Sean missed the alarm clock with his first attempt, knocking over the glass of water on his nightstand. The irritating beep seemed to increase both in speed and volume until he located the snooze button. Indeed, the frequency and amplitude of the electronic sound had remained constant, but the subjective experience of it had not. Sean was wishing that he had taken his shift in the afternoon when he had the chance, instead of this one in the morning.

Rolling over and upright into a sitting position, Sean read the display on his clock, “6:02” with an icon of Mr. Sun smiling mockingly at him. He stumbled his way into the bathroom, immediately grabbing electric toothbrush and dentifrice to begin clearing away the aftertaste of nocturnal bacterial warfare from his mouth. Having loaded the bristles with toothpaste in spumoni-striped colors, he pressed the switch on his dentist-approved electric toothbrush and engaged his morning skirmish against the microbial insurgents assaulting his sense of personal comfort. Two minutes later, the toothbrush powered down, as it were, of its own volition, so then he turned his attention to the bottle of mouthwash on the counter of the bathroom sink. Now attentive to another agent of chemical warfare, he poured some into a glass preparing to counterassault his hidden microbial enemies. Sean proceeded to rinse fore and flank within his mouth and gargle deep into enemy territory until he could endure the metallic-sweet liquid no more.

Next, he shed his pyjamas and entered the shower, sliding the plexiglass door closed. The battle against the external bacteria, the precision maneuvers of soaping up, lathering, and rinsing off, Sean had reduced to less than five minutes of his morning ritual. The shower accomplished, he grabbed a towel as he heard the snooze alarm beeping.

Back in his bedroom, his clock glared “6:12.” This time he properly stopped the beeping until the alarm would be triggered the next day.

Sean grabbed a pair of boxer shorts from his dresser drawer and quickly pulled them on and then an undershirt and athletic socks. Fortunately, he felt, he could make due with casual wear at this job, so he chose one his favorite lumberjack-style plaid flannel shirts to wear for the day. His day’s ensemble would be completed with a simple pair of blue jeans. All that remained was to slip on his walking shoes and tie the laces securely.

The shoes that Sean wore today cost more than the total of everything else he was wearing. But he was okay with that. He either stood or walked around for hours each day, so he counted every penny spent on comfortable, supportive footwear as worth the cost. If he had to economize, he would buy less expensive shirts or trousers, but in his mind, trying save by buying cheap footwear was not worth the risk.

The clock now displayed “6:21” as he put wallet and keys into their accustomed pockets and secured the supple leather case for his smartphone on his belt and his tiny music player in his right shirt pocket. He put a leather writing pad and a matched pen and mechanical pencil in the left pocket. On the way out he grabbed his windbreaker within easy reach from a coathook next to his apartment door. As he exited, he donned the windbreaker and locked the door. Scampering down the two flights of stairs to the lobby, Sean inserted a pair of tiny earphones into his ears and touched the button for the music to begin “Orinoco Flow” by Enya.

Sean had kept his musical preferences mostly to himself. Only his family knew about his liking for Enya, Celtic Woman, and the Twelve Girls Band. Beyond his family, he had told almost everyone else that he preferred classical music but tended to somewhat eclectic tastes in the more popular genres. His collection of compact discs for these was indeed a well-balanced mix and sometimes he could take amusement in visitors to his apartment guessing his preferences from his rack of popular music. His classical CDs, though, were kept in a cabinet under his stereo system unknown to all but his closest friends and family. A few favorite recordings of jazz, folk, New Age, and world music were also kept there.

From the lobby to the sidewalk were only three steps down. Sean regarded himself as fortunate to work at the coffeeshop Café Tír na n-Óg on the next block, which he entered promptly at 6:28 to punch in and begin his workday. Also, his boss would usually allow him to have a pastry and fresh coffee on the clock, just so long as he did not eat in front of the customers. However, she encourage them to sip whatever beverage they chose, so long as they did so from a container bearing the shop logo.

“Good morning, Sean,” Sandra greeted him.

“G’mornin’, Sandra. Feelin’ better today?”

“Much!” she replied, smiling back at him. “Thanks for asking. I think it was just a bad dinner the night before.”

Sean knew better, but he would not call her bluff on so innocuous a fib. Sandra was a genuinely lovely person and always tried to endure that time of the month with grace and a smile, even though the physical pain from her abdominal cramps was at times excruciating. But she wouldn’t complain about it. Nor did she seem so irritable as other women are more often than not. Her signs were apparently much more physical and less emotional than most other girls, whose moods often varied from slightly touchy to extremely hypersensitive. Sandra was a different sort of woman.

Sean punched in for the morning and pulled on his full-length apron to protect his clothes. Then he poured himself a cup of black coffee and took a plain croissant for breakfast.

Then Debbie, another barista, grinned at Sean as she threaded her brunette ponytail through the back of her cap. She advanced to begin her daily teasing of him.

“You really need to try one of the sweetly filled ones,” she flirted with him in her slight Southern drawl, her carefully groomed eyelashes strobing her baby-blue eyes.

“Nothin’ in that pastry case is so sweet as a Georgia peach like you!”

“Oh my!” Debbie replied, slowly licking some strawberry cream cheese from her index finger, coyly making a show of her tongue. Then she drawled, “You do know how to flatter a girl!”

Sean didn’t mind her light-hearted flirting with him. But he also didn’t feel that she were right for him. He was an Irish Roman Catholic and she was a firm Southern Baptist. He just didn’t feel comfortable dating outside the Church. Still, it was nice to be liked and it didn’t hurt him to respond kindly to her. It kept the game at a friendly level so that no one got hurt.

The morning rush would begin within the next fifteen minutes and all hands were needed above deck. Sandra was the shift supervisor and Debbie had already come in earlier to help her open. But Kelly, his cousin, was not there yet, which was unusual for her. If anything, she was punctual to the point of annoyance, almost always ten to fifteen minutes early. Indeed, Sean couldn’t remember her ever being tardy for anything.

Customers began to file in a few minutes earlier than expected. It became hectic, especially as one worker was missing.

“Sean, there’s no sign of Kelly, yet,” Sandra said, her concern showing on her face and in her voice. “I just tried her cell an’ it was turned off. I know you’re cousins, so I wondered if you could call her home when the customer traffic slows down a bit?”

“Sure, Sandra,” he acknowledged her request. “I’ve never known her to come late to anything, not even when we were little kids. It’s not like her at all.”

“Before today, her work record has been spotless,” Sandra confirmed. “To tell you the truth, I’m worried for her. This just doesn’t feel right!”

Kelly’s absence worried Sean perhaps even more than it did Sandra, who had only known her a few months. But he knew his cousin very well and punctuality was almost a passion with her. Her father had always insisted that time were money, so Kelly had reasoned that tardiness was akin to theft. She’d no more keep anyone waiting than she’d lift someone’s wallet or purse.

* * *

For a moment no new customers came in so Sean took the time to call his Aunt Kathleen’s home. There was no answer there, so he left a message and called his aunt’s cellphone. It had also been turned off.

“Sandra, I don’t like this,” he said. “Me aunt’s cellphone isn’t on, either.”

“Is that unusual for her, too?” Sandra asked me.

