#39 Invisible Ink - Duch Dofheicthe

I stayed until the water ran cold sending shivers up my naked spine forcing me out of the comfortable confinement of the glass shower box. No matter how much I scrubbed – I washed by body head to toe four times – I couldn't seem to feel clean. I knew it wasn't literal dirt that lined my fingernails or dotted my arms in freckles, it was an unsettling feeling that coated my skin like invisible ink.

Running my fingers over the steam covered mirror I traced a box around my head. Would I ever shake the feeling of the moral dirtiness Monroe's touch infected me with? I cleared the rest of the box allowing my reflection to perpherate through the foggy mirror. I looked no different. I stared closer, for some reason I was expecting a change in my physical appearance that paralleled the transformation happening within me.

I tried to imagine what features would take on my emotions. Would the corners of my mouth hold my lips in a taught line for fear that a subtle smile or grimace would give away my joys or worries? Would my eyes fade until they resembled the color of a shadow, the light supplied by my curiosity toward my mother hastily blown out?

In some capacity I wished that there were physical markers – aside from the bruises on my arms – that indicated the marathon of experiences I'd been through. That would make it easier wouldn't it? Harder to hide, but then again people tended to stray away from questions they thought they already knew the answers to.

The clothes Lyle gave me fit well enough, a loose cotton shirt bearing the name of a band I didn't recognized fell past my hips. The band of the sweatpants was loose enough that I had to roll it and the pant legs up a few times to keep from drowning in them, but the pockets were big enough for me to place Mo Soileireacht. In seconds I felt awkward and took my mother's work into my hands wrapping it in another tight hug.

How could such a beautiful painting hold such dark secrets behind its canvas? Why did my mother hide her journal, I wondered? Why couldn't she have scrawled a simple 'do not read this or else' on the cover, why go through the extra step of hiding it?

Did she fear Monroe? I shivered, I knew first hand that she was right to, but then why did she go back to him? Love, the simple confession played over and over again in my mind but I refused to accept it wholeheartedly.

She had me, wasn't I enough?

Apparently not. The realization struck me and I grabbed the journal from the painting angrily throwing it against the door.

The sound of the paper binding striking the wood echoed in the silence. I couldn't care less as I sunk to the floor and turned my attention to the painting, gripping it tightly on each side of the simple frame until my knuckles turned white.

I didn't intend to break it, although imaging the crisp snapping sound I wondered if that would free me, unchain me from my mother's shrouded life. Was that what I wanted?

No.

I let out a tense sigh and relaxed my grip on the painting. I was being an idiot, lashing out at an inanimate object thinking that by destroying something she'd touch I was in some effect hurting her.

"May?" A gentle knock came at the door. "Are you ok?" Lyle inched the door open.

I said nothing as I continued to stare at the painting, only looking up when she took a step forward and bent down to pick up the bent journal from the ground.

"There's this thing called a door knob." She tapped the journal lightly in her palm. In a few steps she knelt down beside me.

Dazed, I shook my head, hardly registering her presence.

The initial anger inside of me shifted.

For so long I'd built up an image of my mother, a kind loving woman and in seconds I allowed Monroe to tear down my collection without a fight. How could I have believed him even for a second?

The obvious thought came to mind. I didn't really know her. Even in the journal I saw only pieces of her, and when Monroe spoke I passively allowed him to string the pieces together. Thankful that finally someone was giving me the full picture - even if it wasn't ideal.

But now I was left again with the puzzle pieces scattered around me, but somehow there were not nearly enough to fill the space inside my head. The cufflink was proof to me that Monroe and my mother were involved. I shut my eyes tightly imagining him behind the camera as he captured the scenery displayed in Mo Soileireacht with the addition of my serene mother seated on a bench and out of focus.

Earlier that morning when I confronted Monroe I'd expected so many new details, chunks of information that I could easily add up in order to satisfy my answers. Yet the only instinct that he confirmed was that he is my father.

Absentmindedly I traced over the soft waves in the painted grass. "Are your parents still living?" I brought my head up to meet Lyle's concerned gaze.

"No." For a split second Lyle hesitated reverting back to her vague form. She paused repositioning her feet under her so she could sit criss cross a foot away from me. Looking from the journal in her hands to me she placed a hand on my leg.

"You're safe here."

