22. Maeve
22
MAEVE
T he sun streams in the window, waking me like normal. It's been more than a week since I've even seen Ronan again. There are fewer guards around the house. He was here briefly for a few hours as he showered and prepared for a wake, though he didn't talk much about it. I could tell he didn’t want to. Something is going on with his family, and I don't know what to make of it. I hear bits and pieces of conversations—mostly about him hunting someone named Eamon.
I sit up in bed and stretch, wondering if today will be the day he comes in to see me. He's left me messages with his staff who still cater to my every whim, saying he's so busy but he'll be with me soon. I actually miss him too, the warmth of his body in bed next to me while I sleep and the way he holds me at night. I'm not sure if this is normal for his routine, if he's on a business trip, or if this is some out-of-the-ordinary event that's pulled him away, but I don't like it.
I slip out of bed, pad to the dresser, and pull out a pair of leggings and a sweater. I asked Brigid to bring me baggier clothing. I'm not showing yet, but it won't be long. My leggings are the most comfortable thing I have to wear, and oversized sweaters or sweatshirts hide the bit of extra weight I’ve put on. No baby bump yet, but I can see it in my face.
As I dress, I think of my mother. I've been gone for nearly three months now. She has to have given up hope that it's a simple case of missing persons. By now, the hospital has definitely filled my position. My neighbors have probably been banging on the walls with glee, considering I'm not there to report them for noise violations. And my coworkers probably moved on and don't even think of me anymore.
I'm tired but I'm hungry. In fact, I've been so ravishingly hungry for days, I've been ordering four meals a day and still snacking on things. I usually eat in the bedroom, but I do have freedom to roam anywhere in the house. It just feels odd without Ronan being here. Sometimes, I wonder what he's told his staff concerning me. If they know the reason I'm here is because he took me, or if they think I want to be here.
Do I want to be here?
I push the thought from my head and dress. I decide I'll take my breakfast in the kitchen today. The feelings of depression I've had are less now than they have been. I've been feeling better, especially after the night Ronan and I really connected. He was shot, I was frantic. I knew then and there that I was in love, and now I’m not sure how to feel about my future, but I try not to think about it too much.
In the kitchen, I look around for something to eat before Brigid walks in. She's cheery, as usual, wearing a bright red smock and a long green skirt. Her hair is knotted on top of her head and she smiles brightly at me.
"Mornin', Ms. Walsh. What can I get for you?" Brigid stands ready, and I am suddenly undecided. Everything sounds good, and I bet I could eat it all if she cooked it.
"I'm not sure. What do you have?" I pull a stool up to the island and sit. I feel uncomfortable. I never leave Ronan's room unless invited, and that was only a few times. This morning, I just feel bolder, like my old self.
"We have just about everything. How about I make you a nice omelet? I can make it Western style with onions, peppers, cheese, and ham. How does that sound?"
Even as she's speaking, my mouth begins to water. I'm eating for two, and baby O'Rourke is definitely interested in the idea of eating a Western omelet.
"That sounds delicious," I tell her as I perch on the stool, and she gives me a confused look.
"Are you going to wait here? Should I bring it to the room?" It must seem odd to her that I'm out of the room too, given that I've only left it a few times since I got here. But I can't stay cooped up anymore. The room is nice, and she keeps it clean, but I want to stretch my legs.
"Is it okay if I wait? I don't mind." I fold my hands in front of myself, and she smiles.
"It's more than okay. It'll give me some company in this big kitchen." Brigid winks and sets to work collecting and preparing ingredients. I watch her mix the eggs and heat the stove top, and then I start to wonder more about her, where she came from, how she ended up in Ronan's employ. So I pry a little, not ashamed to be nosy.
"So, do you enjoy working for Mr. O'Rourke?" I use his formal name because I’m not sure how they speak of him. I don't want to seem too casual about things because I know how dangerous this family can be. I've seen it with my own eyes.
"Ronan? Oh, well I love working for the family." She smiles as she looks up at me and pours the eggs into the skillet. "Wouldn’t be the same if I had to work somewhere else."