“Aunt Kathleen never turns hers off, unless—Oh no!” Sean exclaimed.

“Unless what?”

“Unless she’s somewhere that it has to be turned off. I’m callin’ Mike now!”

Mike was Kelly’s older brother and another of Sean’s cousins. Sean had Mike’s number on his speed dial and he called immediately.

“Hello, Mike FitzPatrick here…,” he answered.

“Mike, this is Sean. Kelly didn’ show for her shif’. Anything wrong?”

“Accident. Mom called me on the way to Sain’ Bonnie’s.”

“Is it serious?”

“Don’t know. On me way there now…”

“Thanks, Mike. Keep me posted.”

“Y’got it. Bye!…”

“G’bye!…” Sean signed-off the call. “Sandra, she’s been in an accident. Aunt Kathleen’s already there an’ her brother’s on the way, too.”

“How is she?” Sandra asked worriedly, a frightened look across her face. Debbie also looked to me, her eyes pleading for news.

“We don’ know just yet. Mike’ll call when he knows more.”

“Where is she?”

“At Sain’ Bonaventure’s. Prob’ly ’n E-R.”

“Thanks for checking. Can you and Debbie handle things while I call in reinforcements?”

“I’m okay here,” Debbie answered.

“We’ll be all right for now,” Sean assured Sandra. With that she stepped into the office to call in another barista to take Kelly’s shift for the day.

* * *

Everyone in the small coffeeshop was anxious about what might have happened to their colleague. Kelly was loved by all of them and they felt glum that her smiling, lightly freckled face and luxuriously flaming long locks of auburn curls were absent. Sean’s coworkers kept glancing his way, their eyes constantly raising an unspoken request for news. Since Kelly and Sean were family, they knew he’d be informed of any news just as soon as it were available.

Kelly and Mike were very close to Sean and Morgan, his younger sister. Growing up together, the differences between siblings and cousins were effectively ignored in their family. Remarkably, Sean and Kelly were almost the same age and looked more like twins than cousins, save for the usual differences in physique due to gender.

Sean’s cellphone rang. “Hello?” he answered.

“This is Mike,” said the caller. “Kelly’s out of E-R an’ has been moved to the Critical Care Unit. She hasn’ regained consciousness yet, but at leas’ she’s stable.”

“Know what happened?” Sean asked his cousin.

“Accordin’ t’ one witness, a car had turned from an intersection down the wrong side of the street. They met head-on an’ her bicycle flipped forward, so she hit the car’s win’shiel’ head-first. Then she rolled over an’ off the car before hittin’ the street. Paramedics were quick on the scene but she’d already lost consciousness. The preliminary diagnosis was a severe concussion an’ I think a few broken bones, too.”

“Sh’ wearin’ her helmet?”

“Don’t know. But if sh’ was, it might’ve come off in the accident. That’s all I know right now. The police are still talkin’ to witnesses, I think.”

“That’s okay, Mike,” Sean assured him. “Y’ only know whatcha know. An’ that’s more than I had. When Kelly wakes up, tell her I’ll be there as soon as I’m off work. An’ she’ll wanna know Kat’s coverin’ her shift today.”

“I just hope she regains consciousness soon,” Mike said with the worry in his voice apparent to Sean.

“That’s two of us, cuz. Should I try to call Morgan then?”

“Since you’re still at work, I can do that from here. Do you know if she’d be in class now?”

“Maybe another ten or fifteen minutes, I think.”

“Okay, Cuz,” Mike acknowledged the information. “I’ll let you go an’ call her next. My mom’s already called yours, so that takes care of the family.”

“Anyone call Father Tony?”

“He was already here sayin’ Mass in the chapel when they brought her in. He’s been with Kelly since she left E-R. I’d better let you get back to work, though.”

“Thanks, Mike. G’bye!”

“Talk to ya soon,” Mike promised and ended the call.

Sean turned to Sandra who had overheard only his side of the conversation. “Kelly collided with a car goin’ the wrong way in ’er lane. Her bicycle flipped over an’ she crashed head-first into the car’s win’shiel’. They moved her from E-R to critical care, but she hasn’ regained consciousness yet. They think ’tis a severe concussion.”

“Do you need to go now?” Sandra asked him.

“I can finish out my shif’ an’ leave after lunchtime,” he answered. “In truth, I can do more for her here right now than at the hospital. She’d be furious if I lef’ my shif’ in the middle.”

Sandra smiled, picturing Kelly’s infamous Irish temper directed at Sean. “That’s fine,” she confirmed. “We don’t want her stressing out when she wakes up.”

Although she had been scheduled to come in earlier that day, Kelly’s shift usually began by mid-morning, so by ten o’clock, her regular customers were inquiring about her. So Sandra began telling them that she had given Kelly the day off without further explanation. But Sean was of two minds about that. Firstly, Kelly was a scrupulously honest young woman, who always told the truth, even to her own, often unintended, detriment. Not only would she not lie for herself, but she would not stand for anyone else to lie for her. On the other hand, Kelly’s misfortunes were not really anyone’s business but her own. Since family and coworkers needed to know, that was okay. Otherwise, his cousin deserved her privacy, he thought, although she was so outgoing, that he doubted it were really important to her. Yet, he was uncomfortable with the idea of having to deliver such bad news to her favorite customers.

“Sean,” Sandra addressed him, “I was looking at the schedule for the rest of the week. Kelly’s scheduled for the afternoons, mostly. Kat’s available for the mornings. So, until she’s able to work again, would you be willing to cover your cousin’s afternoon times and let Kat take your mornings shifts, instead? If so, that would save me a real headache. Otherwise, I might need to reschedule everyone and I’d rather not.”

He thought for a moment. Sean had mostly evening classes and he worked at the electronics store on weekends only. He liked the idea of being able to sleep-in for a few mornings. And he’d be protecting Kelly’s job. Moreover, Sandra was really nice to everyone, not just him and Kelly. Why make her do more work to rearrange schedules?

“That works for me,” Sean answered her. “Anything to help out you an’ Kelly in a pinch.”

“That’s great!” Sandra exclaimed gratefully, beaming a broad smile. “Thank you so much!”

“Just one thing, though,” he added. “I heard you tell a few customers that you gave her the day off?”

“Yes, but what are you getting at?”

“You know how honest Kelly is, right?”

“Uh-huh…”

“The only thing Kelly hates worse than anyone lyin’ to her is someone lyin’ for her. If what’s in her record doesn’t match what we’ve told the customers—well, you’ve seen her temper!”

“I’ll give her personal leave for today” Sandra promised. Then she giggled, “But she looks really cute when she gets angry.”

“Not when she’s comin’ at you!” Sean warned her. “When her green eyes flash at you with her flamin’ red hair flowin’ behind her, there’s no creature known to science nor any realm of mythology nor folklore quite so fright’nin’ as Kelly the Mad!”

“I never thought about it before,” Sandra admitted. “I’ve seen her get really mad a couple times. But I’ve never wondered what it would be like to get yelled at by her. She’s so passionate at everything she does. And creative, too. When she got angry at that jerk, she seemed to create new cusswords just for him! It was like she drew a verbal cartoon of him.”

