The Call of the Sea

Chapter 10

Turlough took Aiofe's satchel and helped her to her room, leaving Bronagh in the drawing room to drink her tea in solitude. He gave her a nod of approval before leaving, one hand on her mother's arm and the other at the small of her back. It was the first time she had noticed Aiofe's frailty, and a tingle of anxiety erupted in her chest. What sickness did her mother suffer from?

Instead of calling Sorcha to see when she would be able to meet with her, Bronagh chose to move to the study in order to find her mother's medical records. Aiofe had always been meticulous about keeping hard copies of medical reports and diagnoses, on the off-chance that the islands electrical grid was down and they needed to take the ferryboat to a mainland hospital.

First, Bronagh checked the places she had known her mother to store the records – there was no trace of them within the family's files, in any of the locations. She now understood that her mother had meant to hide them from prying eyes, regardless of who it was.

The final place she thought to look was in a hidden alcove behind a row of books on the bookshelf. There, within the small space etched out of the wood, sat a file folder. For a moment, Bronagh considered letting her mother speak about whatever was happening in her own time, but curiosity got the better of her and she lifted the files from the shelf. She settled herself on the floor of the study, ready to begin the project of reading through the medical records.

On the first page, Bronagh read through the symptoms her mother had been suffering and noticed a few things that had been apparent during her childhood. There were lab results from blood tests, biopsies, and scans – Bronagh couldn't wrap her mind around the answers, but then she reached a page in the middle of the document. It held the information she had been searching for – the diagnosis.

Stage 4 Ovarian Cancer – further down the page, she read more information: cancer cells found in fluid around the lungs, as well as the brain. Tumours found throughout the body. She closed the folder and put it in front of her. Her head was spinning and she felt the sudden urge to vomit. The prognosis, which the doctor had written by hand (most likely at her mother's request), had been dire.

Bronagh went back to the folder and searched for a list of treatments her mother had undergone. Chemotherapy, numerous surgeries, and various medications that she could not pronounce – three pages worth of treatments over the last three years. Every time she would return, after a treatment was completed, the cancer had returned.

Her mother was dying. How had she not known? Why had her mother, or Turlough, or someone else on the island not told her? And how, now that she knew, would she keep her mother from finding out?

Bronagh stood and replaced the folder, making sure to put the books in the correct order they had been in before she moved them. She left the study, closing the door quietly behind her, and ran into Turlough. He carried a tray of tea and a small shot glass filled with medication.

"Miss Bronagh," he said, his eyes wide. "May I ask what you are doing?"

"Nothing, Turlough. Just heading to bed."

"Ah," he glanced at the study door. "This is not your room, Miss Bronagh."

"I understand that, Turlough. However," Bronagh crossed her arms in defiance, "last I checked, I have free reign of the house and can go where I please. Has that changed?"

"No, Miss Bronagh. But you should be careful what you go finding. Something's are best left for time to tell."

"Of course, Turlough. I will keep that in mind," Bronagh bid him goodnight and made her way to her bedroom. She locked the door and searched for her phone. A single missed call from Sorcha beckoned her, and she redialled the number.

"Please, come see me," she whispered into the phone. "I need you."

"I will be there in ten minutes. Is everything alright?"

"I'll tell you when you get here," she could barely contain the pain and fear in her voice. Her eyes threatened to burst and her stomach knotted and churned. She hung up the phone without saying goodbye and waited for her companion to arrive.

Bronagh sat opposite Sorcha in the drawing room. She could not bring herself to be close to her companion, though all she wanted was to fold herself into her arms. Sorcha sat in silence, and Bronagh assumed that she was trying to process the information that had just been shared.

"Ovarian cancer," she whispered. "Stage 4."

"That is what the paperwork stated."

Bronagh had not said anything of the meeting on the beach, nor the ritual that had been performed. Though she wanted to share everything, Bronagh knew that the most pressing matter was her mother's health.

"I take it you wont be returning home, now that you know your mother is... well, that she is..." Sorcha could not bring herself to say it.

"Dying," Bronagh finished. "My mother is dying."

Speaking those words seemed to give them power, give them life, and both women broke into tears – Sorcha crying for Bronagh, and Bronagh crying for every reason someone might cry. The beach seemed like a dream, like a fantasy she had built – had the three women walking from the sea been real, or a figment of her imagination? Nothing seemed real, least of all Muirín and her Muir-óigh.

"I won't be returning, no. How can I?" She watched as her companion's shoulders fell, her eyes swelling once more with tears. "I didn't want to read the rest, I don't want to know when she is going to die."

"What will happen to the cottage? To your gallery? To..." she didn't finish, but Bronagh knew that she was asking about them, about the life they had shared in relative bliss. "I won't go back without you."

"Then stay here," a matter of fact statement for a situation that held little reason. "Please, Sorcha – if it is too much, I am sure your family will let you move back with them. But stay."

Pain flooded Sorcha's eyes and her face contorted. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself. There was something she needed to say, but she couldn't bring herself to say it. Bronagh watched as her companion fought against herself for a moment, then slumped back against the cushions in defeat. Finally, after a few more moments of battling, Sorcha sighed deeply.

"I cannot move back with my family," Sorcha began, "because they are leaving the island in a few days. They are packing the house and listing it for sale this weekend. They want to move closer to me."

It felt like a weight had just been dropped her Bronagh's chest. The words hung in the air without being said – Sorcha would be returning to her home on the coast with her family. Silence stretched between them. There was nothing that Bronagh could do, and she didn't have any desire to change her companion's mind – anything but supporting her decision would not have been fair. She stood from the couch and moved to sit beside Sorcha. Wrapping her arms around her, Bronagh smiled.

"You deserve to do whatever will make you happy," she said, kissing Sorcha on the forehead. They remained in each other's arms, watching the rain and listening to claps of thunder and the distant crashing waves. It was all that Bronagh could have hoped for, given the circumstances.