Hello darkness my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again.
Paul Simon, Sounds of Silence
Chapter One
Moira Shaughnessy’s booted feet hit
the ground in front of the Family Medicine Clinic. Slamming the door of the
dusty white Park Service pickup, she considered ignoring her boss’s orders,
peeling out of the parking lot, and heading for the Baxter Pass trailhead. She
had a crew to oversee, goddammit. A work project to complete. But her boss,
John, had been painstakingly clear, both yesterday at Park Headquarters in
Three Rivers, and a mere ten minutes ago on the sat phone. Granted, he’d been
far more pointed on the phone.
“It’s not a suggestion, Moira,”
he’d growled. “This is a directive—from me. I want to hear from someone with MD
after his name before I authorize you to head up that work detail. Do not set
one foot on the trail before you receive my orders, e-sign them, and e-mail
them back to me.”
“But that’s usually a formality—”
“Not this time. No buts. I made you
an appointment at the clinic in Bishop that clears some of our crews. They’re
open until six. I already lost two rangers this summer in the Pinecrest fire.
That was two too many in my book, so get your butt into that clinic.”
Moira gritted her teeth. She’d
thought she could avoid dealing with the whole mess by leaving the office early
yesterday and taking one of the northern passes over the Sierra Nevada
Mountains, but John tracked her down.
Phooey.
I ran, but guess I couldn’t hide…
It was downright annoying that her
boss needed a doctor to reassure him she wouldn’t collapse—or something—in the
backcountry. For the briefest of moments, she felt like pounding her fist into
the nearest tree, but then she pulled herself together. Nothing was wrong with
her, except her slimy, cheating husband. Sure, she’d lost a few pounds since
she left him, but she hadn’t been all that hungry.
Problem was, John remembered
similar struggles from years ago when she first started working as a park
ranger. She hadn’t eaten enough then, either, and grew far too thin. Just her
luck, he’d been overseeing a backcountry work detail when she got woozy and
fell off one of the mules.
Understanding surfaced;
embarrassment followed. Her boss cared about her. That wasn’t a bad thing.
Anger bled out of her with a whoosh.
“May as well get this over with,”
she muttered.
Moira walked briskly to the clinic,
pushed the door open, and headed for the counter. The antiseptic smell common
to all medical offices hit her like a wall as she strode across the scrubbed
linoleum floor.
“Yes?” A young woman with dyed red
hair looked up from her computer screen with eyes so green she had to be
wearing colored contact lenses.
“Moira Shaughnessy. I think you’re
expecting me. My boss called from Kings Canyon-Sequoia Park Headquarters.”
The receptionist clicked a few
keys. “Your insurance card, please.”
Moira blew out a frazzled breath
and dug through her fanny pack for her wallet. Once she found it, she extracted
the plasticized Blue Cross card, handing it over. “I’m really in a bit of a
hurry—”
“Here’s your card back.” The clerk
gestured at the nearly full waiting room. “The doctor will be with you as soon
as he can. He had a full schedule before he agreed to work you in.”
“Is it okay if I go outside for a
few minutes? I need to lock my truck. I, uh, didn’t think I’d be in here for
very long.”
“Sure. So long as we know where to
find you.” The phone trilled, and the receptionist picked it up, Moira
obviously forgotten. “Family Medicine, how may I help you?”
Moira let herself back outside. Too
restless to return to the overcrowded waiting room, she paced up and down the
parking lot. Fall had turned the aspen trees lining Bishop’s streets to shades
of red and gold that were quite striking, but all she could think about were
the minutes ticking by. It was twelve miles from the trailhead to the top of
the pass, and a couple more to where her trail crew was. Leaving today would be
foolhardy at this point. She’d never even make the pass before night fell.
“Damn it!” She glanced at her
watch. How long was this going to take anyway?
“Ms. Shaughnessy?” A man’s voice
sounded from behind her.
She spun, surprised out of her
funk.
And stopped dead.
“Tim?”
Moira stared at the tall, rangy man
with long, white-blond hair and ice-blue eyes. He was dressed in teal scrubs
and sandals with a stethoscope draped around his neck. A broad grin split the
clean planes of his face. She’d forgotten how heartbreakingly beautiful he was.
“I saw the name and hoped it was
you.” He held out a hand, but she remained frozen in place. “After all, how
many Moira Shaughnessys could there be?”
She stood there, flabbergasted.
What were the odds? She hadn’t seen Tim O’Malley since they’d both graduated
from U.C. Davis. When she realized her mouth was hanging open, she shut it with
a snap.
“Is that any way to greet an old
friend?” One corner of his mouth turned down in an expression she remembered
all too well.
“It’s just… I mean I never
expected…” She felt warmth rise from the open neck of her buff-colored uniform
shirt. Heat suffused her face until she was certain every freckle was outlined
in bright, living color.
