Page 10 of Beneath the Poet's House

Saoirse resists the urge to bring her hand to her heart, to feel the steadiness of the beats in her chest, like she occasionally did at night before she fell asleep. “Of course,” she says. “But I’ve got to go. Coffee date, remember?”

“Right. Okay.” Her mother still sounds reluctant to hang up.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Saoirse ends the call. Her mouth is even drier than before, and it’s hard to swallow. She slides the phone into her pocket and gives her bag a halfhearted pat, but she already knows she didn’t throw in a water bottle before leaving the house. When she looks up, the fountain at the base of the Athenæum looms before her. Its epitaph is direct to the point of absurdity:

COME HITHER EVERY ONE THAT THIRSTETH

The water that runs from the bronze spigot and over the granite tier looks cool and inviting. Wasn’t this fountain bone-dry whenever she visited Jonathan here twelve years earlier? Feeling out of sorts from the impending meetup with Lucretia and the emotions brought to the surface by the conversation with her mother, Saoirse leans in and drinks before she can consider whether it’s a good idea.

The water is colder than she anticipated and far more luxuriant, like water from a mountain spring instead of a public city fountain. She drinks great, deep mouthfuls, starts to pull away, then lowers her head again and drinks some more. When she finally straightens, she feels more sated than she has all day. Satisfied and clearheaded. She takes two stepsbackward and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. A couple is coming toward her on the sidewalk, and they stop when they reach her.

The man on the left raises his eyebrows. “Wow, Julio.” He lets go of his partner’s hand to gesture at the granite structure. “Someone’s hitting the magical Richmond Fountain a little hard today, aren’t they?”

His smile is warm and good-natured. Despite her confusion, Saoirse smiles back. She glances at the fountain as if she hasn’t just drunk from it, as if it burst through the concrete like a beanstalk. She returns her attention to the two men. “Magical?”

“You haven’t heard the legend?” the smiling man asks. “It’s from, like, the 1900s, but it’s become pretty well known since the fountain was restored several years back.” His voice takes on the tone of someone relaying a spooky story around a campfire. “Anyone who drinks from this fountain will return to Providence again and again. They’re drawn back, by virtue of the Pawtuxet River flowing through their veins.”

“That’s not it,” the second man, Julio, exclaims, and Saoirse jumps. “Sorry,” he says, “but it’s not that youreturnto Providence. It’s that, once you drink from the fountain, you can neverleave.”

A fly buzzes by Saoirse’s left ear, and her arms break out in gooseflesh. She swats at the air and turns back to the couple, but they’ve linked hands and resumed their stroll down the sidewalk. “Have a good one,” Julio calls over his shoulder.

Saoirse watches them cross the intersection and turn right onto College Street. They disappear into a throng of pedestrians. Other couples, students, professors pass her in either direction. She wants to shout at them,Have you drunk from this fountain? Have you heard the legend? Is it real?

Instead, she takes a breath and shakes the tension from her shoulders. A shadow darkens her periphery, and she swats at the air again, but the fly is gone. Maybe it had never been.

“Get a grip,” she mutters, then lifts her chin, sets her gaze on the gingerbread-house-style lattice of the Carr Haus building one block away, and forces herself forward. Behind her, the water from the curved bronze spigot continues to flow.

Chapter 5

The hostess waves Saoirse in the direction of a table in the café’s back corner where Lucretia sits, reading a book. Saoirse feels as if she’s on display as she crosses the room toward the slight, dark-garbed woman, though none of the other patrons—an older couple at a booth by the register, a woman with a baby, a man at a high top by the window clicking away at a sleek silver laptop—give her more than a passing glance.

“Hi!” Lucretia squeals when Saoirse reaches her, and jumps up to give her a hug. Saoirse has no choice but to return the embrace, though the display puts her even more on edge.

“I’m so glad you texted,” Lucretia says as Saoirse pulls the opposite chair out and sits.

Saoirse nods awkwardly. She has no idea what to say, but the other woman fills the silence.

“How’s the house? I’ve been thinking about you constantly, wondering how you’ve been doing there, if you’ve been getting any vibes or seen anything unusual.”

The creaking floorboard occurs to Saoirse, but before she can say anything, Lucretia continues, “Even more so, I’ve been wondering if you’ve been writing! That would be so incredibly cool, if you moved into 88 Benefit and were immediately struck with divine literary inspiration. I mean, Mia is convinced it’s only a matter of time, and it wouldn’tsurpriseme, per se, but I’d still probably freak out, just a little.”

Saoirse feels the thin smile on her face curdle into something even more pinched, and Lucretia must sense she’s gone too far because she winces. “I’m so sorry. You haven’t written in forever, yousaidthat. I need to respect your process. Also, gosh, I am just theworst. A toddler is better at making friends than I am. I should be asking you where you’re from, why you came to Providence, what you plan to do here.”

Before Saoirse can tell Lucretia that she likes this line of questioning even less, a waitress appears. Lucretia orders a cappuccino and a blueberry scone.

“A large chai with oat milk and a glass of water, please,” Saoirse says.

The waitress leaves them alone again, and Saoirse tries to steer the conversation away from herself. “Where are Roberto and Mia today?”

“Work. Roberto gives tours at the John Brown House. It’s part of the Rhode Island Historical Society. And Mia ...” Lucretia sighs in a way that suggests what she’s about to say is the cause of long-standing exasperation. “Mia works for PETA. She’s probably toiling away at some ridiculous, Sisyphean task, like trying to contact every Thai restaurant in the country to request they remove all factory-farmed meat from their menus.”

“PETA, huh? Though, I guess I can see that. Mia seems ...” Saoirse pauses. “A little intense.”

Lucretia waves a hand. “Nah. Well, I mean, yes, she totally is. But it’s just her personality. That and, well, I don’t want to share Mia’s personal stuff, but she was in a bad situation before. With an ex. She’s a little wary of meeting new people now. Likes to keep to herself.” She laughs. “Which is why Roberto and I push ourselves on her constantly. She needs us.”

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