Dancing With Skeletons
A Ceathair
This was definitely not how he pictured embarking on his grand adventure. Charlie's six-foot frame was wedged in the centre of economy seating at the back of the plane. His knees were flush against the seat in front of him, battered every time that passenger decided to readjust his seat. The woman to his left had fallen fast asleep, her head and most of her upper body encroaching upon his already limited personal space. At one point, her head nearly rested upon his shoulder until he twisted his body toward the right. There, he fared no better. The male passenger plugged into his tablet was clearly enjoying his video selections. Loud guffaws and laughter emanated from him with consistency. Each time Charlie grew drowsy, a burst of laughter quickly woke him up. He tried the airline-supplied earplugs but it simply muffled the sound making him feel as if he were underwater. He began to realise there was little rest to be had on this journey!
As uncomfortable as the seating in this long haul flight seemed to him, there was something worse! Two hours into the flight a meal arrived: a postage stamp sized portion of lasagna with a roll that could have served double duty as a hockey puck. He tried to fill his belly by drinking copious amounts of liquids but that led to a need to move about the cabin and extricating himself from his assigned seat took the skills of a contortionist. Perhaps, he had not been too deprived not travelling all these years!
Since sleep was clearly eluding him, discouraging thoughts began to seep into his consciousness. What was he doing? This seemed like a sound plan when he devised it, but the reality was not living up to his expectations. His parents thought he was simply on a jaunt to Amsterdam, a relatively quick journey. He had not told him of his actual destination. They would never have given him their blessing if he had. They would have cautioned him in no uncertain terms about the possible dangers, a chance that he was willing to take. He knew how worried his parents would be if he even mentioned 'Miami' as a stop on his travels much less that this city was the main reason he felt compelled to take a gap year in the first place.
When he first learned about his family's past, it was overwhelming. He saw the harsh reality of life as a covert operative first hand when Thomas O'Neill and his associates staged an armed assault on his home. Until that episode he was blissfully unaware that his parents once had a very different life than the one they presented to the world as he was growing up. But that was the last day their past, his past, remained hidden. Slowly, his parents unravelled a tale that spanned continents and decades. When all was said and done, the good they had both done certainly outweighed the uglier side of their careers. Their intentions were admirable, noble really, but their work came with a cost of great sacrifice and loss.
Those tales began to weigh heavily on his mind. He had grown up amid Glenannes. He knew their personalities, their histories. He loved hearing about childhood memories from his 'uncles', listening to stories about his mam when she was young. They brought 'Claire' to life so that she could be thought of as a real flesh and blood person not just some spark leading to vengeance. Most of all, he enjoyed the anecdotes about his mam and da, young and in love; the family unaware exactly who the dashing man that had captured their Fiona's heart truly was.
But there were other tales untold, those that remained in Miami. As time went on, he felt irresistibly drawn to its shores. He needed to see the places of his memories. It was a quest that was fraught with difficulties but Charlie seemed to sense that he would not truly be able to embrace his future until he had fully explored the past.
Miami: a city that conjured up images of beaches, bikinis, and excitement, a far cry from Iveragh. It finally appeared through the clouds. Even from altitude its turquoise waters and it's white sand beaches looked idyllic, a tropical paradise to be sure. It was difficult to believe so much mayhem had once occurred here; the destruction of a family, the birth of a new one.
His musings helped pass the time and it wasn't long before his feet stood on American soil once again. He held his breath as he passed through customs. He possessed no contraband but he still feared that his true identity would somehow be detected here. He had fears of being whisked away by airport security and interrogated. Worse yet, he would be 'outed', so to speak; a prodigal son returned to US shores, his photo splashed across the tabloids. But, he breezed through the airport, hardly garnering a second glance from anyone.
An international incident avoided, it was time to take care of essentials: food! The airport was filled with various eateries but an inexpensive option would help preserve those precious dollars he carried. He had 'borrowed' some funds from his parents without their knowledge. They kept a wad of American dollars in a hidden compartment in the cottage in case of emergencies. He was fairly certain they were unaware he had discovered the cache. He took just enough to see him through this initial phase of his journey, just enough for a meal or two, transport from the airport, and incidentals. He would find an ATM shortly and begin using his own funds. Charlie felt ashamed about this deception, necessary in his view, but he disliked the idea of betraying his parents' trust. He planned to return the funds upon his return to Ireland, hoping they would be none the wiser about the episode.
Dollars in hand he casually joined the queue and prepared to order a much-needed meal. Once at the counter, he used the best American accent he could muster. Even since he discovered that his da, as well as himself, were really Americans, he began to practice. He planned to put that acquired skill to use. If his mam could speak with a false accent for seven years, he supposed he could get by for a few days! He approached the counter, cleared his throat, "Combo Number 2 with a Coke." The service worker barely gave him a glance as she took his payment and presented him with a meal in a bag.
Charlie found a quiet corner in which to devour this meal that his mam would certainly frown upon. He could hear her lecture in his mind! "Ah, I see you chose something with several food groups represented: sugar, fat, and salt. How nutritious!" The thought made him smile. He hoped his parents would not be too lonely without him. He recalled a conversation he had recently with his da about this very issue. He suggested that his parents actually get married and have a long overdue honeymoon. "After all, Da, you told me that Grandma once joked she expected you two to be married by sixty. You're running out of time!"