“Then you do understand what I’m tellin’ you,” Sean confirmed. “But Kelly’s unique style of anger is as much a part of her charm as her vulnerability or any other aspect of her personality.”

* * *

As his shift ended, Sean thought yet again of his cousin in the hospital, her vulnerability now realized by an unexpected circumstance. He could only pray that she would awaken as the same Kelly they all knew and loved. This would not be easy for any of them. Kelly was one of those kind souls who brightens one’s day just by showing up. Yes, even her anger was cheerful to the outside observer. Except for the target, who must receive the fire of her rage, those around her would bask in the warmth and glow of her protection. Indeed she was passionate, yet she had learned control and restraint. As a result, she commanded, rather than obeyed, her passions.

“I just hope she’s okay,” Sandra said, trying as much to console herself as Sean. “All of her. She’s so special to us here.”

“What’s the first thing that Kelly would say to you at a time like this?”

“To stay in the here an’ now an’ not to worry about what isn’t. Livin’ here an’ now is adventure enough!

“You have a coffeeshop to run an’ I have a cousin to visit. You’ll visit her, too, when you can. Meanwhile, you can bes’ support her by goin’ about your business. Otherwise, she’ll crawl out of bed an’ come in here just to get on our cases!”

Sandra was fighting back tears as she herself prayed for her colleague and friend.

“Sean,” she said kissing him on the cheek, “thanks!”

He hugged her in return and left. Sandra had been too challenged holding back her own tears to notice Sean doing the same.

Sean had been more successful in containing his tears—until the door shut behind him.

Sean visits his cousin Kelly at St. Bonaventure’s Hospital. While he’s there, he meets a few of her very Irish girlfriends. But would Kelly approve of what they propose?

With such pow’r in your smile
Sure a stone you’d beguile
So there’s never a teardrop should fall.
—Chauncey Olcott & George Graff, Jr.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sean considered riding his own bicycle to visit her, but after what had happened to Kelly that morning, he was not so confident about it. So he thought about other options as he returned to his apartment. The damp, morning chill had persisted into the afternoon, so that it would be a long, cold walk to St. Bonaventure’s Hospital. And on a college student’s budget, cab fare seemed somewhat profligate. But this was for Kelly, his dear cousin. So he’d go home, clean up just a little, and call for a taxi. Mike or another in the family would see that he had a ride to campus for his evening class. He could always get a bus home later.

He entered the building lobby and retrieved his mail for the day. Nothing seemed to require his immediate attention as he sorted through the small stack of envelopes. But there was a larger manilla envelope addressed to Kelly FitzPatrick. It looked somewhat official to him, with what he thought to be a law firm’s return address in the corner. Sean allowed his cousins and sister to use his own address as a mail drop on occasion. He’d simply take it to her at the hospital.

Back in his apartment, Sean went to download a current weather forecast. Since it predicted a significantly cooler evening than the earlier forecast, he decided to change. He then decided on a blue turtleneck to wear under his flannel shirt.

Placing his music player in its cradle, Sean called up his master playlist to select some music for the ride over to St. Bonaventure’s and back to campus for the evening. He wasn’t sure why, but Twelve-Girl Band just didn’t seem right to him at the moment. So he replaced their tracks with three more selections from Enya, Vanessa Mae’s Storm, Antonio Vivaldi’s Concerto for Lute in D Major, and Tomaso Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor. He’d also keep his selections from Celtic Woman, in case Kelly might like to hear them.

Sean picked up his cellphone, unsure which taxi to call. Quickly searching his address book and telephone log on “cab” he found the number for “Lemon-Lime Cab.” He guessed that Morgan must have called them when she had borrowed his phone the week before. So he called them and they estimated but a five-minute wait or less.

Since it was getting colder, Sean chose a heavier windbreaker, almost a lightweight parka, to wear out. He loaded a textbook, notebooks, and Kelly’s letter into his royal blue backpack along with energy bars for the afternoon and evening. He put his waterbottle and an energy beverage into black mesh pockets on the outside of the backpack.

The taxi arrived more quickly than the promised five minutes, so it was honking just as Sean emerged from the building. He immediately opened the back door of the vehicle.

“Why, Little Seanie!” a familiar voice greeted him warmly.

“Mister O’Shaughnessy? Is it you?”

“O’ course ’tis! But please lad, you can still call me Uncle Jerry, now. Mister O’Shaughnessy isn’t me but me father. ’Tisn’t me at all!”

“Well, if you insist, Uncle Jerry,” Sean agreed.

Gerald O’Shaughnessy had been Sean’s teacher for Catchechism and in Sunday school. The relationship had always been a warm and relaxed one, very friendly.

“Where to, Seanie?” Jerry asked, shifting his taxi into gear.

“Saint Bonnie’s I’m afraid,” the youth answered with tension audibly straining his voice.

“Saint Bonnie’s? Who’s it there?”

“My cousin Kelly.”

“Little Kelly FitzPatrick? But she be almost a sister to ye!” Uncle Jerry remarked, his voice worried. “Well, don’t keep me in the dark laddie. What happened?”

“Don’t have many details, Uncle Jerry,” Sean began. “Just know a car turned the wrong way down ’er lane while she was bicyclin’ this mornin’. They crashed head-on, ’er bicycle flipped, an’ she hit head-first. Gotta bad concussion, I hear.”

The cabbie grabbed his microphone. “Dispatch, this is four-seven…”

“Go ahead, four-seven…,” broke a voice through the static.

“I’m goin’ off-meter, Charlie, upta Saint Bonnie’s. ’Tis personal,” Jerry informed the dispatcher. “May need to visit a few minutes, me-self. The guardian angels must’ve ’ad a busy mornin’, today.”

Sean heard the audible silence of popping static on the radio for a moment.

“Roger that, four-seven… Take whatever time ya need, Jerry… Who’s it?…”

“One o’ me little Sunday mornin’ angels… ’Er name’s Kelly…”

“Hope she’s okay…,” the dispatcher offered his sympathy.

“Me too, Charlie… me, too!” Jerry answered. “Signin’ off ’til later…”

“Roger that, four-seven…,” Charlie acknowledged. “Dispatch out!…”

“Seanie, this rides off the meter. An’ I gotta see Little Kelly, too.”

Sean knew that Kelly would be upset with Uncle Jerry for doing anything like that. But he also knew not to argue with Uncle Jerry over it. Every kid who had been through Catechism with Gerald O’Shaughnessy was like an adoptive niece or nephew. Mike, Kelly, Sean, and Morgan all belonged to his “little Sunday angels.” All his teaching about guardian angels had Sean wondering long ago if, just maybe, Uncle Jerry were one himself.

“How long have you been drivin’ Lemon-Lime?” Sean asked, making an effort to change topics.

“Since the other company I drove for folded about eighteen months ago,” Uncle Jerry recounted. “They were gonna reorganize as ‘Green and Yellow Taxi’ but there were legal issues with the name. But the new manager had already had the cabs painted in green and yellow colors, so someone thought up ‘Lemon-Lime Cab’ and it caught on.”

