An Irish Christmas Part 7

"Then what do you want, Mom? You want me to get a job and pay you back that money? Would that make it better? I can do that if that's what it'll take to-"

"No, Jamie," I said, sitting up and looking at him, preparing myself for what I knew I had to do. "It's really not about the money."

"It's just that I'm a loser, isn't it? That I dropped out of college, and now you'll have to tell all your friends that I'm just a-" "Jamie, that's not it!"

"Well, what is it, Mom? What is making you act like such a weirdo? Why are you making such a humongous deal out of something that's over and done with-something I can't change even if I wanted to? I told you that I'm sorry. And I can work to pay you back, if that's what it takes."

"That's not-"

"And I don't know why you're so opposed to my music. It's not even rock and roll. Man, I actually thought you would like it." His eyes glistened as he stared at me, looking like a lost and confused boy now. "I cannot believe that I actually thought that you would like it!" He picked up his pillow and slammed a fist into it. "What a complete dope I've been. About everything."

"I did like it, Jamie," I spoke quietly now, measuring my words, trying to gauge if this was really the right time or not. I had imagined it happening so differently. I'd planned to tell him when we were doing something fun, perhaps on a ferryboat ride, or driving through the countryside, or enjoying a nice meal. Not like this. Not with him still wearing his rumpled pajamas, sitting here in his messy hotel room, punching his pillow like an eight-year-old. I hadn't imagined myself feeling this close to the edge, sitting here with clenched fists and on the verge of tears. This was all wrong. But maybe that didn't matter.

"So why did you act like that?" he demanded. "Like you thought it was so weird when I played the piano, as if my music made you miserable and that you'd just as soon never hear me play again? Why, Mom?

"Because . . ." I took a deep breath. "It was the way you played the piano last night, Jamie." The words were coming out so slowly, one at a time in a mechanical way, as if someone else was doing the talking for me, like one of those new "chatty" dolls-you pulled the string and out came the words. "It was the style that you played, Jamie . . . it sounded exactly the same as . . . well, it was the same way that your father used to play . . . and when I heard it I was shocked and it felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach or pulled the rug out from under me . . . I felt confused and upset and I just didn't know how to deal with it and consequently I reacted poorly."

Jamie just sat there with the most confused expression. I knew he was trying to put this together, to make sense of my completely senseless confession.

"Huh?" His head actually c.o.c.ked to one side, like a bewildered puppy. "I didn't know Dad played the piano."

"Yes, that's right. Your dad, I mean Hal, didn't play the piano . . ."

"But you just said-"

"Your fatherplayed the piano, Jamie." I took in a deep breath, bracing myself. "Your father, a man you never met, a man named Liam O'Neil, played the piano-in almost the exact same way that you played it last night, Jamie. And it was just too much for me to deal with at the time."

Jamie's eyes were huge now. "What are you saying?"

"I'm trying to tell you something," I continued. "It's not easy, and it's a big part of the reason that I brought you to Ireland in the first place. Hal Frederick was not your real father. Certainly, he was your dad, Jamie. And he was a fine dad. But your real father, your birth father, was Liam O'Neil."

Jamie shook his head as if he was trying to get water out of his ears. "What?"

"I know you must be shocked by this," I said calmly. "Probably similar to the way I felt last night, only far more so."

"Shocked?" He stood up now. "Shocked doesn't even begin to describe it. What exactly are you saying here, Mom?"

So for the second time in twenty-four hours, I told my story. Only this time I edited a few things, telling the story in the way that a mother would want her only son to hear it. "I was young and foolish and in love," I finally admitted. "Liam did ask me to marry him, but I had no idea I was, uh, with child. And being young and foolish, I wanted to have a real wedding, so I told your father that I'd wait for him to come back. He was only supposed to be in Hawaii for a few weeks, working out some communications problems on a battles.h.i.+p. But he arrived just a few days before Pearl Harbor . . . and he never made it back."

"My real father died in Pearl Harbor?" Jamie was pacing across the room now, running his hand through his already messy hair. "My real father was a stranger named Liam- what was his last name again?"

"O'Neil."

"Was he Irish?"

"His parents were Irish; they had immigrated before he was born. Liam grew up in the Boston area. He'd gone to Annapolis and was an officer in the Navy when we met."

"A military man?"

"Yes, one who was killed in a battle where they never even got to fight back."

Jamie was still pacing, shaking his head as he tried to absorb all of this, trying to make heads or tales of my crazy mess. I felt sorry for him. It was a heavy load for a young man to carry.

"So my whole life has been a complete sham?" He turned and glared at me now, as if I had planned this whole thing just to hurt him. "A total lie?"

"No, Jamie. It has not been a sham or a lie. You are who you are no matter who your parents were or what they did."

He narrowed his eyes and studied me. "So, are you really my mom?"

"Of course!"

