48. Study of Moralities
It took Darragh’s Watch one week to return to Keel Watch Harbor. In the meantime, we filled the hours with waiting and watching.
I spent most of it crying. It was difficult to find comfort.
Everything about Gams’s home and shop reminded me of her.
If Mom caught me crying, she’d cry too, so I took to avoiding her to spare her the extra burden.
That was easy enough, as she spent most of her time watching over the Rift, making sure no one tried to enter Keldori while we were still finding our footing.
No one did. Word of the new Saergrim who was immune to Skalmagick and kept a pet rotsbane must’ve spread quick.
Fana was still mourning Tiernan and kept Jonquil close for comfort. I couldn’t stand the cat, not when every time I looked at her I thought of the way she’d padded from room to room of the apartment, chirping as she searched for Gams.
Orla was still healing upstairs in my bedroom above the shop. Iseult hadn’t left her side. Ciarán had summoned Sorcha’s Nightmare to help set Orla’s broken bones, and I’d been able to heal a severed nerve in her spine, but Orla refused to let us treat her any more than that.
And Ciarán—
Ciarán didn’t speak anymore. He stayed near, spending most of his time on the dock with Una, watching seals and avoiding human contact. I felt him flit around the tether every little bit, checking in on me, but he kept the walls up on his end.
Those walls came down when he fell asleep. His mental sleep talking was worse than ever. It was mostly screaming. A little begging. Reminders to aim for the mouth.
So I gave him space and didn’t push.
That left my father.
To his credit, he didn’t immediately leave, nor did he seem to think I’d drugged him anymore.
He drove his research van to the next town over and loaded it up with groceries after we returned from Rift.
He silently restocked Gams’s kitchen, made dinner, and left to make himself comfortable at the library up the hill.
He returned for every meal, silently letting himself into Gams’s apartment to make breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and then retreated back to the library.
On the sixth day, he asked me to follow him to the research van where he’d parked outside after dinner was made.
The storm had let up when the mirroring storm in Skalterra had stopped, and the late summer air was comfortably warm without being overbearing.
Crickets chirped in nearby shrubs. Gulls called to each other over the water.
It wasn’t fair that the harbor should be so lovely when the world felt so hollow.
Maxwell braced his hand against the driver’s side door of his van and looked up the street with a furrowed brow.
“I left cash on the counter. Just a few hundred bucks. It should help next time you need groceries. Don’t let Eliza pay me back.”
“She doesn’t need your help.” I no longer had room left for anger towards Maxwell Brenton, PhD. I didn’t necessarily have the energy for kindness either, but my father didn’t seem to expect it anyway.
“I know. But I shot her mother, making it the second time I’ve ruined her life.”
“What was the first?” I raised an eyebrow, already knowing the answer.
“Because of—you know.” He grimaced and gave me a sweeping gesture.
“You think I ruined my mom’s life?” I asked. It was a genuine question.
“No! But—never mind. I’ll go ahead and take my foot out of my mouth. If the money isn’t enough, let me know at the end of the month. I can send more. You have my work email, I presume.”
“You’re leaving?” It wasn’t that I was going to miss him, but the open bluntness between us had become the most comfortable space available to me these last six days. No animosity, no love, just plain, cold fact and open communication. The way it should be between scientists.
The prepared meals were a nice perk too.
“I’ve been away from work too long.” He shrugged.
“Where did you tell them you went?”
He bobbled his head back and forth and blushed as he replied, “Family emergency.”
I snorted. “Family?”
“Whether we consider each other family or not doesn’t matter. You’re biologically mine, and it’s an excuse that keeps admin from asking me too many questions.”
Once again, I was struck by my resemblance to him. I wished I could’ve looked more like Gams if it meant just a little bit more of her still existed in this world.
“Sorry for accusing you of drugging me,” he continued. “And all the rest.”
And all the rest.
A lifetime of being ignored by my father, and all along all I had to do was change reality, save the worlds, and become something akin to a god. If only I’d known that was the trick sooner.
“I’m sorry you got mixed up in all of it,” I said. “And I know you weren’t really who pulled the trigger.”
The stricken look on his face betrayed his inner guilt. “I don’t know if that really matters. But for what it’s worth, I’m not going to blacklist you from every geophysics program anymore.”
It was a small comfort in the light of everything, but by Maxwell Brenton standards, “I’m not going to ruin your career before it even starts” was the closest thing I’d ever received to a fatherly “I love you”.
