Rain and Revelation by Therese Pautz

imagine Ma intimate with Da. And certainly not with “Weird Willie,” as Fiona referred to him. I shudder and try to think of anything else, but I can’t. Even my burning ankle doesn’t distract me long.
    What else am I missing?
    When we arrive at Ryan’s flat, he helps me out, waiting patiently as I stump to the door. Inside, sun streams in from large windows overlooking the quiet residential street. He ushers me to a leather couch facing the largest flat screen television I’ve ever seen. It’s mounted above a gas fireplace on a wall the color of yellow daffodils. A guitar is propped on a stand in the corner near a desk with pictures that I can’t see from the couch.
    After offering me a glass of water and my pills, he grabs an assortment of brightly-colored pillows from the side chairs and elevates my leg, then stuffs one pillow under my head. He sits on the oversized ottoman facing me. I glide my hand over the soft leather. “Nice. You live here long?”
    “Not really. I moved in when I started working with my dad. I couldn’t stand the idea of living at home after being on my own so many years. For an only child it can be suffocating.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    “They thought I’d never come back after university and my travels, so they make it easy for me to stay around.”
    “I’m leaving Louisburgh as soon as Ma is better. It’s so provincial here. There’s got to be more,” I say. “Something better.”
    “There’s more. Some better. Some not.” He rests his hand on my mine. I notice small lines around his eyes and wonder what he’s seen outside of Westport. Outside of Ireland.
    “I’m going to run to the store quick,” Ryan says. He hands me my phone, the remote, and a few magazines that were scattered on the ottoman: the Economist, Veterinary Journal, Architectural Digest, and Runner’s World. “You okay with these and the telly?”
    “Grand.”
    He gets up and covers me with a furry wool blanket and then leaves. I sink into the soft, chocolate-colored couch and pull the blanket close. It smells like a bouquet of spring flowers, not like ours that reek of peat. I pick up Runner’s World. The mailing label has Ryan’s address but another name: Alex Murphy. I start reading but soon fall asleep.
    The door slams, and I wake up with a jolt. For a moment I don’t know where I am. Then I remember. I lift my head, expecting Ryan. Instead, walking through the door, carrying bags of groceries, is a tall, blonde woman wearing Ray-Ban sunglasses.
    “Hi.” The woman glides into the room, sets the groceries on the table, and flips her sunglasses up onto her head. “I’m Alex.”
    “Oh, I’m Eliza.” I pull myself up from my slouch. “Ryan’s gone for food.”
    She feigns exasperation. “Go figure. We’ll have enough for a party.” With a face like a model, she laughs and tosses up her perfectly manicured hands. “He eats like a bull but burns it like a jaguar. Always on the move, that bloke.”
    My smile feels forced, but I hope she doesn’t notice. Her face looks familiar, like someone I might have seen in a magazine or on a commercial. I catch myself staring and say, “I’m just here because he’s helping me on account…”
    “Oh, of course. You’re the girl. How sad. Yes, he told me he was helping you get back on your feet—so to speak.” She flips her mane back and laughs. I bristle at “girl.” Then with a syrupy tone, she asks, “What can I do to make you comfortable? Want juice? A Coke? Oh, never mind. We haven’t any. Ryan thinks it’s dreadfully bad for the body. More water?”
    “Water’s lovely. I’ll be gone soon.” I assure her. “He’s just loaning me things. For when I’m on my own.”
    “I’ll be back in a jiff.” In her skinny jeans, she prances to the kitchen, smiling. Her teeth are the whitest I’ve ever seen. I run my tongue over my teeth, which feel scummy.
    I try not to stare at Alex but I can’t stop myself. She’s so perfect. I tuck