#49 For the Sake of Love Part 2 - Ar Mhaithe Le Gra Cuid 2

Lyle came with me the next morning to breakfast. Dania and Evelyn were still away - more than likely enjoying the luxury of sleeping in – and I knew Grace had recruited Tony for another morning of bussing tables. As I began prepping the island countertop with fruits and plates I watched nervously over my shoulder. Grace had never said anything to me outright but I knew through her body language and subtle digs that she pinned Lyle for my disposition of late. In her eyes Lyle and I's 'romantic get away' ended poorly, specifically after Lyle did something so horrendous that I refused to talk about it.

Lyle seemed to notice my agitated state as she organized the silverware. "Everything alright?"

"Um, yea." I lied.

"Did you tell them?"

"No of course not," I laughed uncomfortably. "What could I tell them?"

She nodded conceding my point just as a family of three entered. The parents were fully dressed but their three year old child who clung to her mother's leg wore a sheep dotted green onesie. I ushered them to a table. While I was taking their order Grace and Tony entered. My back was to the side door but I didn't need to see to know that Grace had spotted Lyle. A loud gasp swept the room and I tried to brush it off as I finished with taking the family's order.

I crossed the small room and swung around the island counter to stand in between the two women. Lyle stood in the corner next to my griddle, though not by choice as Grace had trapped her there.

Grace was in full mother hen mode her hands rested on her hips making it difficult for Lyle to squeeze by. I edged myself between the two cutting Grace off just as she finished telling Lyle where she could stuff her apologies. Tony flashed me an apologetic look from behind his fiancé's shoulder as he placed a hand on Grace's waist which she quickly shook off.

"Grace, hey, hi!" I smiled awkwardly. "I see you met Lyle – again – she's going to be staying for a while with me." I paused trying to gauge Grace's feelings.

She was clearly angry but not for herself as her eyes softened upon meeting mine. It was my fault in part for her aggression. I was the one who lied to her and continued to lie by omission. A pang of regret hit me between the ribs and in that moment I wanted nothing more than to sit her down with a cup of tea and explain everything. Where I had been, who Lyle was to me, and why she was suddenly back.

But I couldn't, I knew that.

Initially when I called Grace from the train that night I vowed I would explain everything, every minute detail, once my journey was resolved. Now it looked like it might never be. For the same reason I could never tell her or anyone about my mother I needed to keep Monroe and Mo Soileireacht to myself. There was no 'whole story', not an inkling of conclusion.

How does one begin a story with no beginning and no ending?

How does the story teller stop themselves from constantly reliving the story day in and day out, stuck in a maze of the past?

I'd reverted to my old self, where it was easier to ignore than to explain.

"Grace," I took her hand leading her a few steps away giving Lyle room to breathe. "I know you're mad at Lyle but it's not her fault. I was the one who left her, she didn't do anything wrong."

"How long is she going to be here?" She asked seeming unconvinced.

"I don't know, but she's agreed to help out around the house."

Her hands went back to their place on her hips. "She isn't getting paid."

"That's ok."

Grace paused looking back at Lyle and then Tony who gave her an almost undetectable nod of approval. "You're happy she's here?" She turned back to me.

Without hesitating I nodded. "Yes. Very."

I turned to Lyle and placed my hand over hers. She squeezed my hand and nodded to Grace, making a silent promise that she would not be the cause of my grief – or face her rath.

That was that. Grace apologized for telling Lyle off by wrapping her in a hug. I laughed to myself as I watched Lyle squirm unsure of how to react until finally she reached around and patted Grace's shoulder appreciatively.

For the rest of the week we continued a fairly regular schedule and each day Grace grew warmer to Lyle. Even Tony – a man of few words – made an effort to talk to Lyle, and once I caught him laughing at her jokes.

Grace approved of Lyle working around the house to keep busy and usually we did our chores together. We talked about everything - except for Monroe. It was as if we were finally getting to know each other without the pretenses of secrecy or past. We learned typical things about each other; her favorite color was the reddish brown the trees turned in fall and on her 16th birthday she saw the ocean for the first time.

Lyle didn't evade my questions anymore, in fact she seemed to embrace them absorbing and bouncing them back at me. There was comfort in exploring each other's minds.

At night we stayed away from watching television for fear that Monroe's smiling mug would appear as interviewers pitched him softball questions. I soon found out I wasn't the only one to have nightmares. Lyle's were less frequent but more intense and often violent causing her to thrash around on the mattress until I woke her.

We grew accustom to the other's sleep patterns always ending the night outside on the lawn staring up at the stars.

Eight days after Lyle returned I decided to show her. She'd never asked or even hinted to it but I knew it was time. She needed to, in order to understand the full spectrum of how and why Monroe had hurt me.

It was a Wednesday, we'd just finished dinner after closing the B&B. I'd 'accidentally' flicked a bit of jelly in Lyle's hair after she complained that I'd burnt her pancake – it was well done. I was sitting on the bed when she climbed the ladder to join me. Her pajamas were wrinkled and her wet hair was in combed into a neat bun.

