Soaring (Magdalene #2)

“Do you have any idea why she thought I was a Nazi?”

 

 

Dela lifted her eyes to me as I spoke and shook her head after I was done. “No clue. The woman thought I was Rosa Parks. Every time she saw me she congratulated me on the courage I showed on that bus. Now I’ve seen a fair few pictures of Ms. Parks and not in one of them did the woman have braids. But didn’t matter. Mrs. McMurphy lived in her own world and until the end it was a safe world. Somethin’ else we can give. Somethin’ she got.”

 

Yes. That was something we gave. Even as a Nazi, she never feared me.

 

So that was something she got.

 

“Thanks, Dela,” I said.

 

“Not a problem, honey,” she replied.

 

“Are you okay?” I asked.

 

“Long time ago, I learned what was important to give and through that, how to deal.”

 

I nodded, gave her a wave and walked out of her door to get to the residents.

 

I spent part of my time there seeing to things that needed to get done, but most of it I spent being with the resident, taking their pulse, being sensitive and as business as usual in the circumstances as I could be.

 

It was not a fun day.

 

And at the end of it, I did something that was probably not right.

 

But I didn’t care.

 

I went to Mrs. McMurphy’s room, stole that broken umbrella and took it home with me.

 

I didn’t know why I wanted it.

 

What I did know was that it would always be with me.

 

*

 

I stood at my wall of windows, the double-paned glass surprisingly warm on the inside when I knew the day, still gray, damp and windy, was chill.

 

I stared at the stormy sea and thought I needed some kind of seating up there. The landing was wide, two people could walk across it comfortably. Maybe three. A nice seating arrangement or chaise lounge that you could relax in, watch the sea and brood when you had really crappy days that no book or TV would help would be just the ticket.

 

My phone chimed and I looked over my shoulder to it sitting on the kitchen counter.

 

I wanted to continue to mope about Mrs. McMurphy but it was the Wednesday after the week Mickey met my kids. My kids weren’t over that night and Mickey had texted that morning to say we should get together if they weren’t coming since both Cillian and Aisling had something going on at friends’ houses.

 

Since it might be Mickey, I went to the phone, picked it up and saw it was a text from Auden.

 

I opened it. It said, Found it and it had a web link.

 

I touched the link and a page on the official Magdalene site came up with the title of “Town of Magdalene: Budget, Financials and Annual Reports.”

 

In continuing to search but not finding the information, I’d asked Auden to help and obviously he’d done it.

 

I looked at the web address and saw that this information was buried under “About Magdalene” then “Meet the Town Council” then “Our Administrative Staff” and finally “Other Information.”

 

No wonder I couldn’t find it.

 

I went back to my texts, thanked my son, and forwarded it to Robin, telling her, Auden got it. Here it is. Can you look and report back?

 

She knew what it was about because I’d mentioned it. And I was asking for her help because once, in a very brief period of deciding that perhaps her life was more than wreaking havoc on her ex, she’d decided to become an accountant (part of this, admittedly, was to be around accountants in order to find a new man because, “Amelia, sweets, a boring accountant wouldn’t have it in him to cheat”).

 

This had started with bookkeeping classes. And even though she switched back to wreaking havoc on her ex, it included her finishing those classes as during one of their clashes he’d baited her about them, telling her she’d never finished anything she started.

 

She finished those. Two years of them.

 

But even before that, she was good with numbers.

 

Roger wilco.

 

That made my mouth curve up.

 

Five minutes later, I was back to moping at the same time considering cueing up a movie in order to take my mind off things.

 

I was considering this because I could be brain dead doing it. I actually should be going over some of the online paperwork I’d told Mickey I’d fill out for him in order to file it so he could establish his new company. I also knew I should check email because, in his stead, I’d requested some insurance quotes for his new enterprise and I knew those would be coming in imminently.

 

I’d done this after Josie had told me that in order to cope with a busy life, Jake had found a wife.

 

I was not Mickey’s wife but that didn’t mean I couldn’t help. And when I’d offered, I knew the extent of his gratitude just with the way he looked at me.

 

So I was on it, and although it was a slow process, I was getting there.

 

But at that moment, in the doldrums, I didn’t think I had the brain capacity.

 

These were my mental meanderings when my phone rang.

 

It was Mickey.

 

“Hey,” I greeted.

 

“Hey back,” he replied. “Listen, babe, Ash’s plans changed. She’s home tonight. Thought you could come over for dinner.”

 

To my surprise, I didn’t like this idea.

 

If it was just Mickey, I’d take time with Mickey. I’d be with Mickey anytime I could.

 

Except right then, with Ash.

 

It was nothing against Ash. It was just that I felt I had to be upbeat around her, keeping things light, keeping myself open should she wish to bond or unload or anything with me. She hadn’t been back at Mickey’s house long enough for Mickey to have another try at a sit down so it wasn’t that.

 

It was that both of us moping I didn’t think would be a good thing. I knew I didn’t have it in me to be upbeat. And Ash was such a concern I didn’t want to introduce any kind of bad mood that she might catch, making her even worse.

 

“Why don’t you have some time with Ash, Mickey? I’ll stay home and let you have that.”

 

There was a moment of silence before, “You okay?”

 

“Not really,” I told him.

 

“What’s going on?” he asked.

 

“Conrad called this morning. He was a dick to me, but reading between the lines, something’s up with him and Martine and he’s taking that out on me,” I told him.

 

“Fuck,” he growled.

 

“More importantly, Mrs. McMurphy died last night.”

 

“Babe,” he whispered.

 

Then it happened. Like it had happened the time I talked to him when my kids came back to me.

 

And as a repeat, my sob was audible.

 

Mickey heard it. “Amy, baby.”

 

“I haven’t cried yet,” I sniffed.

 

“Have at it, then,” he offered.

 

It was a lovely offer, so very Mickey, but I didn’t “have at it.”

 

I wiped my face, took a deep breath and said, “Maybe it’s good that tonight I just hang at home, watch a movie…”

 

I trailed off, thinking of myself clutching Mrs. McMurphy’s umbrella and watching Cocoon.

 

Maybe I should mope with Ash at Mickey’s.

 

Mickey spoke my thoughts. “Not sure that’s a good idea.”

 

“I won’t be good company, Mickey. I’ll be okay and I’ll come over another night.”

 

“Amy—”