Michael actually laughed, "Don't want to rush into anything but I'll take it under advisement." Charlie realised his parents would survive. After all, they had each other, for better and for worse.
As he finished his burger, he took some time to observe those around him. While on this mission, he wanted to assimilate, blend in as much as possible. His jeans and t-shirts fit in nicely but his footwear was all wrong. He needed to pick up some sandals, flip flops he thought Fi called them, and sunglasses. There wasn't much need for these back at home but here they seemed to be required dress.
His hunger somewhat satiated, his Intel gathering complete, it was time to head toward Miami Beach, find the place he had arranged to stay through the couch surfing website, and begin phase two of this expedition. He needed to find The Crest Hotel and pay an most unexpected visit to his parents' most trusted friend, Sam Axe, a man he felt could help provide some answers to the questions that still gnawed at him. He exited the airport and was bathed in the warm Miami sunshine. He had arrived.
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Michael slowly came awake reaching toward where he expected to find his partner's sleeping form but he was met with only air. He opened his eyes verifying her absence. It was unusual for her to be about at this time. He was the early riser. Of course, this had been an unusual week. Fiona had been uncharacteristically quiet, not melancholy, simply pensive. Charlie's absence was keenly felt by both of them and they each were grappling with the adjustments needed in having the proverbial 'empty nest'.
Michael prepared for the day, grabbing a yoghurt, reading the online paper. He assumed Fi might be on a long run, giving her uninterrupted time to think about the future, their future. He knew that she needed some space right now. He headed down the lane for the shop. His workload was light this week. He was waiting for parts from Dublin for a couple of vehicles, another was promised to be ready at the end of the workday. He would tackle that project at once. Perhaps, he'd ring Fi mid morning and surprise her with a lunch invitation.
He arrived at the garage within minutes. The office door was already unlocked. Maybe, Fi was getting an early start on the week's accounts, but when he opened the door, it wasn't Fiona he spotted. There was a young woman at the reception desk. She looked up and greeted him with a cheerful, "Mornin'. Don't suppose it's an appointment you'll be wantin'." She winked clearly indicating she realised he was the proprietor of the establishment. "Tea?" She stood up ready to put the kettle on.
Michael was completely confused. He looked about him assuring himself that he had opened the correct door. "And you are?" He was clueless as to who this interloper was and why she was in his office.
"Deirdre. Deirdre O'Connell." She answered quickly. "I'm the new receptionist." Michael continued to stare blankly so she added, "The Mrs. gave me the job." She paused momentarily before adding, "I went to school with Charlie," as if that explained her presence.
A loud whirring of a motor jarred Michael and he looked toward the work area. Deirdre saw his attention shift. "That would be herself. She set right to work, she did." The telephone rang and Deirdre jumped to answer, pleased to have an excuse to remove herself from this awkward conversation. "Sullivan Auto Repair."
He moved toward the sound, inching ever closer. Then, he spotted her, elbows deep under the hood. She noticed his entrance at once, "Give me a hand here." He walked over slowly, a perplexed look on his face. He rolled up his sleeves and helped her with the jammed bolt she was attempting to loosen. "I see you met Deirdre."
"Pink hair. Interesting choice." Michael tried to sound lighthearted.
"It's merely a pink stripe." Fi quelled Michael's exaggeration. "Besides, her da is always on a tear. She's trying to help out a bit now that she's left school. She needs the work and we need the help." Michael stared at Fi still baffled by exactly what she had in mind. He hoped an explanation would soon be forthcoming.
Fi began to explain, a faraway look in here eyes. "Do you remember that conversation we had in Panama ages ago? Michael did and he winced at the memory. Fi recognised the pained expression and clarified immediately. "This isn't about recriminations or broken promises, Michael. We are well past that episode." She paused and directed her attention at him. "I told you then, I didn't need Ireland. Perhaps, I was wrong. I did need Ireland; we both did. But what I also told you that what I missed most was you and me working together, just the two of us, the way it used to be; the way it was at the beginning."
Michael's brow relaxed, his face softened. "I remember." The words were said softly, lovingly.
"Well, we've been doing just that for the past fifteen years." She raised her eyebrows and cocked her head before continuing. "Not exactly as I envisioned it, but raising Charlie, together, just the two of us, it was just what I needed, just what I wanted."
"I know... for me, too." Michael could see that Fi had been mulling over much of the past as she designed a plan for the future.
"So, I thought now that Charlie is off, you might need a helping hand here in the back." Michael did not respond but his smile indicated he approved of her plan. "Besides, I've always been good with power tools." A devilish grin crossed her face at this suggestion as she fired up an air drill. She burrowed under the hood, her voice muffled. "Tea should be about ready. Go have a cuppa with Deirdre. I've got this."
Tea with Deirdre? Michael thought he would rather drink cyanide. He watched Fiona as she tackled the repairs. Working together had always been the easiest part of their relationship. It was simply because they had common purpose. Raising Charlie had merged their personal life with what became their new work: parenthood. Life moved on and Fiona recognised it was time to change with it. He watched her movements, mesmerised by how those same hands could construct a blasting cap with technical expertise and dry Charlie's tears after a face plant off his bicycle. He had found the perfect partner to share his life and, apparently now, his garage. He would miss Charlie's presence, his idle chatter, but with Fiona, he was whole. Things had come full circle. Just the two of them, working together. The way it was meant to be. They had arrived!