"How do I know for sure? For all I know, you and Dad might've kidnapped me at birth. Maybe I have real parents living somewhere else right now. Maybe it's Barney and Martha Smith of Little Rock, Arkansas."

"It is not Barney and Martha Smith of Little Rock, Arkansas!"

"How do I know?"

"Why would I lie to you?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, Mom, you tell me. Why did you lie to me?"

"How in the world was I supposed to tell a little boy that his birth father had died? What difference did it make?"

"It makes a difference, Mom!"

"How? How could this change anything?"

"Remember all the crud I went through with Dad and not wanting to go into the shoe business?"

"Of course." I felt a small stab of guilt now. Perhaps I should have told him sooner.

"Well, maybe if I'd known that my real dad was actually someone else, well, maybe things would've made more sense."

"I don't see how."

"You said my real dad played piano too?"

I nodded without speaking.

"And something in me was just bursting to play piano, Mom. Don't you get that? And if I'd known, I could've told you and Dad the truth about quitting college and getting into music. It would've made sense."

I considered this. "And it would've hurt your dad, Jamie. He felt you were his son. He treated you like a son. He loved you, believed in you. We were his family. And when he married me, knowing full well that I was expecting, he only asked one thing."

"What?"

"For me to never mention a word about Liam again."

"You broke your promise, Mom."

"Not to Hal, I didn't. I never did say a word to him, or anyone, not while he was alive." I swallowed hard. "But I thought you had a right to know, Jamie. Would you rather I hadn't told you?"

He sat down and punched the pillow several times. "I don't know, Mom. I don't know much of anything at the moment. Except that you lied to me. My whole life has been nothing but a great big fabrication. James William Frederick is nothing but a fraud."

"That's not true, Jamie. You are blowing this way out of proportion."

"It's my life, Mom!" He stood and opened the door now, obviously a not-so-subtle hint that this conversation was over. "If I want to blow it out of proportion, or just blow altogether, well, I guess I can."

I stood and walked to the door. "Well, just know this, Jamie. Liam O'Neil was a fine man. A good man. And you are very much like him. And that's nothing to be ashamed of."

Jamie studied me. "Maybe I'm not ashamed of him, Mom."

I stared at my son. I knew what he was saying. He was ashamed of me. And why not? For all these years, I'd been ashamed of myself. It only made sense that he would feel the same.

12.

Jamie It felt like my world turned upside down this morning, or maybe inside out. But as soon as my mom left my hotel room, I packed a small bag and I took off. I wasn't sure where I was going or when I'd come back. All I knew was that I had to get away from her. It felt as if my mother had turned into someone else, like one of those weird B movies-a sci-fi or horror film-where aliens possess people, making them speak and act like complete strangers. That was what Mom seemed like to me. A complete stranger.

My parents raised me with a certain set of morals. Not that I'd always practiced them myself, obviously, but it was a standard I'd grown to accept and even respect-especially in my parents. It was comforting to know that they were rock solid and predictable. And I a.s.sumed that eventually I'd adhere to their standards myself.

But suddenly that whole thing seemed like a hoax, a great big charade where nothing was as it seemed. Everything about my life felt phony to me now. My dad had not been my real dad. The family business that he tried to force me into wasn't even my own family's business. My mother, the woman who always insisted on truth and integrity, had lived out a great big lie, a lie that was created to cover up her own indiscretions. It was like, while my back was turned, someone had dropped an H-bomb onto my life. In a split second, everything was changed.

I walked through town and just kept on going, following the road before me as I mulled over what had just happened, replaying all the words that had been said. After about an hour, I figured it was possible that I had overreacted to this. And yet, I felt like I'd been tricked or robbed or hoodwinked. And by my very own parents-rather, the people I had a.s.sumed were my parents. Now I knew that Dad, or Hal, really wasn't. Well, I supposed that explained some things about me. We were so completely different, he and I. And yet I really did like him. Oh, sure, I'd taken the poor guy for granted and I'd taken advantage of him. But after he died, I had realized how much I really did love him. I had decided that I even wanted to be like him-in time.

For some reason this whole thing reminded me of President Kennedy. His death had knocked me sideways too. I remembered how lost I'd felt after he was a.s.sa.s.sinated, so confused and hopeless and alone. And yet that was exactly how I felt again today-only more so. I grappled with the thought that I'd not only lost the man I'd called "Dad" for most of my life but now my biological father as well. A man I'd never even known-or known about. Well, it was just too much. It wasn't fair that all the father figures had been stripped from my life-bam-just like that.

I mulled over these things as I walked and walked, just following the curving country road to wherever it led and not thinking about whether or not I would follow it back again. After a couple of hours, I realized that I'd walked clear out of town and was now entering another town. Another sea town, but not as picturesque as Clifden, this one also had a large dock, and I noticed what appeared to be a ferryboat docked there. People who looked like they knew where they were going were starting to board, and I suddenly decided to see if I could join them.

