Saoirse took all of three seconds to decide. “I’ll pick the saint over the sinner.”
As she expected, Edwige was overcome with disappointment. Hardly the sign of an emotional breakthrough, she wasn’t disappointed because Saoirse didn’t want her as her teacher; she simply hated being rejected. Unfortunately, it was something she was getting used to. “Come, then,” Edwige said.“I’ve already scheduled an appointment with Sister Mary Elizabeth.”
Ronan almost stopped them from leaving, he wasn’t sure enrolling Saoirse in St. Anne’s was the best solution. But on second thought, if they couldn’t keep her sequestered at a foreign school, keeping her in plain sight might be the smartest thing to do. It would be much more difficult for anyone to harm her if her location was public knowledge. Ronan’s plan to force his mother to take action had turned out to be successful. Now that they were alone, he hoped his attempt to have a conversation with his brother would be equally triumphant. “Some screwed-up family we got saddled with,” Ronan said.
Thrilled that Ronan spoke first, Ciaran heard the words pour out of him. “That’s a bloody understatement! We’d be quite normal, though, if you erased our family history and, of course, gave Edwige a personality transplant.”
Usually, Ronan stood up for his mother, but today she revealed a bit more of her true self and he wasn’t happy with what he saw. He was, however, quite happy right where he was. “Can you imagine if Saoirse wanted to be home-schooled?” Ronan asked, plopping down on the bed next to Ciaran. “Mum’s bloody head would’ve exploded!”
Roaring with laughter, Ciaran reveled in the possibility. “Would’ve served her right to have to teach Saoirse algebra and bio; she’s even less academic than she is maternal.”
God, how long has it been since we’ve just sat together and laughed, Ronan thought. “I’d have given them three days before they ditched the books and went on a shopping spree.”
“Do you know my stepmum homeschools her brats?” Ciaran asked. Ronan shook his head, he didn’t know that. He knew very little about Ciaran’s other family, except that they were even crazier than most of the adults he knew. “And to them a shopping spree is going into the sewing room to make their own clothes!”
Ciaran fell back onto the bed hysterical. His laughter was infectious, but Ronan didn’t just find the statement funny, he found it unusual too. Ciaran never talked about those people; the subject was typically taboo. “I’m, um, surprised to hear you say that.”
Sitting up, Ciaran shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just the two of us, Rone, why lie? Why make things seem better than they are?” Honest communication between the two half brothers, suddenly Ronan was all for that. “My stepfamily is just as bloody mental as this one, maybe more so,” Ciaran professed. “Did you know that when my father took my stepmother and fled London to settle in Devil’s Bridge, he thought that name was ironic, not symbolic?”
Mouth open, Ronan didn’t know how to respond, but for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel the need to apologize, nor did he think Ciaran was bringing up the subject to make him feel guilty. It was just a fact that the two boys shared. “Maybe it’s parenthood,” Ronan mused. “Once you have a kid, you lose a wee bit of your mind.”
“C’mon, mate, you know it’s more than that,” Ciaran said flatly. “I was born because my father raped our mother and then he made things worse by murdering your dad. It’s no coincidence he wound up in a place called Devil’s Bridge.”
And that could explain why Ronan rarely hung out with Ciaran, the conversation often stumbled into a dark, unpleasant, and brutally honest place. Forcing himself not to accept the ugly images that were forming in his mind or lash out at his brother for the crimes of his father, Ronan chose to keep his tone light. “That’s a right bleak proclamation, mate.”
Yes, it was, but Ciaran didn’t want to backtrack; he didn’t want to cover up the past with an empty platitude. “It’s our truth, Ronan,” he said. “Might not be proper to say in mixed company, but between the two of us, there shouldn’t be any secrets.”
Now, that was an interesting proposition and one that Ronan immediately accepted, but for purely selfish reasons—if he could learn to be completely honest with his brother, perhaps he could learn to be completely honest with his boyfriend. “No, there shouldn’t,” Ronan agreed. And then he decided to put their new agreement to a test. “Shouldn’t you be in your lab right now performing some incredibly difficult, yet boring, experiments?”