“Hey, mo ghrá. I know we didn’t split up under the best of
circumstances…”
“No shit. And you can skip the beloved part.” A familiar anger stirred,
but she batted it aside.
“Moira, I’m sorry. I was sorry
then, and I still am.” He sounded so sincere, it tugged at her heartstrings.
Part of her wanted to believe him, and part of her was afraid to.
“Grannie told me some of it—about
the Arch Druid stuff. And you having to be celibate or something.”
He creased his brow, the smile
fading. “I’m glad she did. I was sworn to silence about Druid affairs.” He
cleared his throat. “In truth, I still am.”
“What she told me didn’t make it
any easier. I tried to call you—a bunch of times.”
“I know.”
“Christ, Tim, it’s been close to
ten years.”
He looked chagrined. “I suppose I
know that too.”
Her heart, already damaged from her
sham of a marriage, squeezed painfully in her chest. She’d loved Tim once. And
thought he loved her. They’d known one another since they were children growing
up in the same sprawling Irish immigrant community.
“So what happened?” She eyed him,
struggling for equanimity. “It’s a long way from Druid to doctor. Or are you a
nurse here?”
“Nope, I’m the doc. My training took
up eight of the ten years since—”
The clinic door flew open. A
harried-looking, overweight woman in white scrubs rolled her eyes. Her short
brown hair stood up in spikes, and her muddy green gaze shot darts. “There you
are. Dr. O’Malley, you have patients.”
He waved her to silence. “Fine,
Bridgette. I’ll be in soon.”
“But—”
He made shooing motions with both
hands. “I said I’ll be in soon.”
Bridgette screwed her face into a
disapproving frown. “Whatever,” she snapped and banged the door shut.
Tim closed the few feet between
them and laid his hands on Moira’s shoulders. “Can I buy you dinner? Or maybe
just a cup of coffee, if you’re still mad at me and not willing to risk an
entire meal.”
“I’d like that, but I’m on my way
to work. See…”
She took a big breath, and an
annotated version of her story tumbled out. She mentioned her divorce and her
lack of appetite, but skipped the low points about her marriage, figuring it
wasn’t really any of Tim’s affair.
“Last time I wasn’t very hungry was
right after you and I broke up. I’d just started working for the Park Service.
Unfortunately, John—that’s my boss—has a long memory.”
Tim listened until she was done
talking, and then placed his stethoscope in his ears. “Take a deep breath.” He
moved the bell to several locations on her chest, and then had her turn around
and positioned it on her back. “Your heart sounds healthy to me.” He gripped
her wrist, taking her pulse as he ran his gaze over her body in a familiar way
that tightened her throat and made her belly clench with heat.
“What do you weigh?” He eyed her
again. “Maybe one thirty?”
Moira nodded. No point in lying
since he could drag her inside and plunk her on a scale. “One twenty-two.”
“It could be worse. Have you had
issues with anorexia since—” color blotched his cheeks “—well, since us?”
Moira shook her head. “I’ve maybe
lost ten pounds this time round.” She looked away. “The problem was a whole lot
worse ten years ago.”
“Moira.” His voice cracked with
emotion. “I’m sorry. Scarcely a day goes by—”
“Don’t.” The word tore out of her.
“Just don’t. I have to get to work. I’d never have stopped, except John
insisted.”
He stepped back a pace and nodded.
“You should be fine, so long as you start eating again. What is it your boss
needs?”
“A phone call, I think.”
“Not a fitness for duty statement?”
She shook her head. “No. Nothing so
formal.”
Not
yet anyway.
“Good, because that would require a
real physical and some labs. Jot his number down for me.” He pulled a small
notebook out of a pocket and handed it to her, along with a pen.
As she gave it back, he caught her
hand in his. “I’ve thought about you so many times over the years. I guess I
always believed—” The color in his face deepened. “When will you be back
through Bishop so we can talk? Or better yet, I’ve got a few days off after
today’s clinic. I could backpack with you. Meet you wherever you’re—”
“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “It’s
against regulations to bring civilians, other than the trail crew, on Park
Service work projects.”
His blue eyes twinkled. She’d forgotten
how intense they were, like a multihued ocean. “You told me you were heading
over Baxter Pass.”
“Yeah.” She smiled back because she
couldn’t help herself. “So I did. I’m also telling you not to follow me.”
He bent his head, and brushed his
lips over hers. The kiss was so sweet and so fleeting, memories flooded her,
and she pulled away, her heart doing flip-flops.
“If it won’t be different this
time, don’t start.” Her voice held a thin, strained note.