“Wonderful marketin’,” Uncle Jerry confirmed, “but there’s more to it than that. This new manager’s doin’ a great job, too. The bottom line’s that there’s more bottom line! So I get my money a lot faster now. And Charlie says his job’s easier at central dispatch, too. But you know what’s really crazy, Seanie? The new guy’s a gal! She’s got the sharpest head for numbers I ever did see. And a couple o’ times when it’s been just too busy for Charlie, she’s stepped in at dispatch to help ’im out there. Turns out she’d worked dispatch in college. Never thought I’d see a woman handle it like she can. That sweet little thing carries a map o’ the whole metro street system in ’er head.”

“I can tell you’re impressed, Uncle Jerry,” Sean observed. “But is your interest in her purely professional?”

Uncle Jerry simply smiled, taking Sean’s teasing in stride. “Oh, laddie,” the old cabbie replied, “I’m much too old for a lassie like her. On the other hand, I could see ’er with someone like you—after you’re finished college, of course. She’d kinda insist on that.”

“What’s her name, Uncle Jerry?”

“Brianna,” he answered Sean. “Brianna MacFarland. If you’d like, I’ll introduce you sometime.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sean promised. The banter had helped both Sean and Uncle Jerry to keep their minds off Kelly’s accident.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They arrived at the hospital shortly thereafter. Uncle Jerry parked the taxi in the visitors’ lot, then he and Sean made their way to the main lobby. Sean went directly to the receptionist, a young Asian woman about his own age.

“We’re here to see Kelly FitzPatrick,” he announced.

“Friends or family?” she asked, recognizing Jerry as one of the frequent drivers ferrying patients and visitors at the hospital.

“Both,” Sean answered. “I’m family. He’s almost! Uncle Jerry’s her Sunday school teacher.”

The receptionist raised an eyebrow at Sean and then glanced at Jerry, who confirmed it with a nod and a smile.

“He really is her Sunday school teacher,” Sean assured her. “Mine, too!”

“Okay!” The young woman acknowledged, smiling back at them. “She’s in I-C-U. Her friends and family can gather in the waiting area there. Take the north-end elevator to the second floor. It’s on your left when you get out of the elevator.”

“Thank you, Miss…?” Sean offered.

“Oh! I’m Veronica,” the girl introduced herself, glancing down at her blouse, noticing that she was not wearing her name tag. “But, please, just call me Roni!”

She smiled at them again to send them on their way, as she frantically began looking in her purse and then her desk drawer for her badge.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Mister O’Shaughnessy! We didn’t expect you!” Mike greeted him in both surprise and gratitude.

“You’re all me little angels!” Uncle Jerry replied, sniffling. “It’s as if me own daughter be in here!”

A group hug followed for Mike, Sean, and Uncle Jerry. All were concerned for Kelly.

Mike spoke up. “It’s really bad I think. She’s not regained consciousness since the accident. I’ve been with her for three hours. Father Tony is still in there with our moms and Morgan.”

“I can stay until I need to leave for my class,” Sean told him. “Why don’t you just go home and get some rest? You know how Kelly is about this kind of thing. You’ll offend her work ethic if you stress out and get fired!”

“You’re prob’ly right, Sean,” Mike conceded. “But it’s not gonna be easy to get any sleep or to stay focused with Sis lyin’ in there still unconscious.”

“No, Mikey, ’twon’t be,” Uncle Jerry spoke up. “But don’t try to take the Lord’s work all to ye-self! We’re here to watch o’er me little angel, now.”

Mike grinned at Uncle Jerry’s words. Maybe he was right after all. The role of family in such a time was to share the burden, to lean one on another, so that none would be overwhelmed alone.

“Thanks, Mister O’Shaughnessy,” answered Mike. “You’re right about that. It’s so easy to forget, but still, she’s my sister.”

“Listen to your Uncle Jerry, now,” the cabbie continued, addressing Sean as well. “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well! You’ve given Kelly your hearts, these doctors here have lent their heads to her plight, so now leave it all in the good Lord’s hands!”

Only then did the two cousins notice that Uncle Jerry’s hands were behind their shoulders, pressing them toward Kelly’s room in the intensive care unit.

Through the doorway they observed Kelly in the bed, tubes giving her glucose and oxygen and whatever else had to be provided without her own assistance. Her long, beautiful auburn curls were wrapped in bandages, with just a few peeking out to confirm that she were indeed a daughter of the Emerald Isle.

Aunt Kathleen, Sean’s mom, and Morgan all acknowledged him, his mom weakly smiling through her tears, his aunt tightly clutching a rosary. Morgan went to her brother and hugged him.

“Sean, it’s so awful! She’s not woken up,” lamented Morgan. “I’m so scared. I want her to wake up.”

“Hey, Sis!” Sean hugged her back, trying to comfort her. “We need to let things unfold here as God wills. No matter how it may seem right now, we gotta trust that it will all be well in the end.”

Fr. Tony, still wearing surplice and stole over his cassock from Mass also stood near the bed. He turned toward Sean and Jerry who’d just entered.

“I’m sorry, Sean, but it’s still good to see you came,” Fr. Tony whispered, hugging the youth. “The attending physician said it appears to be a very severe concussion, and they’re still waiting for more test results. But the good news, though, is she’s stable, now, and in no immediate danger.”

“I’m so glad you’re here, Father,” Sean thanked him, tears now welling up in the boy’s eyes. “We all are.”

“Keep praying, son,” the priest exhorted quietly. “I’ll say my next Mass for her health and a quick recovery. Did you ride in with the Colonel?”

“Yeah, Father. He didn’t even charge me fare.”

“We do kid him in the parish council all the time for being so stingy,” Fr. Tony admitted in a low whisper. “But I think he’s only that way so he can really help out when his generosity’s needed the most. Truth be told, there’s no better a steward of his Lord’s blessings than Jerry O’Shaughnessy.”

Fr. Tony then turned to his catechist, parish councillor, and none-too-infrequent chauffeur. “Thanks for coming, Colonel. It will mean so much to the family, especially these young adults.”

Indeed, the priest could but marvel at how Jerry could love all the world and everyone around him with the precision of a military operation. Fr. Tony recalled the lyrics from Sabine Baring-Gould’s hymn, “Like a mighty army, moves the Church of God…,” and Lt. Col. Gerald O’Shaughnessy, U.S. Army (Ret.), was her Chief Logistics Officer.

“Once Little Seanie told me, I had to come,” Jerry admitted to Fr. Tony. “Those kids are like me own family. They’re remarkable, too, the way they all look out for each other.”

“They’ve learned well from you, Jerry,” the priest assured him. “Since they were little, they’ve watched how you’ve rallied the parish in times of crisis and how you always care for anyone in need.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Mom, why don’t you and Morgan take Aunt Kathleen for lunch now?” Sean suggested. “It’s past two o’clock. I can sit here with Kelly while you eat.”

“How ’bout it?” Morgan suggested to their mother and aunt. “You both gotta keep your strength up.”

“All right,” Kathleen answered. “We’d best get something while we still can. We may be here all evening, yet. Sean call us immediately if anything at all happens.”

“Of course, Auntie!” Sean replied. “I’ll let you know right away.”

Sean’s mom took Kathleen by the hand and help her to stand up. He also helped support his aunt for a moment until she had the courage to leave her daughter’s bedside.

