Page 11 of Not Another Yesterday
“When Rica became pregnant,” Mrs. Donahue finally continues, “Brian was incensed. She was barely sixteen. She had always been such a good girl—obedient, straight-A student, amazing volleyball player. She sang for her school and church choirs. She always did exactly as she was told, but that didn’t stop Brian from always expecting more of her. Then she went to the city with her friends on her sixteenth birthday and…”
Mrs. Donahue looks at Frank, who nods grimly.
“She became pregnant. Brian wouldn’t have it. He kicked her out. No money, nowhere to go. He and I fought about it, and it got ugly. He hit Rica, he hit me, and in the end, Rica left. I had no choice but to make her leave, both for her own safety and for mine.”
She turns to Frank. “Thank you for taking her in. I cannot begin to tell you how often I’ve thought of you, how many silent thank-yous I sent to you and your parents for taking in my daughter.”
“It wasn’t enough,” Frank says, his voice heavy with guilt.
“It was everything,” she says. “You gave her so much more than we ever had. Not the material things, but the emotional. You offered her peace, you allowed her to live in a warm, loving home. But I don’t think you could have done anything to change the outcome. It was up to Rica to break the cycle. It takes a lot of strength not to fall into the same patterns, not to repeat what you’ve been exposed to all your life, and especially during your formative years. There’s a reason abuse is generational.”
Ronan untangles his hand from mine.
“Rica called me one night after Steve was born,” Mrs. Donahue continues, either oblivious to or disregarding Ronan’s obvious discomfort. “She told me she was in Montana, that she was living with your parents, Frank. She had nothing but wonderful things to say about them, told me how loving everyone was, how they helped her with the baby. She sounded happy, especially when she told me you two married.” A smile flits across Mrs. Donahue’s pencil-thin lips. “She said she wanted to go back to school when Steve was a little bit older, that she wanted to be a nurse,” she says, then lowers her head. “We spoke every couple of weeks or so, and then one night only a few months later, she called me crying. She was pregnant again, and she wasn’t sure she could do it. She spoke about terminating the pregnancy, told me she had researched it, but that the nearest clinic was two hours away.”
Ronan shifts uncomfortably beside me, and my heart breaks for him. I know it’s not the first time he’s heard this. Rica made itclear that Ronan was a mistake, that she thought he should never have been born. That knowledge—to know that you were so deeply unwanted—what does that do to a soul?
“But of course, I talked her out of that. Terminating the pregnancy wasn’t an option,” Mrs. Donahue says with a huff like the thought alone wasn’t even up for consideration. “We’re Catholic. It’s a cardinal sin.”
So is abuse,I want to snap.So is exile. But you lived with those.
“So I tried to assure her, told her how strong she was. And I started speaking with Brian about allowing me to help Rica. I reminded him that Rica’s boys were our legacy, the only descendants to the Donahue family tree since we had no idea where Cormac was, and Brian’s brother never had children. Those things always mattered to Brian, and though it took a long time, he eventually relented. You know the rest, obviously,” Mrs. Donahue says to Frank and motions around the living room. “We helped you two buy your home. I remember the first time I met Steve and Ronan. They were so little, absolutely precious.” She nods with a smile, looking warmly at Steve, then Ronan, whose expression remains guarded. The only sign of distress I detect—and only because I know him so damn well—is in his hands, which are balled into fists on his thighs. But other than that, and the tension sharpening his already masculine angles, he's the personification of an impenetrable brick wall.
“When Rica called me from jail last year… when she told me what she had done…” Mrs. Donahue chokes. “I felt so helpless. I had let her down, and I had let you down,” she says to Ronan. “I didn’t see any signs of what she was doing to you the few times I got to see you. I didn’t see any marks, and you didn’t let on that anything was wrong. I wish Brian had permitted me to be more involved in your lives. Though I often wonder if things would have been different. I have a feeling it wouldn’t have changed anything at all.” A single tear carves a slow path down hercheek.
Penny moves from her spot next to Frank to retrieve a box of tissues, which she hands to Mrs. Donahue.