“Things will be different. I
would’ve called you. Almost did a hundred times, but I felt so rotten about—”
“Dr. O’Malley.” Bridgette clumped
across the yard and grabbed his arm. “You have patients.”
He shook her off. “When have you
ever known me to leave before I’ve seen each and every one of them?”
“Never.” She sounded sullen.
“And it won’t happen today, either.
Get back inside, and hold down the fort. If you could take vitals on everyone
it would be a big help.”
Bridgette’s gaze moved from Tim to
Moira. Pursing her lips in an unpleasant expression, she stalked back into the
clinic.
Tim turned to Moira. “It was
wonderful to see you again. Here.” He scribbled something on one of the tiny
sheets of notebook paper, tore it off, and handed it to her. “My cell. Call
anytime.”
“I just may take you up on that.”
* * * *
Tim wasn’t ready to go back into
the clinic. His emotions were too close to the surface. He watched Moira’s
truck drive out of the parking lot heading south. The last time he’d seen her
ate at him like an out-of-control cancer. They’d spent hours in his apartment
arguing. Though he’d dissected it a hundred times, trying to figure out what he
could’ve done differently, he’d never come up with anything useful.
He made a strong effort to stuff
the memory into its subterranean hidey-hole, but it wouldn’t cooperate. Since
the professional objectivity he’d need to face a waiting room full of patients
had just scattered like so much dust, he set off at a brisk pace intending to
circle the block. He knew from experience that once that particular memory surfaced,
he had to let it play itself out.
Bridgette and the clinic would just
have to give him a few minutes more.
“I
tell you I’m done. Not just done. Fucking done.”
Tears
streamed down Moira’s swollen, blotchy face.
“I’ve
waited for you since I was sixteen years old, Tim O’Malley. That’s six years in
case you can’t count. I didn’t expect much back then, but we’re nearly done
with college. You won’t do any more than kiss me. You won’t live with me. You
won’t talk about getting married. Fuck! Why am I even bothering?”
She
jumped to her feet and ran to a window, gripping the sill hard enough to whiten
her knuckles.
He
grabbed her arm. “I—I do love you, Moira. I’ve told you I want to save sex
until after we’re married.”
“Well
I don’t. Besides, you never asked me to marry you.”
“You’re
not being fair. There are things I can’t tell you.”
She
whirled, her golden eyes on fire. “Fine. Keep your fucking secrets. And keep
your fucking virginity. I talked with Father O’Brannigan—”
A
chill marched down his spine. “You what?”
“You
heard me. I had to talk to someone. Even he said it wouldn’t be the end of the
world if we had sex. He said God would forgive me so long as we got married.
What’s the problem? Do you like boys? Jesus, even the clerk at the corner store
is hotter for me than you are.”
“Mo
ghrá—”
“Don’t
‘mo ghrá’ me.” She twisted out of his
grasp. “Get out of here. Don’t worry. I’ll be gone by the time you get back.”
“Moira—”
“For
the love of Christ, just leave. If you ever loved me—” Her face crumpled and
she sobbed helplessly, turning away from him.
Feeling
like he was being torn in two, Tim stormed out of his apartment. The minute he
got to the bottom of his steps, he began to run. He loved Moira. Loved her with
every fiber of his being. But he understood his duty to his Druid heritage too.
Slated to be the next Arch Druid, he was forbidden physical congress with
women. His magic needed to be honed to the highest possible level.
Sex
would interfere.
Tim
ran until sweat streamed down his sides, despite the chill of an unseasonably
cool June in California. A full moon hung low, clinging to the horizon. It was
a lover’s moon. He cursed, drowning in irony. A lover’s moon, but not for him.
He
wasn’t surprised when he ended up ten miles north of Davis at the Druids’
priory. Despite it being three in the morning, he pulled the bell chain. Its
somber chime matched his mood.
The
intercom next to the carved oak door crackled. “What business brings you here?”
It was a standard Druid greeting, though the speaker sounded half-asleep.
“I
must see Liam. Now.”
“Tim
O’Malley. Is that you?”
Tim
blew out a ragged breath. “Yes. Let me in, goddammit.”
A
tone sounded, and the door swung open soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. A man
he didn’t recognize hustled up the long hallway. “Master.” He inclined his
head.
“I’m
no one’s master. Go back to sleep. I know the way.”
Liam
McAllister’s quarters were on the third floor of the rambling stone structure
that had once been a Catholic monastery. Tim pounded up the stairs, his stomach
so tight he wondered if he’d vomit. He’d just raised a fist to hammer on Liam’s
door when it opened, and the Arch Druid stood before him. If the older man had
been asleep, it didn’t show.
“Welcome,
son.” Liam held out his arms, but Tim shook his head. Without waiting for an
invitation, he stomped into the spacious quarters lined with leaded glass
windows on two walls. The moon mocked him, front and center in those windows.