Once again her words voiced what I knew implicitly but had yet to come to terms with. I was in danger - I'd almost died. My entire body tensed at the realization as I replayed Monroe's apathetic order shortly before I was dragged away from his smirking face.

I couldn't cry though I knew that should be my natural response, instead I shook my head dumbly. "He tried to kill me."

"I know May." Lyle placed the journal in my limp hand and manually folded my fingers around it. "But you're still alive."

I nodded faintly at her words. I was alive thanks to Lyle.

We joined Ivy and Beth downstairs in the dining room where the pair smothered the table top with dishes of food. My stomach gurgled loudly and Ivy laughed taking it as a complement to her cooking.

I took a seat at the cozy table across from Lyle as the two women ladled healthy portions of their creations into my bowl. I ate with one hand always keeping the other on Mo Soileireacht tucked neatly in my lap.

Ivy had just finished recalling a dramatic tale of her and Beth's trip to the country last month where during a hike in the woods she'd found an injured rabbit. Naturally, Ivy begged Beth – a retired doctor – to help the poor little creature. Beth interjected sarcastically multiple times about her reservations for interfering with 'mother nature's cycle' but I could tell it was all a front, she would do anything for Ivy.

"So how long are you two staying?" Beth inquired while she crushed more crackers on her soup.

"And here I was thinking you were just happy to have me back." Lyle grinned teasingly.

"Oh we are sweetie," Ivy gushed reaching across the table to hold Lyle's hand. "We're just.." She paused searching for the correct word.

"Worried." Beth finished.

Ivy nodded in agreement and continued. "Since you officially moved out you know you're always welcome to crash here but if things are- you know."

"What we mean is we're more than fine with you laying low here for a few days but if you – both of you - are in some sort of serious trouble here-"

Lyle cut Beth off before she could finish. "We're fine, no need to worry." She shot both of the women a tight smile and I stared down at my food.

Sincerely, I hoped she was right.

Lyle managed to shift the dinner conversation away from the two of us and by the end of the meal the women were back to telling stories and catching Lyle up on their year. I listened and barely spoke. After months of being apart it was clear that the three were very close, much like a family.

If they were so close I wondered why Lyle was dismissive in sharing our situation. It was obvious she trusted the two maternal women, but maybe that was the issue. She had too much love and respect to burden them with the facts of the last few days.

In the same way I could not bring myself to share my mother's story with Grace, Lyle was saving Ivy and Beth from the emotional burden of pity or worry. But as I thought more about it, the women were already worried - was keeping them in the dark really sparing their feelings anymore?

I thought back to my own choices in harboring my life, was it the same?

After dinner I excused myself and went to check on my phone. The screen sputtered as I unplugged it but it was on and semi-functional. There were no messages for me but I decided to call Grace anyways.

"Hell-o!" Grace's upbeat voice sang into the phone.

"Hey, how are you?" I asked holding the phone close to my ear. There was something grounding about hearing Grace, especially now.

"Oh just fantastic, how about yourself and your girlfriend? Tell me everything." She grossed and I could picture her leaning forward on the counter of the check in desk.

I'd nearly forgot about the tiny white lie of omission that Grace was referring to. She thought that I was on a spontaneous get away with Lyle aka my girlfriend.

"Good." I stretched out the word hoping that she wouldn't ask me anything further. I felt dirty lying to Grace. "I just wanted to say hi and make sure the place hadn't burn down without me."

Grace laughed heartily at this and went on to catch me up on the latest gossip. "So when are you coming back to us? I heard some of the customers are complaining about a lack of pancakes on our breakfast menu."

"A couple days," I hesitated, I had no idea how long it would be before I could return to the B&B. "I'll call you tomorrow to let you in on my schedule."

"Sounds good honey. I gotta go Tony's waiting for me at home with a bottle of red." Grace made a kissing noise into the speaker before hanging up.

Tucking the phone back in my pocket I made my way back to the kitchen and for the second time that day I was met with the loud beat of a pop song. This time it was I Wanna Dance with Somebody by Whitney Houston. I wove through Beth and Ivy who were shaking and shimmying to disco beat totally enthralled in each other.

"It's like they have their own club here." I glanced back at the women as I took my place beside Lyle at the kitchen sink. She passed me a plate and I dried it before starting a pile on the counter.

"I know. They should start charging an entry fee." Lyle grinned at me.

Here we were, reverting back to normal again. Standing on the edge of our situation and refusing to look down - as if that would make it any less real.