Page 9 of Not Another Yesterday
I’ve only met Ronan’s grandparents once—when Ronan was in the hospital, in a coma, and his grandparents flew in from Montana to be by his bedside and provide support to Frank and Steve. I loveRonan’s grandparents, and his grandma Saoirse and I really hit it off. I’m already looking forward to seeing them again in April for Frank and Penny’s wedding. It’s set to take place on the Soult Ranch in Montana. Just the thought of going to Montana, which has always been on my bucket list, to the place where Ronan was sent to heal, has me excited. Both my mom and I are bridesmaids. Not only that, but Frank asked Shane’s dad, Seamus, to be a groomsman alongside Ronan and Steve. There was no question whether Shane and Tori would come along, too. Ronan and Shane were both pretty adamant that if Seamus came, so would Shane and Tori. I can’t think of a better way to spend my spring break.
“Looks like it,” Frank says with a nod. “We haven’t nailed down an exact date yet, but I think they’re planning to come in June and stay with Penny and me for a couple of weeks. It’ll be great to have them around to help with the babies.”
Just then, there’s a knock at the front door.
“I’ll get it!” Penny calls from the stairs. Moments later, she walks into the living room.
“Who is it?” Frank asks, analyzing Penny’s concerned expression.
“It’s a lady by the name of Callista Donahue,” Penny says.
Frank’s face instantly darkens. “Shit. That’s Rica’s mother.” He pushes up from the couch and strides out into the hallway without another word.
The rest of us freeze, the mood instantly shifting from light to brittle.
“Hello, Frank,” Mrs. Donahue says, her voice cool, refined.
“What can I do for you, Callista?” Frank replies evenly, his voice devoid of inflection, stripped of any warmth.
“I’m sorry for stopping by like this, unannounced. I was in the area, and, well, I need to speak with Ronan.” She has an eloquent way of speaking, her voice slightly nasal, but dignified, proud. I remember seeing her at her daughter’s trial last April, how well-dressed she waswith her pantsuit and Louboutin heels. If I had to sum her up in one word, I’d say regal.
“Ronan isn’t here,” Frank says, his tone shifting to something lower, protective.
“Frank, I know you don’t harbor the warmest feelings for me. I understand that, but I really do need to speak with my grandson.”
“He isn’t here right now, Callista,” Frank repeats sharply.
“Well, are you expecting him at all today? Because if so, then I’ll wait.”
“Callista, this isn’t—”
“Frank, I’m not here to argue or make your family’s life difficult. I drove over an hour to visit my daughter today—the day before Thanksgiving—in prison, and I won’t be making the trip again anytime soon. My husband… Brian…” Her voice falters. “He’s not well, so…”
It’s silent for a long moment, and I imagine Frank is weighing his options.
“Oh, is that him?” I hear Mrs. Donahue ask suddenly.
My heart lurches into my throat, beating as if it’s trying to escape my body. I glance at my phone. It’s just before four.
“Shit,” Steve mutters and gets up. I follow him into the hallway where Frank stands facing Ronan and Steve’s maternal grandmother.
She looks exactly as I remember her. Her perfectly coifed hair is pulled up and held in place by an elegant hairclip. She’s thin with impeccable posture, poised, standing straight-backed as if she’s perpetually balancing a book atop her head. Her elegant fingers are long, nails painted a subtle nude pink. Today, she dons a rose-pink, knee-length tweed skirt with a matching jacket, as well as her shiny pair of Louboutin high heels. A large black leather purse hangs from the crook of her elbow. I take note yet again of her pencil-thin lips and her steel-blue eyes—all so unlike Ronan with his soft, full lips and strikingly green eyes.
Steve doesn’t greet her. He brushes past with a look at Frank, who nods slightly.
I peer through the hallway window as Ronan approaches. My heart tugs in two directions. I’m so glad to see him, yet so terrified of what this meeting might do, or…undo.
Ronan has been doing well lately, though it isn’t always predictable what might trigger him. Some things bounce off him. Other seemingly small things will cause him to spiral into darkness.
Steve intercepts Ronan, who frowns at his brother. The two talk for a moment and Ronan’s body noticeably tenses, his eyes flitting to the window then back to his brother. Steve puts his hands on Ronan’s shoulders, talking to him intently for a second longer before the two walk up the short walkway, climb the three stairs to the front door, then step into the house.
Ronan’s eyes lock on me and his face softens the smallest bit.
“Ronan,” Mrs. Donahue says, scanning her grandson’s face, her blue eyes wide.
Ronan doesn’t immediately acknowledge her; he moves straight past her toward me. I reach my hand out for him and he takes it, interlacing his fingers with mine. That warm current fills me like he’s the source of all light. I give his hand a little squeeze before he finally faces his grandmother.
“My god, you look exactly like Brian when he was your age,” Mrs. Donahue says, studying Ronan’s features, her gaze moving over his face, down his tall, muscular body and back again. “Same eyes, same hair, same lips.”