I quickly located the small ticket office, and without having the slightest idea where Inishbofin might be, or even caring much, although it was the ferry's destination, I bought a roundtrip ticket and boarded the boat. Since the sun was still s.h.i.+ning, although clouds were gathering on the western horizon, I sat out on the upper deck, waiting for the boat to sail, which it did rather quickly. Then, once it was moving away from the dock and cutting through the ocean, I felt a small wave of concern, or perhaps it was regret or remorse . . . I wasn't even sure. But I simply blocked these feelings away by focusing my eyes at the bright blue sea and the sky, wondering where I would ever fit into this mixed-up world. Maybe I should join the Navy instead of the Air Force.

After about twenty minutes, I actually started to get a little worried. The ferry appeared to be going straight out to sea, and suddenly I wondered just what I'd gotten myself into. Just where was Inishbofin anyway? I had a.s.sumed it was another small seaport on up the sh.o.r.e, but the mainland was quite a ways behind us now, and besides the big, blue sea and a bank of gray clouds, who knew what lie ahead? I wanted to ask another pa.s.senger for information, but realized how stupid that would make me sound. Why had this crazy American guy gotten onto a boat without even knowing where it was headed? Then, I rea.s.sured myself, these other pa.s.sengers seemed perfectly normal and well adjusted. They appeared completely unconcerned over the fact that we seemed to be going due west, heading straight toward America. Obviously, they knew something I didn't, so why should I be worried?

Finally, I saw a mound of land up ahead, as well as something that looked like a fortress. Inishbofin had to be an island. Well, that was fine with me. I didn't mind exploring an Irish island to take my mind off of things.

"I've never been to Inishbofin," I said to a pretty girl who had just come out onto the deck. The wind was picking up now, and she was attempting to tie a pink scarf over her curly auburn hair. She looked to be about my age and had a nice sprinkling of freckles over an upturned nose. "Do you know much about the place?"

She laughed. "Probably a bit too much since I was born and raised there. Are you an American?"

"Yes." I smiled at her. "Just visiting."

"Seems an odd time to be visiting," she said. "What with holidays and all."

"Yes. Well, it was my mother's idea to spend Christmas in Ireland. We've been staying in Clifden."

She nodded. "I see. And ya decided to do some explorations on your own today?"

"That's right."

"Some say that Inishbofin is one of the loveliest islands in Ireland. And I suppose it does have some keen spots of interest, although I've taken them for granted myself, and I've known more than one tourist that got disappointed." She sighed, shading her eyes as she peered up ahead. "Still, I'm glad to be coming home for Christmas. I can't wait to see my family."

"Where have you been?" I asked.

"In Galway. I finished my nurses' training last year and I'm working for a pediatrician in the city now."

"So do you come home to visit a lot?"

"When I can. I suppose I do miss it a bit."

"h.e.l.lo, Katie Flynn!" called an old man in a plaid jacket who had just made his way to the top deck. He was lighting up a pipe.

"h.e.l.lo, Mr. Kelly." She waved, then turned back to me. "Inishbofin is a rather small place. Everyone knows everyone there."

"Then maybe I should introduce myself," I said. "My name is Jamie Frederick."

"And, as ya heard, my island friends call me Katie Flynn, although I go by Katherine in the city. It sounds a bit more sophisticated than Katie, don't ya think?"

"So, tell me, Katie, what do I do when I get to She peered up at the sky. "Depending on the weather, which is about to change, there are a few things you could do."

"For instance."

"Well, on a good day there's plenty of fis.h.i.+ng. And we do get scuba divers in the summertime. Of course, there's bird-watching, although it's not the best season for that right now, and we do have some gorgeous beaches . . ." She studied me for a moment. "Do ya know how to ride a bike, Jamie Frederick?"

I laughed. "Of course."

"Lots of tourists rent bikes. They tour the island that way. But you don't have to rent a bike. You come on by my house and I'll loan you one of my brothers' bikes."

I grinned at her. "But how will I find my way around the island?"

"It's a bit hard to get lost, ya know, we're not terribly big." Then she seemed to catch my clue. "I suppose I could show you about for a bit though. After I've spent some time with my family, that is-I can't be taking off as soon as I darken the door."

We continued to talk as the ferry pulled into the dock. Then Katie went below to get her bags, and we met again once we were on land. I carried my small bag as well as her larger suitcase, and we walked into town together. Then once we got to what appeared to be a main street, she paused and wrote some quick directions for getting to her house on a small slip of paper.

"Thanks," I told her, wondering what I'd do until she was freed up to take that little bike ride with me. It was already after two o'clock, and I didn't want to waste time.

"Looks to be gettin' thundery," she said, glancing up at the sky as she took her large suitcase from me.

"Thundery?"

"A storm's a-coming." She nodded to the big, rounded dark clouds that hovered directly overhead.

"Oh." I nodded. "Not so good for riding bikes then?"