
Michael did find it strange that his theology class was taught by a layman while his math class was taught by a priest. Seemed counterintuitive to him. In fact, he thought more of the teachers would be priests, given the school’s name, but even though many priests and monks lived on the property, most of the teachers were from the secular world. It actually didn’t matter; just by the names of the buildings and the artwork each one housed, spirituality, if not organized religion, permeated every inch of the campus. He liked this subtle approach and found it more effective in sparking his interest than the way he grew up, which was being forced to attend church every Sunday to listen to a fire-and-brimstone sermon. Maybe if he remained quiet and listened to the lessons the school had to offer, he would learn if his mother could ever find happiness.
While he would have to wait to find out if his mother’s quest for happiness was successful, he would no longer have to wait for his father’s return. When class was over, he noticed Headmaster Hawksbry standing outside the door next to his father’s driver.
“Howard,” the headmaster said, his fingers nervously tapping his thigh. “Looks like you’ll miss out on Mexican fiesta night. Your father has requested that you join him for dinner.”
It was hardly warm today, but there were tiny beads of sweat on the headmaster’s forehead. Little bubbles of fear, Michael thought. Why does he look so nervous? Maybe he doesn’t like to break the rules? Penry did tell him that while he was a “right fair mate,” he was a strict rules man who liked to follow the book to the letter, and according to what Michael had been told, new students weren’t allowed to leave the campus during the week.
“Is that allowed?”
Mr. Hawksbry took out a crisp, white handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket and dabbed at the sweat. “Technically, no, but due to your circumstances we, um, felt it appropriate to allow this brief reunion. Your father’s assistant said he is only in London for a few days.”
London was about three hours away. “I’m going to London?”
Now he used the handkerchief to cover his mouth when he coughed. “No, no, he’s staying at a hotel here in Eden for the night. Your driver has strict instructions to bring you back here before eleven.”
The driver didn’t respond in any way; he just stood, hands clasped in front of him, and stared straight ahead. At least Michael thought he stared straight ahead. He was still wearing his sunglasses, so Michael couldn’t really tell. The same ones Nakano wore, quite fancy with thicker-than-usual arms. They were most definitely part of a British trend.
When he looked back at the headmaster, he knew that this time he wasn’t imagining things. Alistair Hawksbry was definitely nervous in the presence of his father’s driver. Michael didn’t really understand why, but he was sure of it. Could be the driver’s silence. He wasn’t the most chatty of chaps, which was the way Michael thought a Brit might describe him, and Mr. Hawksbry’s career was all about communicating. Weird, but maybe he just didn’t trust people who only spoke as little as humanly possible.
Luckily, the drive to the hotel was short, because during the entire ride Michael thought about Ronan. He kept thinking about how blissful it would be to have him sit next to him en route to meeting his father for the first time. The cool smell of Ronan mixing in with the crisp smell of cinnamon that wafted throughout the car, the two of them holding hands, sinking into the luxuriousness of the leather, the only sounds the soft violins and their breathing. They would steal a few kisses before having to leave their sanctuary, certain in the knowledge that Michael’s father would approve of his son’s choice. But none of that was going to happen now. When Michael got out of the car, he got out alone.
Vaughan was staying at the Eden Arms, a small boutique hotel that was little more than a bed-and- breakfast. It was also the only hotel in town, which was to be expected because, besides Archangel Academy, Eden was mostly made up of residential houses and a smattering of small businesses. It was mainly a picturesque snapshot of English countryside that Michael found so much more pleasing than the dreary flatness of Weeping Water.
“Son!” Vaughan exclaimed. “The uniform suits you.”
This time when father and son hugged, it was a bit more relaxed, partially because they were prepared this time and partially because they wanted their relationship to forge ahead and grow. Neither wanted to go back to the way things were before.
“So Hawksbry tells me you’ve impressed all your professors,” Vaughan said, sipping a glass of red wine.
“Well … I don’t know,” Michael said, unused to such flattery from his father.
“Don’t be modest. It isn’t becoming on us Howards,” Vaughan said with a loud laugh.
Michael took a large sip of his soda and decided to be honest. “I really like my classes a lot, so I guess my enthusiasm shows.”
“More than enthusiasm, son. Hawksbry tells me you’re already at the top of the list academically.”
Could that be true? “Really? I just got there.”
“Believe me, first impressions are all that matter. If you don’t grab them in the first meeting, you’ve lost them forever,” Vaughan declared. “Sounds like you grabbed them so hard they’re never going to want to let go.”
It was difficult to be in his father’s presence without the specter of his mother. He had heard so many things about him from her, either directly or indirectly, that he had created a persona of the man without ever meeting him. He got the feeling that his version was quite different from the one who stood before him now, but he realized only time would tell whose version was more accurate. One thing he would learn to get used to was that his father was full of surprises.
Just as Michael glanced over to the small dining nook and saw that there were three place settings and not two, there was a knock on the door.
“Right on time,” Vaughan announced.
For some reason Michael felt uneasy. Wasn’t this just supposed to be a reunion between father and son? “Is someone else coming?”
Vaughan opened the door. “Brania, come in. I’m so glad you could make it.”
The girl who entered the room was stunning. At only sixteen years old, Brania O’Keefe was already a young woman, beautiful, confident, and poised. Even though Michael didn’t grasp her beauty on an emotional level, he understood it intellectually. This was the type of woman men fought over. The kind of woman who would have ignited a bloody battle between the Inishtrahull islanders and the inhabitants of Islay. He saw her beauty; it just didn’t make him feel anything.
Vaughan, however, was quite taken with the girl and it was easy to see why. She didn’t really look like a girl. Her deep auburn hair was parted at the side and cascaded effortlessly down the sides of her face. Her skin was the color of alabaster. Michael thought it looked like the feminine version of Ronan’s, and in fact her eyes were the same shimmery blue. Her body was a multitude of curves, shoulders, breasts, hips, and contained none of the straight lines that Imogene possessed. Here was a woman who just happened to be sixteen.
“Mr. Howard, thank you so much for inviting me,” Brania said. “It was very thoughtful.”
“Nonsense,” Vaughan said, erasing the thought with a wave of his hand. “When your father told me he had to cancel our meeting and you got caught in the cross fire, there was no way I could leave you to fend for yourself.”
“He’s very grateful as well and he told me to tell you that whatever terms you want on the deal, consider them done.”
Vaughan smiled like a man who had gotten exactly what he wanted. “Your father is an honorable businessman.”
Michael had a jolt. This was what Ciaran must have felt like when he was speaking with Ronan at St. Joshua’s—a third wheel, unnecessary. He would have to remember to apologize. But first it was his father’s turn. “Forgive me for my lack of manners. Brania O’Keefe, this is my son, Michael Howard.”
“Hello,” Brania said. “And welcome back.”