“It’s okay, Auntie!” he insisted. “You’re not leaving her alone. I’m staying here until at least one of you come back.”

Aunt Kathleen kissed Sean on the cheek as Morgan and their mother helped her back to the waiting area. Sean then sat down in one of the chairs that they had just vacated.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A few minutes after Morgan, their mother and Aunt Kathleen had gone for their mid-afternoon lunch, Sean became suddenly aware of others in the room with him. He looked up and saw four girls, young women about Kelly’s and his own age standing there, keeping their own watch over his cousin. But what most drew his attention, is that every one of them had striking, red hair. The exact color and hairstyle varied from one girl to the next, but they each had a shade very close to Kelly’s—or even to Sean’s. Two of them wore blue denim jeans, while a third was dressed in a long flowing skirt. But the obvious leader of the group, whose dark auburn curls cascaded down to her waist, revealed her beautifully firm legs in a teasingly flirty miniskirt.

“Hello!” the miniskirted lass greeted Sean. “I’m Fiona. Please meet Molly, Moira, and Morag. We’re friends of Kelly’s. She performs in our band. We came just as soon as we heard. She never told us that she had a twin sister, though.”

“Twin sister?” he said, puzzling over her remark for just a moment as he stood to meet the young women. But even though he was sad, he smiled at her. “Oh no! I’m her cousin. My name’s Sean.”

He offered her his hand and she squeezed it, hoping to gather some of his strength. She smiled back.

“I’m so sorry,” Fiona apologized. “But you smile just like Kelly. You even have the same dimples.”

“Not to worry. It happens all the time. Kelly ’n’ me look enough alike that we’re both used to it.”

“What happened and how is she doing?” Fiona asked him. “We heard she was in an accident.”

“She was ridin’er bicycle when a car drove down the wrong lane. Hit ’er head-on. Helmet came off, so she’s got a bad concussion. She’s been unconscious since it happened. But we’ve told she’s stable now and not in any immediate danger. We’re all prayin’ she wakes up soon.”

The four girlfriends were whispering quietly among themselves and had gathered around Kelly’s bed with Sean, who sat back down to grip his cousin’s left hand. Fiona sat in a folding chair on Kelly’s right and held her friend’s other hand in her own. Molly and Moira, the girls wearing blue jeans, stood next to her while Morag stood to my right. Sean felt her place her hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks for comin’, ladies,” he whispered to them. “I know she’ll appreciate it when she’s awake.” Sean noticed that all the girls showed various quantities of tears in their eyes. Even Fiona, who was trying to minimize her own emotional response as leader of the group, had a couple of tears streaming down her cheeks. Molly was almost bawling. All were in obvious distress, one coping better than another one moment, then that one holding back while yet another cried, almost as if they were exchanging turns at weeping. Sean was not even aware that he had reached his arm around Morag’s waist until she was hugging him in return.

“I can’t believe this,” Morag cried softly, her voice breaking. “It doesn’t seem fair. She’s too kind and loving for this to happen to her.”

Sean pulled Morag into a closer hug as he quoted Jesus’ words from the Sermon on the Mount:

“…[Your] Father who is in heaven… maketh [His] sun to rise upon the good, and [the] bad, and raineth upon the just and the unjust.”

“I still don’t like it,” objected Fiona. “She shouldn’t be here like this.”

“I never said I liked it, either,” Sean confirmed. “But I have t’accept it and deal with it—as Kelly will when she wakes up. And she will. That’s how she is. It’s how we all are about this kind o’ thing in our family. We do whate’er we gotta do.”

Sean squeezed Kelly’s hand again forcing a smile as he glanced back to Fiona’s eyes. “I know it’s hard for you gals. I love ’er, too—we all do.”

Sean had managed not to weep since leaving his apartment for the hospital, but at that moment, he could no longer maintain his detached, stoic façade and tears began to run down his cheeks as well.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Who are all of you?” Aunt Kathleen asked, seeing the group of redheaded college-aged girls gathered around.

“Aunt Kathleen,” Sean rose to address his aunt, mother, and sister who had returned. “These are a few of Kelly’s friends: Fiona, Molly, Moira, and Morag. Kelly plays in their band. Ladies, this my Aunt Kathleen and Kelly’s mother. And this is my mom and my sister Morgan.”

They all exchanged greetings and smiles, then Aunt Kathleen spoke up. “Kelly’s never mentioned a band to me.”

“We’re just starting out, ma’am,” Fiona replied for her group. “Kelly has only recently joined us. She plays flute and keyboards for us. And she sings, too.”

“What’s your band called?” Morgan asked.

“We’re the Daughters of Danaan,” Molly answered. “But you wouldn’t have heard of us quite yet. Our first concert is booked for Friday evening next week. But that was before Kelly’s accident. But now we’re a little worried if we can make it work without Kelly.”

At that moment, a nurse appeared at the entrance to Kelly’s room. “Excuse me, everyone, but we have too many people in here right now. Could a few of you step out into the waiting area, please?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sean and the four Irish-looking lasses all sat down in the waiting area.

“Tell me about your band,” Sean queried the girls.

“The Daughters of Danaan play and sing mostly Irish music and related folk traditions,” replied Morag,” especially with a woman’s theme.”

“So would that be along the lines of Celtic Woman or Cherish the Ladies?”

“Certainly they’ve inspired us in a big way,” Fiona confirmed. “But we also have an interest in a variety of folk traditions. Many American folk styles either descend from or incorporate elements of Irish and Celtic music.”

“That sounds like somethin’ Kelly would be doin’,” Sean admitted. “Does she sing or play ’n instrument for you?”

“Both,” Fiona replied. “All of us sing from time to time. Kelly plays flute and also piano or keyboards as needed.”

“Yeah. I was in the band with her ’n high school. She played flute ’n’ I played clarinet, although I’d have to say that she was the more passionate one about music. But then she’s always been more passionate about whatever she does than anyone else I know.”

“That’s why we love her so much in our band,” Morag confessed. “And her passion spread among us very quickly. She made it all come together when she joined us.”

“Yep. That’s our Kelly,” he said, grinning. “She does that to people all the time.”

“Do you share her passion for music?” Fiona asked him.

“Doesn’t ev’ry Irishman?” responded Sean rhetorically.

“Can I see your music player?” Morag asked him.

“Sure,” he said, pulling it out of his pocket. “Why?”

“I’m just interested in what you like,” Morag said, accepting the small device from him. Noting his play list, she asked, “You listen to Celtic Woman much? And Enya?”

“Yeah,” he admitted somewhat timidly. “But I lik’em. Especially in the mornin’ when I’m goin’ to work or to classes.”

“You have classical music on here, too, I see,” Morag continued.

“Do you like any other folk music?” Moira asked him.

“Yes, I do,” Sean said. “What’s on that little thing is hardly a full list of my favorite music. I keep a nice CD collection at home, too.”

Morag handed the music player back to Sean. “Thanks for letting us see it.”

“No problem,” he acknowledged, dismissing the issue. “Usually I would have had some other tracks on it at this time of day. But the ones there by Celtic Woman are favorites of Kelly’s, so I left them on if she wanted to hear them.”

“That’s sweet of you,” commented Molly. “Do you and she still play music together?”

