Where Old Ghosts Meet - Kate Evans [84]
We expect too much from family, she cautioned herself. A common bloodline does not necessarily produce people whom we trust, admire and love. Friends frequently fill those roles with greater understanding and sensitivity. She caught Peg’s eye. Steadfast and true, here was the ultimate friend – loyal, generous, caring, understanding – what he had not been able to find in his family.
She took Peg’s hand and squeezed it gently, saying nothing, allowing the warmth of her feelings to flow hand to hand. Their heads came together. “I hope he cared for you, Peg.” There was a shadow of uncertainty there. Nora’s grip tightened. “I hope he truly cared for you.”
Peg fixed a steady gaze on Nora. “Yes, my dear, he was good to me and we cared for each other.” Her voice was soft with contentment, but her eyes, still fixed steadfastly on Nora, said a whole lot more.
Nora searched, looking from one eye to the other, following an elusive shadow that hovered there all but invisible.
Peg never flinched but bright tears, rising to the surface from the deep veins of caring and want, began to form in the corner of each eye. They hung there on the brink, ready to flow but she held on, bravely forcing her eyes to remain wide. “There are things we hope for …” She took her time before trying again. “I ran out of time.” She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.
Nora could see it all now, wrapped up deep inside Peg Barry like a tight ball of string: the suffocating realization of lost time, lost opportunity, lost youth.
“I might have been your step-grandmother. That would be something now. Imagine.” She laughed, the old twinkle back. “I’d have liked that.”
“So would I.” Then, after a moment’s consideration, she added, “In a way, you are.” They laughed.
“You must be tired, Peg.”
“Yes, I am a bit but we’ll finish off this bit of whiskey, girl. Let me have your glass.” She poured half of what remained in the bottle into Nora’s glass and the rest into her own. Added a splash of water from the jug and then passed it to Nora.
“Best thing we ever done, deciding to stay on the island. We were some happy, even though down the road I could have done with the services they were offering elsewhere.” Peg looked at Nora. She was comfortable with his granddaughter. She could tell her all her long-held secrets, secrets she had never breathed to another soul. There had been some tense moments from time to time, flashes of anger behind those dark eyes but, always, Nora had held back and allowed her to continue and tell it like it was without interruption. Peg was thankful for that, thankful for the blessed simple comfort of having someone listen and not judge.
Now, seeing Nora there in the lamplight, looking more like her grandfather than ever, put Peg in mind of that night eight years ago when her old life had come to an end: everything she had known, her home, her way of life, her relationship with Matt.
She was jolted from her reverie by Nora’s voice. “Most people moved away from the island then?”
“Yes, my dear. In the years following, it was happenin’ all over the place.”
“That must have been terrifying, seeing everyone leave and being left behind?”
“Well, I suppose I have to say it was.” She ran her finger around the rim of the glass. “Sheila was gone, of course, and now Pat and Bride and the children were off, too. That was a hard day, the day they left. I went down on the wharf to see them go. I’ll never forget the sight of it. Seein’ the house, loaded up onto them big oil drums,