"I have something to show you." I motioned for her to sit next to me.

Once she was seated comfortably beside me I reached under the mattress cushion producing the red bound book. With soft hands she took the book from my hands running her fingers over the embroidered words of Mo Soileireacht she paused looking back at me for the affirmation to continue. I didn't say anything more only nodding my head.

It took Lyle thirty eight minutes to read the journal from cover to cover. I rested my head in her lap as she did so counting the pages as she flipped through them. When she finished I filled in the gaps. Telling a story, especially one like my mother's where you don't have all the information it's important to have a strong footing. Sentences acted like bricks, laying down one after another in an attempt to build a sturdy enough foundation; one where there were slim to no holes where doubts could creep through. She read in silence while I picked at my nails recalling the first moment I stepped foot in Unit #16 to recognizing Monroe's cufflink on the elevator.

"Do you think he killed her?" Lyle asked quietly after I finished.

"Yes." The word fell assuredly from my mouth. So easily that I wanted to doubt them, scoop them up from the floor and throw them out the window.

What a horrific thing to know in your gut.

"She went back to him because she loved him and he was – is a monster."

Lyle made a quiet humming noise and picked up Mo Soileireacht again leafing through the bleached pages. I watched her from my position with my head resting on her thighs. She stared intently at the book and then without a word passed it to me holding open page seventy nine.

"I disagree, it wasn't a love for him."

I clutched my locket as I read. The entry was the second to last in the journal and one of the only few that mentioned me.

"May is growing so fast, just last week I watched her take her first timid steps. Of course she fell immediately after but she didn't cry, not my girl. She got right back up and tried again. As beautiful as it is to be in the moment watching her grow I can't help but think to the future. Thoughts like this have sent me into deep anxiety; will I be able to provide for my little girl? Am I truly giving her the best home?"

Underneath the paragraph a baby's foot print was sketched and dated "10 months"

I didn't have to turn the page to know what lay in her last entry.

"I am meeting with R.M tonight at the Lily Pad Place for the sake of love."

Since I found the journal I'd seen the last entry as a stand alone, unconnected for the rest. Residual anger that I carried toward my mother's disappearance fed this narrow view. My worst fear that she left me for someone or something was realized puncturing a hole in my bubble and allowing for self doubt and loathing to seep through unfiltered.

Running my thumb over the contour of my locket and glanced up at Lyle who tucked a piece of hair behind my ear.

I was wrong. It was me. She loved me, not Monroe. My mother wanted to give me opportunities, choices, a family. I shuddered at the irony. So badly had she wanted to give me the gift of a better home and in the end her good intentions took it all away.

"Thank you." I said softly still staring blankly at the curved script that'd begun to blur before my eyes.

Doubt was the only sure emotion I held onto throughout the years of living with the shadow of my mother's disappearance. Losing someone was awful, but loosing someone whom you never really had claim for was a different kind. It was as if you were wondering through the dark feeling your way along the wall for a door you knew led to the other side. Only when your hand finally met with the cool brass of the knob it was locked and you were faced with three choices.

Turn back, by far the easiest of all three because it gave you permission to leave what you found out behind and more importantly discard your disappointment at the doorway.

Second was to curl up into the fetus position outside the locked door. Maybe you'd kick and scream at for a moment or two until your energy gave out and you were reduced to a blithering pile of person. This option wasn't all that bad, crying brings a sort of cathartic release, but it isn't a permanent stage. Sooner or later you have to scoop yourself up and figure out a next move.

Which brings us to the hardest choice, moving on. Particularly when to move on is the most difficult component, but at some point sooner or later you must call on yourself to drag your feet slowly forward past the locked door and down the darkened corridor until you reach your next stop.

Only now did I feel confident in my ability to do the latter. I had something to hold on to keeping me grounded. It wasn't her journal, or even the words that graced them. Strangely enough it was Lyle, the girl who introduced me to them. Who widened my view over and over again and when I got dizzy she was always there to catch me.

It wasn't forgiveness or closure, but it was enough for now. After Monroe uttered the chilling words the constant stream of anxiety fueled by the realization that he caused the end to my mother was like a light shining in my face. So bright that I could hardly see around it, the light was still there and I knew it wouldn't be going anywhere unless my own two hands removed it.

I wasn't entirely ready to touch the scorching light, but for now, with Lyle at my side I was able to put on a pair of sunglasses. Not ignoring the light, instead given the ability to move on to the next day with some visibility.

"What are you thinking about?" Lyle's fingers ran over my forehead pulling me back in.

I took a deep breath. "Have you ever had a dream where you're screaming but nothing is coming out? Well maybe something is but it's not what you want, the wrong words, the wrong emotion. So you're speaking for the sake of speaking and nothing is really being said."

She nodded.

"That's how I feel when I talk about my mother, because I don't know the first thing to say when I try to explain her or the way her absence makes me feel. So I usually don't." I exhaled slowly and set down the journal. We locked eyes and a hint of a smile played on my lips. "I don't feel that way anymore."

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