“You
have to release me from my vows.”
Liam
drew his thick eyebrows together. “You must know I cannot do that. You didn’t
take vows. You were born to your calling.”
Tim
spun to face the man who’d been like a father to him. Long, white hair framed
his bearded face. Bright blue eyes radiated concern. The Arch Druid was tall—of
a height with Tim—and wraith-thin. Black robes flowed around him.
“But
it’s not like I’m the Dalai Lama.” He took a breath to steady himself. “You
don’t understand. I love Moira. It’s tearing me up that I can’t have her.
Christ! I can’t even tell her why I can’t make love to her—or marry her.”
Liam
nodded slowly. He reached a kindly hand toward Tim. “Actually, you are a lot
like the Dalai Lama. ’Tis the goddess who picks our progression. Would you care
to sit, son? I believe a spot of spirits might calm you.”
“Irish
whiskey won’t solve this.”
Liam
made a snorting noise. “A dram of good Irish whiskey will solve practically
anything. Or at least soften it till it feels more manageable.”
He
pulled a decanter close and poured amber liquid into two cut-crystal shot
glasses, pushing one toward Tim. “You will be able to wed once your training is
complete, and you sit in my place.”
Battling
frustration, Tim drained his glass. The whiskey burned going down. It matched
the fire in his soul.
He
trained his gaze on Liam. “You don’t understand. That may have worked hundreds
of years ago. Not anymore. Look at you. Goddess willing, you’ll live another
twenty or thirty years. Maybe more. By then Moira will be long since married to
another. Hell, she could be a grandmother.” He banged a fist on one of the
tables scattered about the room. A lamp rattled ominously, and he reached to
steady it.
“Please,”
Tim begged. “At least let me tell her why I can’t wed her.”
Liam
shook his head. “I cannot do that. The workings of our society have always been
secret. ’Tis how we’ve shielded ourselves from the machinations of the Church.”
“The
Church isn’t still out to get us. Not actively, anyway.”
Liam
turned on him, blue eyes ablaze. “Thinking like that will land you in trouble.
Have you not followed their exorcisms? Or their dogma? And ’tis not just the
Catholics I’m talking of here. What do you believe clerics think of those like
us who call magic, engage in astral travel, and commune with gods, spirits, and
the dead?”
Tim’s
shoulders sagged. He felt like a sail with the wind knocked out of it, attached
to a ship that would never find port. “That we were evil.”
Liam
nodded. “Organized religion’s raison d’être is to rid the Earth of wickedness. Moira is Catholic. She goes to
confession. I tell you, son, we cannot risk it. ’Tisn’t been so very long since
they killed one of us. Surely you recall Sean Newbry. ’Twas scarcely an
accidental drowning. His astral self came to me whilst he was dying.”
“And?”
“The
parish priest caught him in the midst of a blood offering ceremony, talking
with Earth spirits. Sean was certain the cleric followed him since he’d taken
care to go deep into the Sierra foothills.”
Tim
fought a sinking feeling. “You said drowning.”
“Are
you certain you want the grisly details?”
“Yes.”
“Four
priests waylaid him late one night, bound him, gagged him, tied a heavy weight
about his waist—”
“Enough.”
Tim sat heavily. He dropped his head into his hands and remembered what Moira
told him about talking with Father O’Brannigan. What a fucked up mess this had
turned into. He still cared about Druidry, but did he care enough to give up
Moira for the rest of his life?
“Tim?”
Liam asked after a long silence.
He
looked up. “No matter how I slice and dice this, I don’t want to live without
her. Hell, I don’t know if I can.”
“I
understand.” A considered intake of breath and Liam continued. “I gave you
permission to attend medical school. That was a concession as I’d rather you
were here by my side. Then you came up with that idea about a public health
degree.
“Mayhap
it would be best if you didn’t see Moira—or even call her—at least for a while.
Try to immerse yourself in your studies. Believe me, son, when I tell you the
goddess takes care of her own.”
A
sob rose from the depths of his soul. Mortified, Tim tried to swallow the next
one down. He stuffed a knuckle in his mouth and bit down hard.
“’Tis
all right. Life does not give us easy choices.” Liam got to his feed, walked
around the table, and patted Tim’s back. “There is no shame in tears.”
Forcing himself to return to the
present, Tim took a deep breath, and then another. He wasn’t twenty-two
anymore. He could stand up to Liam if it came down to it. He pulled open the
side door to the clinic and went to the tiny staff room, where he knew he’d
find the afternoon’s schedule posted. Despite reliving painful memories, he
felt more alive than he had in years.
The goddess had brought Moira back
into his life. Things would be different this time. He’d see to it, even if it
meant confronting Liam and walking away from Druidry forever.
