Page 28 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
Megan’s face fell. “Of course. Didn’t I tell you so earlier?”
“Yeah, but you change your mind sometimes.” He looked over to Angie with a grimace. “You wouldn’t let me ride my bike anywhere at Aunt Angie’s except in the garage. We don’t have a garage here, Mom.”
Angie kept her face neutral. She’d been walking on eggshells about Megan’s overprotectiveness.
“You can ride it,” Megan said, fingering the hem of her navy blouse. “With the helmet Liam brought. And when you see a car, you pull over to the side.”
“I know how to ride on the street, Mom,” he said, his determined chin thrust out. “Right, Aunt Angie?”
“Don’t put me in the middle, Ollie. Why don’t you show your mom what you drew?”
“He drew something?”
“Yes.” Angie went over to the stove. “Thank you for making breakfast. It smells delicious. Ollie, your mom made bacon and oatmeal.”
“Cool!” He ran over and grabbed her painting bag from her, locating his pad and flipping it open. “It’s a ninja, Mom. He can do karate and everything. No one can stop him. Or kill him. Can I ride my bicycle before breakfast?”
Her sister clutched the hand towel tied around her waist. “Sure. Take a piece of bacon. And don’t be gone long.”
Ollie ran out, the front door slamming behind him, and Angie waited to see how her sister would react.
“After Liam left, I was feeling good for the first time in a long time,” Megan said in a harsh whisper. “Then my son tells me he drew a ninja no one could kill. Oh, Angie.”
She hugged her sister. “At least he’s drawing again. That’s a good sign. He told me that he wanted to draw because I was painting. In art therapy, they tell you not to judge the subject of the painting. Expression heals.”
“I know it does,” Megan said. “I used to be a potter. But, Angie… Do you think he needs professional help?”
How ironic. Megan had bolted when she’d asked her that months ago. She held her sister’s shoulders. “I think you need to let him play and explore. Let’s see how things shake out.”
Megan turned away and stirred the oatmeal. “He got mad when I made him wait for me to go down the ladder first.”
Angie put the kettle on. “Maybe he needs to assert himself. It’s a new place with new people. I always feel like I need to assert myself when I’m somewhere new.”
“Just don’t assert yourself too much,” her sister said, spooning oatmeal into a simple white bowl and handing it to her. “You need this job, and you get in trouble that way. Your wild and willful tendencies rear up. Remember when you kept sneaking out and Dad caught you? He took your art supplies away.”
For six months. It had nearly killed her.
Part of her wanted to tell Megan about her very direct talk with Carrick this morning. He’d asserted himself, and she’d done it right back. The two of them had handled the situation with honesty and maturity. Like adults. She felt like she’d turned a corner.
Was Meg too wrapped up in her problems to see Angie clearly? She hadn’t acted “wild” in a long time.
Truthfully, she missed going where the wind took her. It had helped her art and made her happier.
“Why are you wearing your old paint clothes? I didn’t notice before.”
“I feel good in these clothes,” she told her sister, caressing her coat. “I thought they’d help me paint again. I can wear my teaching clothes when I teach. Okay?”
She almost made a face to punctuate the words, but that would have undermined her point. Megan itched at her collarbone, probably because of the wool cardigan she had tied over her blouse. Or, more probable—her skin and the rest of her couldn’t breathe.
Angie itched in response. “Come on. Let’s make some tea. Eat breakfast. Then we can go for a walk and head up to see the studio.”
Megan nodded, and they passed the morning more easily in the crammed eating nook, watching the light flicker over the countryside as a patch of rain came and then disappeared, turning to eerie, illuminated mist. God, she couldn’t get enough of the everchanging light. The cottage didn’t feel so small from this perspective.
When they finally headed up to see Bets, Ollie was smiling as he streaked ahead of them on the blue bicycle.
“Liam said moving was good for grief,” Megan told her.
Moving was also good for depression, which Megan didn’t like to talk about. God love their cousin. “Well, he would know. So would Bets. Look! Here she is.”