“We haven’t had so much time together since we both started college,” explained Sean. “We prob’ly see each other more at work or at church now than at home or on campus.”

“Play anything other than clarinet?” Fiona followed up.

“I can play piano and keyboards some. Kelly and I had the same piano teacher,” he recalled.

“Have you ever tried the Irish flute?” Molly asked him.

“Uh—no,” he replied. “But Kelly says I play a mean tin whistle. Why?”

“Just wondering,” answered Molly.

Sean noticed a clock on the wall of the waiting area. It was almost five o’clock.

“It was nice to meet all of you,” he said, “but I gotta go ’cause I have a six o’clock class and it’s a long enough hike from here to campus.”

“We can give you a ride there in our van, if you’d like,” Moira offered. “It’s right along our way.”

Sean noticed that Fiona and the others were all smiling or nodding in agreement.

“Well, if it’s not too much trouble—”

“Not at all!” Fiona assured him. “You’re Kelly’s cousin, so you’re just like family to us!”

“All right, then,” Sean agreed. “I just need to let my family know before I leave. They do know that I have class tonight.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They all walked out to the hospital’s parking lot. About the middle of the lot was a green van-like suburban utility vehicle. It was a shade of forest green trimmed in gold with Celtic knotwork and keywork patterns. On the main side door was the motif of a large Irish harp with the name Daughters of Danaan emblazoned around it, surrounded by a wreath, as a seal.

Moira opened up the van and Molly opened up the side door. Morag climbed in first and Fiona motioned for me to follow next. Then Fiona stepped in after me and pulled the side door shut. Molly took the passenger’s side up front, and Moira, the driver’s seat. Then, with everyone seated, Moira started the engine while Molly called up music from the on-board stereo.

They heard the sounds of Celtic Woman’s version of Orinoco Flow and Hayley Westenra singing Scarborough Fair. Those were favorites of Sean’s, so he would be comfortable with the music as they drove.

Moira had turned their van onto the street and thewy were on their way to the campus, when Fiona raised the issue that she had been thinking about since meeting Sean.

“Sean, are you confident enough in your musical ability to audition with us?” Fiona asked him. “This would be only temporary until Kelly gets well.”

“I don’t really know,” he answered. “I haven’t performed in public since high school. I just play now for my own enjoyment.”

Morag spoke up next. “We’re just asking you to audition. But you do look so much like Kelly that we’re gonna hope you’ll work out.”

“Are you sure I’d be who you’d want? I’m a guy, after all,” Sean reminded them, chuckling. “I don’t think I’d be too credible as a ‘Daughter of Danaan.’ ”

“You’d be more credible than you might think,” Fiona remarked. “So, tell me, Sean—Have you ever dressed up like a girl?”

“What?”

The alarm began beeping loudly and Sean tried to swat it like some annoying insect. A swing and a miss… Strike one! His digital alarm clock glared “6:01” at him, while once again Mr. Sun smiled, ever mockingly, at him from the corner of the display.

He had forgotten to change the time of the alarm setting. Sean did not intend to rise quite so early, since he had traded shifts with Kat for the mornings. He didn’t need to go in until that afternoon. Kelly’s shift.

Sean fought with himself to stay in bed and get a little more sleep, but he knew it to be a losing battle. His body arose from his bed and began padding toward the shower, as if on autopilot, while his mind was just along for the trip, still half-asleep.

So, Sean commenced his traditional morning ritual of oral and somatic hygiene, applying his usual biochemical arsenal of dentifrice, mouthwash, soap, and shampoo. After drying himself off by towel and pulling on his underwear, he opened his large closet to choose his togs for the day. He would wear, of course, a pair of blue jeans once again, and maybe another flannel shirt. But it should be something different from yesterday, though.

Immediately he pulled on a pair of blue jeans, but these did not fit quite so well as yesterday’s. The waist was just a little snug and the legs seemed somewhat tighter. He began to worry that he may now be under attack from the Freshman Five!

Uncertain about his choice of shirt, Sean went back to the closet and peeked in it again. Then he thought that perhaps he might check the weather forecast for the day. He stepped out of the bedroom and turned on the television for the local morning news and weather broadcast.

He quickly lost patience with the incessant chatter among the news co-anchors, the meteorologist, and the sports anchorman. Teaser after teaser instead of getting to the news. Sean sighed, partly in frustration, partly in an attempt at self-control. He went to the kitchen cabinets to scrounge up his breakfast instead of let his anger build as the teaser for the weather report cut to yet another commercial break. He did not care that Flora’s Shoes & Handbags were having their 25%-off Annual Red Tag Sale—40%-off when featured shoes with matching handbag were purchased as a set. He did care, though, that Value-Shoppes were offering $1-off the breakfast cereal of his choice, since he was almost out of the shredded whole-wheat biscuits that he had preferred for breakfast recently. He did have enough for today and for one more breakfast, so he’d pick up some on his way in to the coffeeshop this afternoon.

“For today, we can expect lows around thirty degrees Fahrenheit—that’s minus one Celsius—and a high of forty-two Fahrenheit—and again, six degrees Celsius… calm winds out of the northwest under five knots… skies cloudy and overcast all day with a seventy percent chance of light precipitation, most drizzle mixed with snow flurries… So keep warm and dry everyone! Back to you Cindy…”

“So, Tom, did Punxsatawney Phil have it all wrong this year?” Cindy asked back to the weatherman.

“I really can’t say, Cindy,” Tom replied, surprised by the anchorwoman’s inquiry. “Tradition makes his forecast valid only for six weeks. That’s forty-two days, which would just be—until March sixteenth. I’m afraid that we’ve gone beyond that, so we can’t really blame Phil for it.”

“Maybe we can get him a way to look farther into the future,” Cindy tried to extend the banter. “Jared, do we have that filmclip of Punxsatawney Phil with the binoculars?”

At that, Sean slammed his hand down on the power switch, sighing more in relief than in exasperation as the screen blackened. He poured milk on his cereal and also a tall glass of grapefruit juice. He’d dispense with any coffee for now, since he could have a cup before he started his shift in the afternoon. He ate his breakfast fairly quickly and returned to his bedroom to finish dressing.

It would likely be a cold day, so he’d need something warm again. He thought maybe another turtleneck under his shirt. So he reached into the closet and took out a white turtleneck, but it did not look quite right to him. He had noticed its shape across the chest and its zipper in the back. It wasn’t his turtleneck, but Kelly’s. She had left it there, probably by mistake. Then he noticed the delicately embroidered monogram of their high school letters over the left breast. It was the body liner for her cheer uniform. He smiled as he unzipped her garment bag at the extreme left of the closet. Her cheer uniforms were inside, so he placed the body liner back on its hanger and put it into the garment bag and zipped it up again. He also wondered, why she had her high school cheer uniforms at his apartment? But he smiled to himself as he remembered the times when he had worn Kelly’s cheer uniforms.