Her relaxed, casual nature just seems so odd to me. I expected her to be here under duress or against her will like me, but she's genuinely happy. I can't understand it. How does she not see what they're about and run for the hills?
"Do you live here too?" I ask her, being nosy. I know it's none of my business, but my mind is blown by how comfortable she is with this situation.
She chuckles. "Nah, ma'am." She reaches for the peppers and onions, scattering them in the skillet around the eggs to cook, then picks up a wooden spoon and pushes them around, careful not to disrupt the omelet. "I live across town. Ronan is my boss and nothing more. If that's what yer sayin'."
"Oh, no, nothing like that." My cheeks burn. I wasn't insinuating that she was sleeping with him, which she clearly thought I was.
"Well, he's a good boss. And he's a good man. There isn't a thing he won't do for his family. The woman who nails that young man down is a lucky one. But not me. I'm married and I have a son."
She grows quiet after answering my question, and I think of what she's said. He's a good man? But doesn't she know what he does for a living? Do I know what he does for a living? My only true knowledge of Ronan O'Rourke is that he's the leader of the largest criminal organization in Dublin. I'm not sure what sort of criminal activities he partakes in, but he didn't get to the place he is without doing something evil.
And does that mean all of his employees are evil too? How could that even be? Not all people are like him, but he has to own businesses, and those businesses employ people. Are they aware of who owns them? Who manages them?
"You seem a bit concerned about something." Brigid seems friendly, and while I have no intention of explaining to her what I'm really wrestling with and why I'm wrestling with it, I don't mind how she seems ready to lend an ear. It's a very nice gesture.
"Yeah, maybe a bit…" I pause for a second and then sigh and continue. "Do you know what Ronan does for a living? I mean… how can you work for him when he is such a violent man?" My question hangs in the air, and she turns to fold the omelet over and add the ham and cheese. It smells delicious and my stomach is growling, but inside, I'm actually more invested in this conversation than I am the food.
My heart is tenderly seeking answers that might help me decide what I truly want in life, and it feels very scary to wait for them. Learning something I don't want to learn may tear me in two. But hearing her say something encouraging might make all the difference.
"Ms. Walsh, all I can say is that I've worked for this family for years. I knew Ronan's father. I know the sort of character they have." She turns and narrows her eyes on me in deep thought, then says, "Have you ever had someone you care about so much that you know you have to do what's right for them, even if doing what's right is actually somehow bad or wrong?"
I swallow hard, thinking again of how I'd do anything for my mother. If she were hurt or suffering, there may be a time in my life I'd steal or hurt someone to help her or protect her.
"We don’t choose what we're born to," Brigid says.
"But we can choose to continue in it or change." My rebuttal stands firm, but she's shaking my resolve. I war within myself. I want her to say he's a monster to justify my fear, but I also want her to say he's everything I've ever dreamed of to justify my love.
"Aye," she says, and she nods, removing my omelet from the pan and sliding it onto a plate. She pulls out a fork and a napkin and sets them in front of me, then turns to get a glass. As she's filling the glass with orange juice, she again looks up at me. "And if you're born to a family who might be on the path that's least moral, but you have a passion to make a difference and hold them all together, would you leave them if it meant you'd never be able to return?"
Brigid sets the answer—and the orange juice—in front of me and pats my hand. Then she walks out without saying anything else, and I'm left to try to discern what she means. Ronan isn't here. He hasn't been here in days. I'm torn up inside wondering why he has to be like this, where he's gone. I stare at the omelet which looks very delicious, and I'm left with only one assumption.
Ronan has undertaken this position as head of his family to hold them all together, and maybe he's not the horrible monster I think he is. Maybe he's actually trying to fight to turn the ship around, and maybe he won't do it in his watch, but maybe decades from now, my child could. Maybe it's what his family needs. Maybe I'm what his family needs.
I take my first bite of the omelet, and it melts on my tongue, and inwardly, I thank Brigid for being a saint sent by heaven to manifest the answers I need when I need them. I don't know how I will ever raise an O'Rourke baby and look past whatever it is Ronan has to do to protect his family and hold them together, but I’m seeing him in a new light, and I like it. I like him.