“Yes,” Ciaran replied. “But trust me, my lab work is hardly boring.” Ciaran knew that Ronan wasn’t interested in science so there was no chance he would ask what his experiments were about. If he did, he would tell him he was trying to find out why Saoirse was so unique and if Michael’s blood contained any information that could help David. He meant what he said, he didn’t want there to be any secrets between them. However, he believed that some secrets should be kept hidden for as long as possible. Ignoring the fact that he was splitting hairs with a sharp and very hypocritical knife, Ciaran changed the subject. “So you want to skip class and hang out for a while?”
Why not? Ronan thought. Ciaran was proving to be a lot more interesting and unpredictable than any of his professors. So as two family members grew closer, two others prepared to widen the gap between them.
Edwige appreciated minimalism, but sitting in Sister Mary Elizabeth’s office, she felt the nun had taken the esthetic to the extreme. The four walls, painted a dull gray, the color of an overcast sky, were bare except for a small holy water font near the door and one thin, gold cross that hung over the sister’s plain, wooden desk. Facing the nun’s work space, Edwige and Saoirse sat in two wooden chairs, not decorative or comfortable, and to their right was the only window, unadorned, no curtains, no shutters, no cosmetic treatment whatsoever. Of course cleanliness could be next to godliness, Edwige thought, when there was absolutely nothing to clean.
“Your daughter’s academic record is quite good,” Sister Mary Elizabeth remarked. “Some disconcerting questions, however, are raised in her personal file.”
Before Edwige could put a spin on Saoirse’s colorful past, her daughter raised her sleeve to reveal the cuts on her arm. “You mean these, Sister?”
Suddenly, Edwige and the nun had something in common, they were both shocked. “Well, yes, dear,” Sister Mary Elizabeth said. “Why would you do such a thing to yourself?”
Saoirse didn’t want to lie to the nun; she wasn’t that disrespectful, but if she told her the truth, she figured Edwige would kill them both. In this instance, lying was definitely the more honorable route. “Sister, I know it looks bad, but it really was a harmless prank.”
“Self-mutilation can hardly be considered harmless or a prank,” the nun replied. After a moment of silence, she asked, “Would you consent to counseling?”
If it means not having to be homeschooled by my mum, sign me up. “Yes,” Saoirse said. “Not that I need counseling, but, you know, so you can all see that I’m perfectly normal and this was just a dumb joke that got out of hand.”
Doubtful that Saoirse was telling the truth, Sister Mary Elizabeth was at least grateful she would accept counseling. The way her mother was sitting, the disinterested aura she was putting forth, it was clear the girl would not be getting any help from her. “Then I see no reason why you shouldn’t become the newest student at St. Anne’s,” the nun declared.
“And may I be the first to welcome you.”
The three of them were startled when they heard the voice, but once they realized the voice belonged to David, their surprise waned. They all knew the man differently, but they all knew him to be mysterious and with a penchant for showing up places unannounced.
“David,” Edwige purred. “How unexpected.”
Looking down at the woman who once shared his bed, David thought she hadn’t aged so well for a woman who wasn’t supposed to age. “No,” he replied. “How opportune.”
“David!” Saoirse squealed. “Do you remember me?”
Smiling impishly, David bent down to give the girl a hug. “Of course I do, Saoirse. How could I ever forget you?” Noticing the nun’s befuddled expression, David realized an explanation was in order and, to Edwige’s relief, he, like Ciaran, understood the importance of keeping some secrets secret. “Ms. Glynn-Rowley and her family are old friends of mine,” David confessed. “I’ve known Saoirse since she was a little girl.”
Looking into David’s eyes, Saoirse relived one of her earliest memories. Barely five years old, she climbed up David’s leg, reached out to grab his arm, and hoisted herself so she could sit on his shoulder. Once secure, she
