Page 15

SEPTEMBER 19, 1993

Lizzie

“H ELLO, SWEETHEART ,” M AM SAID WHEN I WALKED INTO THE KITCHEN AFTER SCHOOL and found her baking cookies. “Did you have a good day at school?”

I shook my head.

“Ah, now, don’t say that,” Mam mused, placing a tray of cookies in the oven. She closed the oven door and turned to smile at me. “Surely there was one good part.”

There wasn’t.

There were only ten other children in my class, and some of them wore nappies. They were all younger than me and all we did in class was color pictures and play with toys. Then I got taken out to the “therapy rooms” to talk about my feelings, or play with toys, or do strange exercises, or practice my words. I knew my words, and it made me cross that the teachers acted like I didn’t. They watched me all the time and wrote in a secret book about me.

I hated it there.

The best part of the day was coming home to her.

“I don’t want to go to preschool,” I told her, making a beeline for my mother. “I’m five. I want to go to big school and make friends. Like Caoimhe.”

“St. Anthony’s isn’t a preschool, Lizzie,” Mam replied in a gentle voice. “It’s a private school for boys and girls of all ages that need a little extra help.”

“But I don’t need extra help,” I complained, leaning against the counter. “I know all my letters and numbers. I can write my name and do my sums, and I can read, too.”

“I know you can, clever girl.” She was still smiling, but it was a sad one. “But Dr. Wolfe thinks a year at St. Anthony’s will help you.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I hate Dr. Wolfe.” He was old and cranky, and he always looked at me funny. “He thinks I’m bad.” Same as Daddy.

“No, he doesn’t,” Mam said, correcting me. “He’s trying to help you.”

Yeah, with tablets that made me feel sleepy.

“St. Anthony’s isn’t forever,” Mam offered with another sad smile. “It’s just a stepping stone.”

“To what?”

“To getting you back on track,” she replied, crouching down to stroke my cheek. “You need to start talking to people again.”

“I’m talking to you.”

“Other people,” Mam encouraged. “Teachers and other children. You were doing so well last year.” She smiled sadly. “I know you’re bright, sweetheart, but the teachers can’t know if you don’t show them.”

“I don’t want to talk to them,” I replied. “They’re always cross with me.”

“Now, I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is,” I argued. “I’m always in the corner.”

“Okay.” Mam chewed on her lip, looking worried. “I’ll talk to them again.”

It wouldn’t matter.

She talked to them last time and I still ended up in the corner.

“I’m bad.”

“No, you are not.”

“Everyone thinks I am.”

“Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” She crooked her finger, gesturing for me to come closer. When I did, she whispered in my ear, “Anyone who thinks you’re bad is a stupid fucker.”

My eyes widened in surprise. “You cursed.”

“I did,” she chuckled, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Don’t copy me.”

Snickering, I stroked the white curls on her head. “Your hair looks funny.”

Mam laughed. “That’s because it’s growing back.”

“It looks like puffy clouds,” I replied, tugging on one of the curls. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more, baby.” She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me in for a hug. “I’m sorry I couldn’t pick you up from school today.” She peppered my cheek with kisses. “I had a hospital appointment.”

Hospital .

That was a bad word.

I didn’t like it.

Uh-oh .

“Don’t worry,” she said, soothing me and rubbing her nose against mine. “The doctors are very happy with Mammy.”

“Really?”

She nodded.

I beamed back at her. “Then my wish came true.”

“What wish, sweetheart?”

“I used my birthday wish on you,” I replied happily. “To make you better, and it worked .”

“I had the best day ever!” Caoimhe squealed then, barreling into the kitchen in her new school uniform. “It’s official, Mam: I love school!”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” Mam winked at me before standing up and walking over to my sister. “All right, out with it. What boy has put that smile on your face?”

“Who says a boy has anything to do with my smile?” Caoimhe laughed, bouncing around happily. “Maybe I just love Tommen.”

Mam arched a brow. “Caoimhe Catherine Young.”

“Okay, okay, his name is Mark, and he’s a blow-in to Ballylaggin like me,” she gushed. “Recently moved to Clonamore with his dad—you know Clonamore, don’t you, Mam? It’s the town over from Ballylaggin. A ton of kids from the area go to Tommen.”

Our mother opened her mouth to respond, but my sister kept going before she had a chance.

“Well, his mam passed away last year, and his father decided they needed a change of scenery, so they moved down to Cork from Roscommon.” She smiled the biggest megawatt grin. “He’s in my class at Tommen.”

“What about Darren?” I looked up at her. “Is he in your class, too?”

“No.” She sighed sadly. “Darren had to go to BCS.”

“How come?”

“Because his family doesn’t have a lot of money, and Tommen is a private school and it costs a lot to attend.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I know.” Tossing her schoolbag on the floor, she spun around in circles on her way to the fridge. “Anyway, Mark’s a first year like me, and his dad is going out with Sadhbh Gibson. You remember Sadhbh, don’t you? I babysit Gibs and Beth all the time.”

“Yes, Caoimhe, I remember Sadhbh.” Mam rolled her eyes. “I drive you to and from her house every weekend, dear.”

“Well, Mark and his dad live in Clonamore, but they’re going to be moving into town once Joe and Sadhbh iron everything out. Can you believe it? He’s going to be living with the kids I babysit! It’s like fate has intervened on my behalf because he is seriously fine.”

“Caoimhe,” Mam scolded at the same time I asked, “What does fine mean?”

“It means beautiful,” my sister explained with a dreamy sigh. “He’s tall and has black hair, and he plays rugby and has the best curly mullet.”

I frowned. “What’s a mullet?”

“It’s a haircut,” Mam filled in, pulling out her ironing board.

“Yeah.” Caoimhe agreed, handing our mother her shirt from the basket of ironing. “Like Slater from Saved by the Bell .”

I knew all about Saved by the Bell . It was my sister’s favorite TV show. We watched it every day after school. “I like Zach.”

“Zach’s cute,” she said, agreeing with a thoughtful nod. “But Slater’s sexy.” She covered her chest with her hand and swooned. “And so is Mark!”

“Caoimhe!” Mam scolded again. “Honestly, love, little ears are listening.”

“Sorry, sorry, but I can’t help it,” my sister gushed, smiling bigger than I’d ever seen. “He’s just so tall, Mam. Like almost six feet.”

“Yes, pet, you already said.”

“And he has gorgeous black hair and green eyes, and he plays rugby.”

“You’ve said that, too, Caoimhe.”

“I know, but it bears mentioning again.” Caoimhe clutched her chest and sighed dreamily. “He’s so handsome, Mam, like you wouldn’t believe—and he asked me out. Me, Mam. Out of all the girls at school, he picked me.” Grinning from ear to ear, she wiggled her hips and squealed. “I think I might love him.”

“Oh, Caoimhe,” Mam scolded with a laugh, as she pressed the shirt she was ironing. “You’ve known the boy a month.”

“The heart wants what it wants, Mam,” my sister replied, clutching her chest again. “And my heart wants Mark Allen.” She shuffled around then, doing a funny dance in the kitchen. “I have never been more excited to get to school.”

“Well, if he’s that special to you, invite him over for dinner this evening.”

“Really?” Caoimhe’s eyes widened. “You really mean that?”

Mam smiled. “Why not?”

“Oh my God, I love you!” she squealed, throwing her arms around our mother. “You’re the best mam in Ireland.” She peppered Mam’s cheek with kisses. “You guys are going to love him, I promise!”