Page 2 of Nineteen Eighty
“Oh!” Irish Colleen pretended to be surprised. “Can you now? You’re such a big girl. My apologies.”
Ana shrugged against her chest, yawning. “It’s okay.”
“I’m going to take you back to bed. Is that all right?”
“I suppose.”
“You sure you don’t want me to read to you?” Irish Colleen asked as she settled Ana back under the pile of plush covers.
Ana’s soft face spread into a grin. “Okay, Nana, maybe just one.” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, thinking. Across the room, Augustus had set up a bookshelf with hundreds of books, and Ana knew every last one by heart. “The one about the cow who can drive, but is really bad at it and runs over everything.”
Irish Colleen laughed. “Not so unlike your nana!”
Thirty minutes later, Irish Colleen, exhausted but contented, left her granddaughter’s room. She passed by Augustus’, but his door was closed and his soft snores carried into the hall. Farther down was the room Elizabeth and Connor shared on the nights they still stayed at Magnolia Grace, but Connor had gone home to feed their puppy, Atticus.
Elizabeth wasn’t in her room, though. She stood at the end of the hall, looking out the big circular stained glass window that often reminded Irish Colleen of a Catherine wheel.
“Lizzy?”
“Mama,” she replied without turning.
“What are you doing?”
“Thinking.”
“About?” Irish Colleen approached carefully. A damp chill passed through her as she recalled that it was about the right time of year for their annual tradition. The one that invariably drove a deeper wedge between them, but also, somehow, drew them closer together. Silent conspirators in a dangerous game.
“The usual,” she replied, in the voice of a woman. She was almost twenty-two, and had she gone to college with Connor, she’d be receiving her degree this spring.
“Anything you want to share?”
Irish Colleen winced, expecting a dose of Elizabeth’s cutting sarcasm as she whipped around to deliver it. Instead, she turned and smiled. There was little joy in the gesture, but there wasn’t as much pain as she was used to seeing, either. “Connor wants us to pick a date. He has his heart set on a big wedding.”
“You don’t.” It wasn’t a question.
Elizabeth shook her head. She leaned back on the small desk nestled in the nook below the window. “I wish I could wave a magic wand and have it be done. For all our magic, this would actually be useful…”
“Lizzy.” Irish Colleen chose her words carefully. “You know I’d love to see you in a beautiful gown, surrounded by your favorite flowers, and all our loved ones, and—”
“Mama—”
“But more than that, I wish for your happiness. Why not go before the judge?”
Elizabeth’s smile faded from surprise. “You’d disown me.”
“I suggested it, didn’t I?”
“Connor has a big Catholic family, too. They have expectations.”
“Heavens, dear, are you marrying Connor or are you marrying five hundred Sullivans?”
Elizabeth dropped her gaze to the floor with a small laugh. Her dark blond hair fell around her bony shoulders. She’d lost more weight than Irish Colleen was comfortable with, and the effect made her seem taller, older.
“Ten years ago, perhaps on this very day, you told me one of the seven would die,” Irish Colleen ventured. Her voice hitched. “In those ten years, so much has changed. You’ve changed.”
“So have you,” Elizabeth replied.
“Yes,” Irish Colleen answered. “I have. We all have. And we’ve had good and bad years in between, but I never want another one like 1970, Lizzy. If that means you never tell me again what you’ve seen…”