“Thank you.” Mrs. Donahue takes a tissue and dabs her cheeks and eyes. “After Rica was arraigned, I told Brian I was bringing her home. It was the first time I truly stood up to him. He was already sick then; he didn’t put up much of a fight. So I posted her bail, picked her up, and finally brought her home with me. At first she refused to speak about anything that had happened. I would ask her flat out if she did to you, Ronan, what Brian had done to her. I asked her over and over, and finally, a couple of months before the trial, it just broke out of her. All of it. We sat for hours—just Rica and I—as she cried and told me about all the times she had ever hurt you,” she says to Ronan.
His jaw is clenched, brow furrowed as he listens to his grandmother. How I wish I was privy to his thoughts. I have a suspicion it’s chaos in there, even while he exudes outward control. His mother did a hell of a job conditioning him.
To my left, Steve exhales deeply and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Did she tell you why she only ever hurt Ran, but never put a hand on me?” His face reflects pain.
Mrs. Donahue shrugs with pursed lips. “No. I don’t think she understands it herself. I have my theories, however,” she says with an air of self-importance.
“Oh yeah? And what are those theories?” Frank asks, Penny’s hand in his.
“Well, I believe that when Brian kicked Rica out, it afforded Rica a fresh start. She was finally free. And not only that, but Frank, you brought her to Montana, to your parents, who I understand are wonderful, loving people. You two got married and Rica was happy. She spoke with so much hope whenever we talked, had plans for the future, was no longer afraid. Then she became pregnant with Ronan, and you, Frank, left for the Air Force. Rica felt trapped.”
She turns her attention back to Ronan. “And then you were born. And you look so much like your mother and like Brian. Thoseeyes… You have the same eyes, the same mouth, the same hair,” she says with renewed incredulity. “You’re so much like your mother, Ronan.”
He flinches. A sharp, almost imperceptible hitch in his breath. I feel it more than hear it.
Clearly, Mrs. Donahue doesn’t pick up on it. “Not just on the outside,” she continues. “From what I’ve learned about you at the trial, you’re a smart young man who was always trying to be better. Just like Rica. And I believe you striving for perfection, to please Rica, only made her angrier. You were never good enough to her because she was never good enough to Brian. I think deep down she believes she deserved everything she got and so, when she hurt you, she hurt that child version of herself.”
My chest is tight with grief. Not just for Ronan, but for the unbearable weight of generational pain no child should have to carry. I was aware that Rica’s father subjected her to pain, but this? If these musings are even slightly correct, then the tentacles of fear and violence spread far beyond a mother parenting the way she was parented. The pain Ronan was subjected to would be deeply rooted in something way more psychological than simply “history repeating itself.”
I feel uneasy, but my quick glance at Ronan doesn’t provide me with much insight as to how he’s feeling. He’s as unreadable as ever, and I don’t know if his perceived composure makes me feel better or worse.
“It became clear to me that what Rica did wasn’t because she was evil, but because of the trauma that was inflicted on her. Not just the physical, but the emotional neglect and abandonment… I knew there was emotional damage. So, we fired the public defender and hired the best defense attorney money could buy, and we had her psychologically evaluated. The attorney told us it was a risky move to put Rica’s mental health at issue because the D.A. would be able to request his own assessment—and he did—but it was worth it,” Mrs. Donahue says, nodding determinedly. “She was diagnosed with PTSD and bipolar disorder. It was a chance to keep her out of jail, or at least to get her sentence reduced.”
“Well, it worked,” Frank says.
“It did,” Mrs. Donahue says with a small smile.
The smile doesn’t belong on her face—not here, not now. It’s as jarring as laughter at a funeral.
“You probably think I’m an awful human for working so hard to keep my daughter out of jail after everything she’s done, but she’s still my daughter. I failed to protect her growing up; I wasn’t about to let her down again. I knew it was my fault that she was at this place in her life, and it was my obligation to help her. I hope you understand,” Mrs. Donahue says to Ronan.
