It's Hard To Be Holy

EP. 105: Chapter V (Cont'd)

Coarse and Offensive Language. Reader Discretion Advised.

Niamh Malone- Carr, dressed well and primped with a heavy dose of discount perfume and lip-stick, was just attaching her clip-ons when a resounding knock disturbed her peace. Being already late, she cursed with relish as she stomped from her bedroom and was so fixated on her anger that when she opened the front door, Niamh did not, at first, register the large figure on her stoop. 'And what the hell do ya want?!'

Alanna recoiled at the sharpness in her mother's voice; and all at once she was a little girl again, quaking with anticipation at the sound and fury that surely would be brought to bare for her transgressions, real or imagined. Where is Bud? she thought wildly, forgetting herself. What has he done now?

'Alanna?! What are ya doin' here?' Niamh tried again, albeit in a softer and more traditional tone. 'Is everythin' alright?'

'Umm...' Alanna slouched, glum and weary. 'Yeah. Yeah...I was just passin' and thought...I dunno...thought I'd say hi.'
'

Hi,' said her mother, and then, taking a good look at the first of her prodigal children, added, 'ya sure nothin's wrong?'

'Yeah,' denied the eldest. 

Niamh remained skeptical. Somewhat skeptical. It was very hard to tell with Alanna Kathleen if there really was a problem to solved, or if that was just how God designed her to look. It had been this way since birth. 'My little Eeyore,' Niamh had fondly dubbed her, but that had been before siblings when all was right with the world. 'Fat One' seemed to work better after the arrival of the favored Alfonso Ignatius. 'Ya comin' in?'

No, thought Alanna, I'll just stand at the door, shall I? But it would do no good to rile her mother, so she said, 'sure...' and came inside. At once, she was taken in her mother's arms and subjected to an uneasy hug. Niamh had never been one for hugging, not even when her children were small. It always seemed like such an effort to both the hugger and the hugged. Yet, being held, even as cumbersomely as she was, broke something in Alanna. You can be an infant or an 80 year old lost in memory, and it will make no difference. In times of strife, all children search for their mothers' arms. Alanna Kathleen, not a Detective, not Officer or Mrs. Mooney, was no different, and whatever she would naturally have felt for the credit of her birth was long-forgotten here in the security of her youth.

Nothing at first glance had changed. The apartment, the furniture, the smells and heating were all exactly as she had left them. Soft, friendly, and familiar, welcoming her home as if no time had passed. As if nothing bad had ever happened here.

Why had she left? She couldn't remember. What could be so bad about a place so welcoming? She held tight to her mother, and Nimah clutched back; and they were silent for a time, and there were no tears or sobs; no 'Mama's here,' and 'shhh it's okays'. Just simple, honest understanding passed between them as mother gently rocked child. Everything would be all right, and if it wasn't now, then Niamh would make it so. After, that's what mothers do.

'You goin' out?' asked Alanna, finally drawing back and peering down at the smaller woman.

'No, I'm just...I was...er...' It was common knowledge to the remaining family that the matriarch of the household didn't partake in a monastic existence. It had become something of a running joke between the middle and youngest child, although they never dared say anything in front of Niamh. She was discreet and intensely private about personal matters, preferring to keep up a perverse persona of widowhood. Time had passed without notice, and Niamh no longer found the same joy in illicitness and scandal. Her engagements were purposeful and never did last any considerable amount of time. They were functional at best. Natural needs fulfilled by temporary distractions to an otherwise solitary and suffocating existence that had become her permanent lot in life.