During his junior and senior years of high school, he had worn her cheerleading uniforms for the Powder Puff Football Tournaments. Those weren’t too bad since he wasn’t by any means the only guy doing it. And Mike had also done it along with him the first year. But still he had been a little embarassed to win the award for the “Prettiest Cheerleader” both years. Also, for Hallowe’en of his junior year, Mike, Kelly, Morgan, and himself had all dressed up as a squad of combined varsity and junior varsity cheerleaders. As weird and anxious as he had felt dressed up like a girl for those events, he still recalled them with the happy nostalgia appropriate to such occasions. Maybe it was how kind and sweet Kelly and Morgan had been to him while he was dressed up. He hadn’t felt quite so nervous with them next to him. They had wanted him to feel like “one of the girls” and for just a while, it had seemed to work.

Kelly had likely worn his white turtleneck by mistake and not yet returned it. In fact, she might not even know that she had it! But he could still wear his black one. (He had worn his blue one the previous day.) This would look fine under an Oxford cloth button-down shirt, which he could then remove if it got too warm behind the counter at work. So, Sean donned his black turtleneck and button-down shirt, then pulled his socks on. He really needed to remember to put his socks on first. This pair of jeans now fit him more tightly in the legs than he thought when he had bought them. That taken care of, he put on his shoes and laced them up securely for both safety and comfort.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At 7:00 a.m., Sean was ready for his day, although he had not decided what to do next. He tried to study, but after ten minutes, or so, he found that he had been entirely unable to stay focused. He had thought to read more in his mythology texts, but as interesting as they were, his worries for Kelly had overwhelmed him.

In truth, he didn’t really feel like doing anything, given that he had heard no more news of his dear cousin. So he would go to St. Bonnie’s and sit with Kelly as long as he could. He’d then go and cover her afternoon shift at Café Tír na n-Óg.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Remarkably, once he was seated in Kelly’s room, Sean was more able to concentrate. He took out his books to read a few of the stories to his cousin at her bedside. He’d heard that even in a coma, patients would listen and process whatever they heard. So Sean felt that at least he might offer her some entertainment.

He had wondered what went on in her mind while she lay there unconscious. Thoughts? Memories? Dreams? Wishes? Perhaps she would visualize the scenes from Norse legends as he read them to her. Perhaps she might hear the Valkyries singing the songs of bravery by the heroes of Valhalla? He took her hand in his as he prayed for her to awaken.

Time passed quickly for Sean once he began reading to his cousin. Indeed, he completely finished one of the shorter books since he had read to her for some three hours. Fortunately, he had set an alarm in his cellphone so that he would be in time to cover the shift at the coffee shop. Yet he felt sad that he had to leave her again, still comatose.

Then as Sean replaced his books in his backpack, he glanced at Kelly inadvertently, then looked a second time at her.

He could have sworn that he saw her smiling for just a moment.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sean ought to have calculated the time to get from St. Bonnie’s to Café Tír na n-Óg a little more carefully, since he had to pedal hard to make it on time. He was quite winded by the time he arrived at the coffee shop and had already gone inside to punch his timecard before he remembered to secure his bicycle behind the building. But since the lunchtime crowd had dissipated, Sandra allowed him to step out to take care of it after he had clocked in.

Back inside, Sean immediately went to the clothes rack to put on his full-length apron and cap. Their aprons bore their names embroidered over the left breast pocket, which was emblazoned with the coffee shop’s logo. The logo also appeared on the front of the cap. But his were not on their usual coathooks.

“Sandra, can’t find me gear. Isn’t on the rack,” Sean worried openly.

“Oh! Kat still must have it,” the shift supervisor guessed. “She hadn’t planned to work today, so I had sent hers out for cleaning. When she came in today, I told her to wear yours. You can wear your cousin’s. You two are the same size aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but I don’t make a practice o’ wearin’ her things, though.”

“Well, you could’ve fooled me!” Sandra retorted with a giggle.

“Huh?”

“You’re already wearing her clothes.”

“What?” Sean queried with a puzzled look on his face.

“The jeans—you’re wearing her blue jeans,” she answered with a wide grin.

“But I thought these were mine!” protested Sean. “How can you tell?”

“They feel a little tight on you, don’t they?” Sandra asked in turn.

“Yeah, but I thought they’d jus’ shrunk washin’.”

“No, they’re actually cut for a girls figure,” explained his shift supervisor. “And I’ll bet that even though they’re tight in the waist, they feel looser at the hips, but then tighter again in the crotch, right?”

Sean paused for a moment as he realized that he could feel exactly what Sandra had described.

“Yeah, they do,” he confirmed her inquiry.

“And here’s another detail that you’ll have noticed,” his boss continued. “Your fingers fumbled the button on the waistband this morning. That’s because the button is on the left. Girls’ clothes always have their buttons on the left side of an opening, while boys’ always have them on the right. So it felt strange when you were buttoning the jeans.”

His fingertips felt for the top button on the waistband of the jeans that he was wearing.

“The top-stitching also suggests feminine styling,” she added. “But the real clincher is that the label at the waistband above the right hip pocket is Princesse de Nîmes. That’s an obviously feminine trademark and Kelly’s favorite designer jeans. You should really pay more attention to what’s in your closet—speaking of which, how did you end up with her blue jeans, anyway?”

“Sh’keeps three ’r four sets o’ clothes at me place in case she needs t’ change quickly, since me apartment’s only a block away from ’ere and so much closer to campus than ’er home. Besides, the closet’s way larger ’an I really need. Her brother and me sister each keep spare clothin’ there, too.”

“So you mixed hers up with yours, then,” Sandra concluded. “And you weren’t curious enough to check out why they didn’t quite fit when you put them on?

“Guess not,” conceded Sean as he blushed. “Like I said, just thought they shrank in the wash.”

Sandra smiled, shaking her head as she turned toward the shop’s cramped, tiny office. Meanwhile Sean pulled Kelly’s apron on over his head. As he tied it in back, he tried carefully to position the tying to conceal the jeans’ designer label. Giving up after a third failed attempt to tie it so creatively behind him, he secured it in the usual way. Then he threaded his ponytail through the back of the baseball-style cap.

With that, Sean stepped into the main room and behind the counter, nervous that he was wearing his cousin’s hat, apron, and blue jeans.

Debbie was busy clearing the counter after the lunchtime rush, so Sean immediately began helping her with any related tasks as they arose.

“How’s Kelly?” Debbie inquired. “I’m meeting with Shelly after I get off. We’re gonna go see her then.”

“She’s still unconscious,” Sean informed her. “I sat with her all mornin’. There doesn’t seem to be any change. But I could’ve sworn I saw ’er smile just before I left.”

“I’m sorry about Kelly,” she offered Sean as sympathy for his cousin’s plight. “I know you two are close. It can’t be easy waiting for her to wake up.”

“No, Deb. It’s not. Not at all.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The little bell hanging at the top of the door jingled and Sean glanced up to see a guy maybe a little older than himself. For just a moment, Sean considered how they had all learned to glance at the door whenever they heard the tinkling sound of the bell on the door. He would move immediately into customer service without even thinking about it.

The young man approached the counter and addressed him and Debbie, “Good afternoon, Deb, Kelly. How are you guys today?”

“I’m fine, David,” Debbie answered him.

“Me, too. How ’bout yourself?” Sean replied.

The customer almost did a double take at Sean, but Debbie continued, “Can I get you something?”

“I’d like a caffè americano, short, and a currant scone, please.”