“I appreciate it,” I said through a tight frown.
He tapped out a nervous rhythm on the van door, took a deep breath, and then said, “And if you like, I can talk to Von Leer about your admission.”
College had been the last thing on my mind, but my stomach dropped. I scrambled for a response, but my brain was only numb buzzing.
“I know now’s not the best time, and classes start next week, but I have a lot of sway. Crazier things have happened.” He looked back at the shop and cleared his throat.
I played with the dry skin around my thumbnails, thinking.
“I think…” I started, then trailed off to better gather my wits. “I think I want to get into Von Leer without help. I’ll take core course requirements at the community college nearby. I’ll apply again this winter and enter as a sophomore in the fall.”
Maxwell replied with a tight nod, and he opened the van door. “If you change your mind—”
“Actually if you could clear things up with the admissions office about my in-person interview, that would be nice.”
“The one where you attacked the admissions officer?” He raised an eyebrow. Dammit, he really did look so much like me.
“In my defense, he was trying to kill me and then later used you to shoot my grandma.”
Maxwell paled, connecting the dots, and nodded again. “Right. I’ll make it go away.”
“And then I’ll get in on my own merit.”
He moved as if to put a hand on my shoulder, but then froze and dropped his arm, apparently thinking better of it.
“Eliza did a good job,” he finally said.
“She did.”
He gave me a final, stilted nod, climbed into the van, and drove up the hill towards the highway.
I watched him go, unsure how to feel, but before I had the chance to dissect my thoughts and my father’s departure, a set of glowing orange eyes caught my attention where they lurked in the opposite alleyway.
I should’ve known Ciarán would make himself near if he knew I was alone with my father.
He stepped from the shadows to cross the street and meet me on the sidewalk.
His eyes, heavy with fatigue, roved over me, checking my hands, my neck, my chin, my nose, and, finally, my eyes.
He brushed hair back from my face to tuck it behind my ear, then rested his hand where my neck met my shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Those were the first three words I’d heard him speak in six days, and his voice was raspy with disuse.
“I’m good,” I said, happy just to hear him speak again. “You?”
“I need to talk.”
My stomach tightened with sudden nerves, and Ciarán must’ve felt it too, because he gave a low, reassuring laugh.
“With Orla,” he clarified, his smile already slipping. His eyes dropped to my chin. “Is she awake? I’d prefer to do it now, before I lose my nerve.”
“Right.” I hesitated as I took his hand, afraid the gesture might make him retreat again, but he intertwined his fingers with mine and let me lead him into Gams’s shop.
The wooden steps to the upstairs apartment creaked under our weight, and the savory smell of the kielbasa dish Maxwell had made before his departure wafted down the stairwell.
Fana and Mom ate alone at the kitchen table. Jonquil chirped at us from where she tip-toed between Gams’s painted chickens on the kitchen windowsill. The sagging couch that had become my temporary home held freshly laundered and folded quilts, waiting for me to return to them at bedtime.
“There’s money on the counter,” I said to Mom. “Maxwell went home.”
“I don’t need his money.” Mom’s voice was hollow.
I avoided looking at her. She was the perfect clone of Gams, and every time I looked her way, I ran the risk of bursting into fresh tears.
“He knows.”
I led Ciarán down the narrow hall to my old bedroom and knocked on the door.
Iseult answered, holding a bowl of kielbasa and noodles.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“I would like to talk to Lady Quill.” Ciarán bowed his head.
Iseult, taken aback either by Ciarán’s sudden respect for Orla or by the fact that he was speaking again, stepped aside.
Orla was propped up against pillows, and her short hair stuck up at the back of her head. She grimaced in pain as she adjusted herself when we stepped in.
“Ciarán,” she said evenly. Her voice was weak, but she held her chin high.
Ciarán faltered, and that buzzing along the tether intensified as he looked sideways at Iseult.
Orla nodded Iseult towards the door. When Iseult took her leave, I moved to follow her, but Ciarán’s hand gripped my wrist, keeping me at his side.
He waited until Iseult had closed the door before walking forward and kneeling on the wooden floorboards at Orla’s bedside. Dark hair fell forward to hang in his face.
Orla’s brow knit, and she looked between Ciarán and me for an explanation.
“I owe you an apology,” Ciarán croaked.
Orla’s lips parted in confusion, and her eyebrows unknit so they could lift up on her forehead.
“You did nothing wrong,” she said softly.