Page 7 of Quiet Longing

As I stood there, holding Mam, my thoughts returned to earlier in the night. My encounter with Charli. I’d seen thatbruise on her forehead, and my mind had instantly gone to a dark place. I hated how Dad had shaped me this way, to always suspect the worst. People got cuts and bruises all the time through small accidents and mishaps, but my first instinct was to assume an injury happened violently.

“I don’t know what to do,” Mam said.

“You don’t have to know yet. Just let me take you to Aunt Claire’s. We’ll figure out the rest later. What’s important right now is getting you out of here.”

“If he comes home and finds us missing, he’ll be even worse.”

“You let me worry about that.”

No more fight left in her, my mother acceded and let me pack her a small bag to take to my aunt’s house. Mam was quivering the entire drive there. I’d taken her keys because she was in no fit state to drive. It felt strange to be enacting a plan I’d plotted in my head hundreds of times. Every time Dad hit one or both of us, my brain would frantically try to figure how to get away from him.

One idea was to simply change the locks and dump his stuff on the front lawn. Our house belonged solely to my mother since she’d inherited it from her grandparents. That was something that always stuck in Dad’s craw, too, that the house wasn’t his. If Mam died, it would go to him as her husband, but I was determined never to let that happen.

Mam would outlive that prick. I’d make sure of it.

I called ahead to let Aunt Claire know we were coming over. I told her Mam and Dad had gotten into a fight though I didn’t give specifics. She was a smart woman. She’d figure it out when she saw Mam’s face. I was pretty sure she suspected my father’s behaviour over the years, especially when we had random injuries we couldn’t easily explain. But Mam was so full of shame, so secretive about the whole thing. If Aunt Claire evertried to gently broach the subject, she’d pretend everything was perfectly fine.

She’d never tell another living soul what Dad was really like, not even when she broke up with him last year, but all that was going to change starting tonight. We couldn’t let things go on like this any longer, couldn’t keep living this way.

I helped Mam from the car and grabbed her bag. Claire appeared in the door only seconds after I knocked, her eyes travelling over Mam’s bruised, wounded face.

“That bastard!” she whispered furiously before throwing her arm around Mam’s shoulders and ushering her inside. My Uncle Eugene appeared then. He was a short, kindly man with greying dark brown hair. I couldn’t imagine him ever getting angry, never mind angry enough to raise a hand to his wife or children. My cousins, Shay and Ross, didn’t know how lucky they were to have a father like him. Eugene would go to the ends of the earth to keep his kids safe, and I admired him greatly for that. He was more of a father figure to me than my own dad ever was.

Mam and Claire went into the kitchen, with Claire gently shutting the door so they could talk privately. Eugene’s eyes came to me, his tone cautious.

“Did your father do that, son?” he asked, his expression flat. I wondered if he was trying to keep his shock or anger at bay for my sake.

I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. It was difficult to speak about something I’d learned to keep unspoken for such a long time.

“And you. Has he ever—"

“I’m fine,” I said, not wanting to speak about how my mother wasn’t Dad’s only victim. “I just want Mam to be safe. Can she stay here with you for a few days until I figure something out?”

“You and your mother can stay with us for as long as you need. Don’t you worry about that. I want to know if you’re okay. It can’t have been easy, finding her like that.”

“It wasn’t the first time,” I replied, my voice low, and Eugene’s eyes flashed in understanding then anger and, at last, empathy. He shocked me when he pulled me into a hug. I was much larger than him, but inside, I felt small. I felt like a little kid being comforted and protected in the arms of someone older, someone who cared.

“Come upstairs,” Eugene said. “You can sleep on the futon in Shay’s room.”

I nodded, following him up the stairs before he knocked on my cousin’s door.

Shay was mute, meaning he couldn’t speak. When he was six, he’d had surgery that went badly, leaving his vocal chords irreparably damaged. I had brief memories of him from before the surgery when he could still speak. Then I remembered him after, and he was a different kid. Forever changed. But he was lucky in one way. He had amazing parents who loved him and went out of their way to make his life better. Every single one of us had learned sign language to be able to converse with him, and now, it barely made a difference that he couldn’t speak.

Sure, there were certain aspects of life that were difficult for him, but he was a positive lad and had embraced the challenges that came his way. I wasn’t sure I’d have such a good attitude if I were in his position.

Shay sat by his desk drawing when we came into the room. He turned, clearly surprised to see me there so late.

“Your cousin’s staying the night,” Eugene said. “Come help me set up the futon for him.”

Shay rose, and the two of them made quick work of setting up the futon for me. When Eugene left, Shay sat down on his bed, studying me curiously as I kicked off my shoes.

Why are you staying over?He signed, and I blew out a breath.

That’s a long story. Can I tell you in the morning?I signed back.

Sure,he replied and left me to it; though he must’ve seen some hint of my inner turmoil because he continued watching me for a minute before he finally turned away and got into bed. Shay was two years younger than me. His older brother, Ross, was away at college, so his room would be empty. I expected that was where Mam was going to be sleeping for the next few nights. Remembering I had a shift at the hotel in the morning, I set my alarm to make sure I woke up with enough time to drive back to Malahide.

I worked part-time as a kitchen porter in Derek and Tristan’s family hotel. They also owned another hotel in the city, but I hadn’t been to that one yet. Their dad, Padraig, knew I was looking for part-time work and had offered me a job at the hotel. Derek hadn’t been too keen on it. Being a rich kid, he didn’t understand I needed the money. We might’ve lived in the same town, but that was only because Mam had inherited our small house. We’d never have been able to afford to live there otherwise, not on Mam’s legal secretary salary and Dad’s occasional wages as a bricklayer.

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