Sea Glass: Marie and Lauryn

Chapter 38

The road south unfolded in long, quiet miles. Late October mist still clung low over the hedgerows, softening the edges of the fields. Lauryn sat curled in the passenger seat, hands tucked into the sleeves of her sweater, gaze fixed out the window. She hadn't spoken since they had set out, but her stillness was not vacant. Marie knew it was the kind of silence filled with bracing, like a diver drawing a breath before plunging into cold water.

Marie kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting over Lauryn's knee. It was not only to steady her partner; it was to steady herself.

The call she had made the day before still lingered in her mind. She had half-feared being told that visitors were not welcome, or worse, that the building no longer stood. That Lauryn would struggle to silence that part of her mind when its walls were gone. Instead, the woman on the other end of the line had surprised her.

"Yes, the old orphanage is still there," she had said warmly, "It's been ours for more than a decade now. We turned it into a center for young people who need need a safe place to be...we offer tutoring, vocational training, or even just someone to talk to. We've a team of therapists, too. It's a different place now, a safe one."

Marie had thanked her and explained that her partner had spent her earliest years there and that she wanted to come for closure. The woman's voice had softened further. 

"She's not the only one who has come back lookin' to finally close a painful part of their life. She will see that the walls are still standin', but the purpose has changed. It's good work now. We'd be glad to have ye. My name is Clíodhna, and I would be happy to meet ye when ye come. And I'll tell our director ye're going to visit."

The words had been meant to reassure, but Marie wasn't certain how Lauryn would feel when faced with the old stones. Whether she would crumble entirely or be able to face it.

She glanced sideways now. Lauryn's eyes were shadowed, her mouth set in a thin line. Marie brushed her fingertips lightly against her hand.  Lauryn gave a small nod, her throat working, and turned her hand upward to lace their fingers.

The countryside shifted as they neared Kilkenny, rolling hills giving way to the clustered charm of the medieval city. Marie slowed as directions led them off the main road, toward the edge of town. Her chest tightened as the first sight of the building rose ahead, a tall, grey structure on the top of a hill, softened by ivy climbing its façade. The windows, once forbidding, now held bright curtains. A greenhouse and a barn flanked its left side. A sign out front bore the name of the charity in bold letters, flanked by cheerful artwork clearly painted by young hands.

An Áit Shábháilte

And below it, in English:

The Safe Place

The irony was not lost on Marie. 

After turning into the driveway and slowly driving up the hill, she parked, cutting the engine. The silence that followed seemed louder than the drive itself. Lauryn's hands were trembling in her lap.

Marie turned fully toward her, looking at how rigid she was holding herself.

"You don't have to do this, baby. We can just turn around."

Lauryn swallowed, her eyes fixed on the building, then back to Marie. 

"I n-n-need t-to," she whispered.

"Then I'll be here next to you for whatever ghosts come out."

Marie squeezed her hand, wishing she could shield her from everything within those walls, but knowing she could only walk beside her into whatever waited.