New Girl in Little Cove Damhnait Monaghan (best ebook reader android .txt) 📖

awake, although not very, holding one shoe. He scratched his head and looked around blankly.

“Me and red wine,” he said. “Deadly.”

“I know someone else like that,” I said. “My mother.”

I picked up his other shoe and handed it to him.

“I needs coffee,” he said.

“You don’t drink coffee.”

“Well, I needs something.”

“It’s Good Friday,” I said. “I doubt Wilf’s is open.”

Doug groaned. “Oh, Christ, the Stations of the Cross.”

“What?”

“Just be glad you lives in Clayville away from Father Frank,” he said. “I needs to get home right quick.”

I offered to drive him, but he said he was bound to get a ride if he hitchhiked. After an awkward hug at my front door, he was off.

29

I didn’t tell Doug that it was the anniversary of Dad’s death. I’d been marking anniversaries privately all year—his birthday, Mom’s birthday, their anniversary, the date he was diagnosed—on and on and on. Today was the big one. I couldn’t decide if it was important or meaningless. Maybe all that mattered was that Dad was gone, not the date that he left.

I wandered around my house, restless and out of sorts. I took a package of red licorice out of my kitchen cupboard, threw on a coat and went to the cemetery, where I sat shivering on a bench and eating. Licorice was Dad’s favourite candy. I’d snuck a few into his suit pocket in the coffin before the funeral. When the licorice was all gone, I went home, took out the fiddle Phonse had gifted me and played Vivaldi while the tears streamed down my cheeks.

Lucille phoned on Saturday evening to invite me for Easter dinner the next day. I’d spent Friday and Saturday on my own, so I gladly accepted. She said her knee was bothering her and would I mind coming early to drive her to Mass. I hadn’t been to church since I moved to Clayville, but for Lucille, I would make the effort.

On Easter Sunday morning, I straightened my hair for the first time in ages and wore a dress under my trench coat. I drew the line at a bonnet.

Lucille was waiting for me at her gate when I drove up. She limped over to my car.

“Arthritis,” she said when I asked what was wrong. “What’s after happening to your hair?”

My hand rose to pat it. “I straightened it. Why? Does it look bad?”

“Different.”

“Different good or different bad?”

“Different is all.” She’d clearly forgotten that I used to straighten it every day when I lived with her.

We were early, but the lot was full so we had to park across the road.

“All these part-timers,” Lucille said, shaking her head. “Christmas and Easter and the odd wedding or funeral. It’s not right.” If they were part-timers, that made me a temp at best.

Then Lucille said, “Lord Blessed God. I never thought I’d see the day.” I followed her gaze and saw Doug manoeuvring his mother’s wheelchair up the stairs of the church.

Mass seemed to go on forever. During the homily, I peeked back to look for Doug, but Lucille elbowed me back in line.

As we walked out afterwards, many parents and some students wished me happy Easter. Lucille squatted by the wheelchair, talking to Grace, while Doug and I waited beside them. I worried about Lucille’s knees.

“I loves your hair, Rachel,” Doug’s mother said. “What are you after doing to it?”

“I straightened it.”

“I likes the curls better,” Doug said.

His mother snorted. “Sure what do you know about hair?”

Judy and Bill walked down the church steps and came over to join us. “Wonderful grand to see your mother out and about,” Bill said to Doug.

Judy tugged at my sleeve. “Can I have a quick word?”

She led me away from the others and said, “Probably not the best place to raise this.” For a minute I panicked that somehow she’d found out what I’d said to Cynthia.

“I’m away at a conference for the next few days,” she said. “I wanted to talk to you about your teaching contract.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Lord, no, the very opposite. I spoke to Pat on Thursday and frankly neither of us can imagine this place without you. Do you know there’s two grade nine boys considering French next year after that RCMP talk you arranged?”

“Wow, that’s fantastic.”

“I knows you don’t have to say anything yet,” Judy said. “But unusually, you’re on a one-year contract. Any idea what your plans are for next year? We’d love you to stay.”

I looked down the road towards the school, unsure how to respond. “I didn’t really think things through when I took this job,” I said. “It was kind of impulsive.”

Judy cocked her head, looking at me. “You always kept your reasons quiet.”

“I needed to get away. The plan was to get a year’s experience, hopefully get some good references . . .”

She held up her hand. “That won’t be a problem. The word glowing springs to mind.”

I felt my cheeks grow warm. “Thanks. The logical thing would be to go back home at the end of the year.”

“Logic is overrated. Try listening to your heart.”

I glanced over to where the others stood chatting and caught Doug looking. We held the gaze for what seemed a long time, until Lucille bawled over to me, “We leaving today, missus, or wha?” and the spell was broken.

“Can I think about it?” I asked Judy.

“Of course,” she said.

I walked over to join Lucille, already weighing my options.

As soon as we entered Lucille’s house, I smelled Jiggs Dinner. I helped her set the table, and when we sat down to eat, I piled my plate high with boiled potatoes, turnips and carrots and salt beef.

“I see you missed out the cabbage as usual,” said Lucille.

In an effort to distract her from my dietary transgression, I remarked on Grace’s attendance at church. “Doug told me about the storm that killed his dad and your John,” I said. “It sounded terrible.”

She shook salt furiously on her meal. “It was hard old times for lots of people. It gets easier, but I’ll