It couldn’t happen again. It was random. Like the break-in at the store that the police had never solved. Shane had been annoyed about that, but they just didn’t have enough evidence. No prints. Nobody had really seen him other than Shane that night. There wasn’t much more they could do.
But she’d be fine. She’d take her time, drive slowly and carefully and she had her cell phone charged up and handy in case of any problems. And she had a piece of pink and gold Connemara marble sitting on her passenger seat for good luck.
“Thank you, Maeve,” she said, her voice coming out thick and choked-sounding. She swallowed, and her throat ached. “Thank you for everything.”
“You’re welcome, muirnín. That’s what family is for, right? We look after each other.”
Keara nodded, unable to say another word, her face tight and burning. A heavy weight of guilt settled on her shoulders. She was leaving her. All alone. She was the only family Maeve had. Maeve had helped her—but what if Maeve needed help? Where would she be?
She’d visit. She swore to herself she would come back and visit a couple of times a year at least. There was no reason not to. Her busy weekends of shopping, dinners and concerts seemed so unimportant now, compared to Maeve and making sure she was okay.
She got into the car and pulled out, hardly able to see where she was going through a wash of tears. She lifted her hand in a wave and as she left, the sun sparkled off thin silvery trails on Maeve’s cheeks.
At least she knew Shane and his family were there to make sure she was okay. She didn’t need to worry. Maeve had lived alone all these years and had done fine.
She had to keep repeating the various mantras to herself the entire drive home so she didn’t break down into a sobbing puddle of guilt and sadness.
She spent the rest of the weekend airing out her apartment, shopping for some groceries, doing laundry. In a way it was nice to be back in the little home she’d created for herself. The shopping she’d loved had yielded some pretty furniture and attractive accessories, and she’d created a cozy nest that was all hers, just how she liked it.
But the nest was empty. Even the television didn’t fill the silence and provide virtual company like it used to. And as she sat there on the couch, staring at the TV but not really seeing it, she lifted her head and looked around. She was alone.
For once, she wasn’t afraid. She was just…lonely.
A heavy wave of emotion swept over her, threatening to drag her down and under, like the depression had been doing before she went to Kilkenny. The feeling scared her, because she remembered what it had felt like before—hopeless, helpless, like she was drowning and couldn’t save herself.
But now she knew she could. She just had to remember it. She had to remember the things she’d accomplished. She had to remember the good feelings she’d felt. Which led her to thoughts of Shane, to a flip of excitement in her tummy thinking about how he aroused her, how they’d laughed together and talked and how he’d bossed her around. But remembering how good he’d made her feel, just emphasized how alone she was now.
She thought about what her life would be, from this point on. She’d go back to work. She waited for the panicky feeling and felt only a small flutter. Good. She’d go back, get back into the swing of things. She’d need to get updated on what had happened while she was gone, but then she’d be ready to move forward. She’d had a plan in place for turning around the branch’s performance and she was ready to pick things up again. Next month she’d be meeting with her superiors at corporate head office to review her progress. She remembered how much she’d anticipated that meeting with the prospect of showing them how she was exceeding expectations, how much she would enjoy their pleased reactions. Strangely, now the idea didn’t excite her in the least.
Her bottom lip pushed out. She just needed to be back at work. Once there, she knew her usual enthusiasm and love of her job would take over.
What took over was panic.
It hit her unexpectedly as she walked into the bank Monday morning. She was always there early, before anyone else, and this Monday she was there even earlier, and was grateful for that as she went in because the panic punched her square in the chest and took her breath away.
She couldn’t let it take over, though. Now she understood physiologically what was happening to her body, maybe she could control it better than the last time she’d walked into this building.
She strode into her office and sat down. She focused on breathing, some of the techniques she’d learned in her therapy, because her body needed oxygen. But not too much oxygen. She relaxed her muscles. She repeated positive thoughts to herself and reminded herself she was not having a heart attack.
She’d started to get herself under control when other staff began to arrive. She guessed they’d all been told to expect her because nobody was surprised, and they greeted her with unexpected warmth. She knew they all thought she was a bitch axe-lady boss from hell, but they didn’t treat her like that at all. Thank God.
Her assistant manager, Peter, had put some things together for her to review and they spent an hour going over that. She had a gazillion emails to go through, most of which were junk and outdated anyway, but she did that. While she was concentrating on work, she was fine. But when Peter left her office and she was alone, the panic started expanding inside her again, tight and frightening.
She closed her office door and spent another hour refocusing herself. She had to do this. She had to. She could not leave here humiliated once again. She didn’t know what her staff thought of her sitting in her office alone with the door closed for an hour, but she didn’t care, just did what she had to do to make it through the day.
And she did.
At five o’clock, when she looked at her watch, she sagged with relief. She’d done it.
That knowledge gave her a much-needed burst of adrenaline, and she was able to wish everyone a good evening while they closed up. She actually felt lighthearted as she drove home. She hadn’t missed the crazy commute on the freeway, but she survived that too, and when she walked into her apartment, her little sanctuary, she covered her mouth with her hands and cried with the relief of it.
She’d done it.
She was strong. She survived. She could do it. She could do anything.
An expansive lightness filled her, and she changed out of her suit and heels and into a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt. Maybe she’d get back into yoga again. That was good for stress relief. Or start working out at a gym. She’d always thought she should do that, she’d even bought a membership once but ended up working such long hours she never got there.
The buoyant feeling of freedom lasted until she started preparing her dinner. She’d bought some food, but she missed Maeve being there while she cooked, talking and drinking whiskey. Keara didn’t have any whiskey or she would have poured herself a little glass of it, just to celebrate.
And when she sat down to eat alone, desolation fell over her again like a thick blanket. She wasn’t even hungry. She looked at her food, pressed her lips together and sat there for a long while, aching and empty inside.
She called Maeve on Wednesday and it was so good to hear her voice.
“How did things go?” she asked her, settling herself onto her couch.
“Well…good, I suppose.”
“What happened?”
“He asked me a lot of questions—Jesus and Mary, a lot of questions—but he doesn’t think it’s Alzheimer’s.”
Keara’s breath burst out of her. “Oh, thank God! What did he say?”
“Well, I guess there are some things that are typical aging memory loss and other things that are more indicative of Alzheimer’s. The bad thing is they can’t do any tests that will show it at an early stage. So he can’t say for sure. But he seemed very positive and reassuring that it isn’t.”