Page 96 of Beneath Pearly Irish Skies
Chapter Twenty-Five
Megan surveyed her art stand in the corner of the main Donovan shed.
Pride shot through her as she glanced over the varying pieces—everything from mugs to vases and bowls. She hugged herself. She’d done this! Her. She dug out her phone to take a picture, and there was a text from Bets.
Your mother is on her way.
Her happiness deflated even though she was grateful for Bets’ heads-up. She’d managed to mostly stay away from her parents, what with the final preparations for the St. Stephen’s Day fair the day after tomorrow. Ollie was with Kade and the other men, checking out the racecourse one last time. Tonight they would have a traditional Irish dinner for Christmas Eve.
“Megan! I thought I’d grab some exercise so I walked over here. Are these all yours?”
Her mother. She turned, bracing herself. Her mom walked into the shed with her brisk power walk, her intelligent eyes assessing everything in sight. “Yes.”
“They’re beautiful.” She came forward and picked up a cobalt blue mug. “I’m glad you’re creating again. You seem happier than I’ve ever seen you. Even with Tyson. I hope you don’t mind my saying so.”
Her mother had never said a word about Tyson other than to say how much he was like her father, who’d adored him. “Ireland has been good to Ollie and me.”
“So I see.” She picked up a vase this time. “Kade especially. He reminds me of a male nurse I used to work with. He knows how to heal people.”
She could feel defensiveness rising inside her. “Are you saying I needed healing?”
“Yes.” Those direct hazel eyes turned on her. “It wasn’t in my power. Or Angie’s.”
“Certainly Dad was no help,” she blurted out.
Her mother set a hand on her thin waist. “You and Angie have a tough time with your father, but you’re no better at seeing him for who he is than he is at seeing you two. He’s a natural leader. There isn’t a single thing that could faze that man. Trust me. We’ve both shared our horror stories—mine at the hospital and his in battle. He knows how to help men reach full potential. That’s all he’s been trying to do with you girls.”
Megan felt tongue-tied and wrong again, looking for approval that would never come. She cleared her throat. Today she was going to speak up. Even if her mother got mad at her. “I didn’t want to be molded, Mom. I wanted to be loved.”
Her mom fingered the simple gold necklace she always wore at her throat. “You need both. You’re a parent. Kids don’t come with instruction manuals. You need to help them figure out who they are. Push them to become the best versions of themselves.”
Something popped inside her. “Then you failed. Both of you.” The words seemed to burn in her mouth. “Because until I came to Ireland, I had no idea who I was. I’d always tried to be what Dad wanted. A sweet and quiet little girl who didn’t make waves. Angie resisted his model for us, and he punished her for it. I didn’t want to be punished, so I played it safe. And you let me.”
Her mother’s mouth tightened. “While I tried to soften some of your father’s harder edges, I didn’t disagree with his methods usually. He pushed you to discover who you were. That you didn’t until now isn’t his fault. It’s yours.”
Her chest tightened at her mother’s version of tough medicine. The adult she was knew there were slivers of truth to it, but the child she’d been wanted to throw something.
“But we’re getting off track.” Her mom smiled then, as if the shot was over and it was time to dispense the lollipop. “You’ve found yourself. You’ve gotten back into pottery and teaching, which you loved, and you’re going to marry a good man who will take care of you and Ollie. I’m proud of you. Your father is too, even though he doesn’t say it.”
Megan didn’t believe that. Her father didn’t respect Kade or his work. It wasn’t macho enough for him. As for her mother, the gulf between them felt as wide as ever, except she didn’t want to bridge it like she had with Angie. While she and her sister had been through some rocky bumps, they’d communicated honestly about it. Both of them had also changed, which had helped them forge a new bond. But she could tell that experience wouldn’t be replicated with her mother—and certainly not with her father.
“Mom, I need to finish up here.” She picked up one of her pieces—a green pitcher—and clutched it to her stomach. “I’ll see you back at Bets’ for dinner.”
“I can help,” her mother said, scanning the shed. “I miss keeping busy. Put me to work.”
No.Her inner voice practically shouted the word. “It would take more time to explain. I’m good here.”
Her mother’s nod was crisp. “Fine, then. I’ll head back to the house.”
Watching her mother walk away, her pace brisk as always, came as a relief. Megan clenched her eyes shut, feeling raw from old hurts, old patterns. She promised herself to continue being a better mother to Ollie. To forget all the pushing and molding that clearly hadn’t worked on her. She wasn’t going to pass her feelings of inadequacy and hurt down to Ollie or her future children with Kade. Her mind showed her the girls, and then she jumped and let out a scream when something touched her shoulder.
Her eyes flew open. A beautiful woman with long brown hair stood before her in a white dress. The smell of oranges touched her nose, and every hair on her body stood on end. “Oh, my God! You’re Sorcha. I canseeyou.”
Her smile was soft and slightly crooked. “I asked for a boon, for us to meet. This seemed like a good time. Your parents’ visit has stirred up deep wells of emotion inside you. You need to keep your eyes on the prize, as you Yanks say. Don’t let the past pull you under again, Megan. If you feel yourself falter, reach for Kade. You couldn’t be in better hands.”
She disappeared. Megan’s legs gave out, and she sank to the floor. She’d just seen Carrick’s dead wife, a thought that made her belly tremble. There had been wisdom as much as a warning in Sorcha’s advice.
Hurrying from the shed, she called Kade.