Debbie rang up his order while Sean began grinding freshly roasted coffee beans for the espresso machine.

“For here or to go?”

“I’ll have it here today,” David announced handing Debbie a five dollar bill as he turned to address her colleague. “Kelly, can you help me out again Saturday. I need to re-shoot a few of the scenes. The lighting didn’t work out quite like I thought.”

Sean grinned and shook his head.

“Uh—I’m not Kelly. I’m just coverin’ her shift.”

“But you look—“

“I’m Sean, her cousin.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! You look just like her.”

“Hey! It’s all right! People get us confused with each other all the time,” Sean explained. “We’re used to it. We’ve dealt with it since we were little. I’m workin’ her shift ’til she’s able t’ come back.”

“Where is she, then?”

Debbie spoke up. “I’m sorry, David! I thought you knew. Kelly was hurt in an accident yesterday. She’s in the hospital.”

“Sorry! I didn’t know,” gasped David. Is she okay, then?”

“Kelly’s in a coma,” Sean informed him while tamping the fresh grind into a filter. “I was over to see her this morning. No apparent change, really.” Sean inserted the loaded filter into its slot under the steam chamber and twisted the handle tight.

“That’s awful!” David commented. “How’d it happen?”

“She was bicyclin’ yesterday mornin’ down a one-way street,” recounted Sean. “A car turned to go the wrong way at an intersection and they collided head-on. She crashed into his windshield and rolled off it into the street. Her helmet came off in the crash an’ she got a concussion.”

“Was the concussion the only injury?”

“No. She also fractured an arm and two ribs. Bruises and lacerations, too?” Sean then concluded somewhat grimly, “Not pretty. Not at all.”

David looked down and shook his head.

“Cream, sugar, anything?” Sean asked.

“Not today,” answered David, his face showing obvious concern.

“Take a seat and I’ll bring your order out to you,” Sean told him.

“I usually sit over in the corner opposite the stage.”

Steam forced its way through the grounds in the filter, whistling in imitation of a Doppler effect. Sean gathered the dark elixir of impulsive action into a stoneware mug. Then he filled the mug up with steaming hot water and the americano was ready. Debbie put a currant scone on a small stoneware dessert plate and slid it down the counter to Sean, who put it on the tray with a napkin and took it over to David.

“Here’s your currant scone and short americano,” offered Sean, placing the tray on the table. “How d’you know Kelly? From here?”

“Shelly, who works weekends here, is my sister,” David explained, sipping his americano. “She introduced me to Kelly, and I asked her to model for a photo essay that I’m doing for my class project. We did the shoot a few days ago, but a few of the more important shots need to be retaken. She had promised to help me again on the weekend if I needed anything else. But it doesn’t sound like she’ll be up for modeling again anytime soon.”

“No. Guess not,” concurred Sean. “Even if she comes out of the coma today, her arms still in a cast. ’Less you can work around it, modelin’ for you’s not likely. She’ll hate that, too. Kelly takes any promise she makes seriously.”

“She certainly comes across that way,” David remarked as he bit into the scone.

“Nothin’ less than what’s already happened would stop ’er.”

“She was excited about it, too. And I had promised her a few photos to have for her portfolio.”

“Portfolio?” Sean queried. This was news to him.

“Yeah. She’s been assembling one to submit to a modeling agency,” David told him. “I’ve also promised to help her out with her own shoot. But now I gotta figure out how to fix my photo essay without her.”

“I didn’t know Kelly did any modelin’. She usually tells me things like that,” Sean remarked. “Had no idea.”

“That’s prob’ly ’cause she just started. Shelly introduced to her to most of us in class this semester and we all needed models for our project. I’m not the only one she’s done it for. She’s been very popular with our classmates.”

“Kelly gets along pretty well with most anyone,” Sean bragged about his cousin. “So I’m not surprised at that.”

“She’s a natural, really. To begin with she’s gorgeous and her flaming red hair stands out,” David continues. “But she has a lot more than that. Kelly’s photogenic in a big way. And real easy to work with. She knows how to follow a photographer’s directions and stays focused in a pose. Those qualities and skills are not so easy to find. And I think a talent scout from a local modeling agency has been talking to her, too.”

“All seems so sudden,” observed Sean. “Turns out she just started rehearsin’ in a band a few weeks ago. Never mentioned anything to me ’r the family ’bout it. Only found out yesterday when ’er band showed up at the hospital for a visit. She’s got a lot goin’ on.”

“Yeah! It sounds like she’s really busy.”

“She’s always been that way,” recalled Sean. “Likes to multi-task. Makes things happen whene’er she’s around.”

David studied Sean for a moment. “I can’t get over how much alike you and her look.”

“Ever since we were little tykes,” grinned Sean, chuckling quietly. “We’re almost like twins. And I guess it doesn’t help too much that Mom’s always had me wear me hair long.”

“In the photos I took of her, that red hair has such an intense shade, that when it frames her face, it forces your attention on it,” David described as he reached into his backpack and produced a binder with page after page of photographs. He opened it to a select page and turned it around for Sean to view. “Look at these photos. These are great shots to show what I’m talking about.”

Sean examined a number of photos. He was astounded at how Kelly appeared in several of them. “Wow! She’d always look like she was in charge whene’er we’d have family and group photos, but I’ve never seen her like this before,” he said, overwhelmed by her image. “No wonder the scouts are after her!”

“I’d like to think it’s my photography that’s doing it, but even the students who aren’t that good get pics like these when Kelly models,” said David. “I can’t really take too much credit for it.”

“How can you know what’s your contribution and what’s hers?” Sean wondered.

“Good question,” David observed. “And it’s not an easy one to answer.” He turned to another vinyl-covered page of photos. “These are the ones that need to be retaken. Natural lighting is difficult to work with because you have no control over it. You can try the camera at various angles and compose the picture differently, but that doesn’t always get what you want. And as a rule, you need to work quickly because natural light is always changing. Even if there are no clouds, the sun is in constant motion.”

“But Kelly is still giving you her best look in all these pictures.”

“Yes, she is,” acknowedged David. “And that helps so much. Because she’s so consistent, it was easy to conclude that I had not composed the shot so it made the best use of the natural light. When the model is expert, is easier for a photographer to recognize his or her own mistakes. It’s hard to explain, but easy to see.

“You’ll notice that the two male models in the same series of photos don’t show nearly the same presence or focus that she exhibits. That definitely shows how a good model makes a difference. The taller guy is more experienced, has good recommendations, and is highly qualified. But the other one is really new, and even though he has as great a physique as the other guy, he’s untrained and lacks experience. But they both pale next to Kelly. Even though she’s untrained and has almost no experience, she’s just that good naturally.”

Sean studied the photos of his cousin carefully. “She’s wearin’ her varsity cheer uniform in these. Kelly was at her best as a cheerleader. I think it honed her finest character as a person and as a woman.”

“Maybe that’s why she enjoyed the shoot so much,” concluded David. “She puts on a whole personality when she puts on the uniform.”

“Yep, that’s me cousin Kelly!” Sean smiled again. “You should go visit her. She’s in the I-C-U at St. Bonnie’s. Anyway, nice talkin’ with ya, but I gotta get back to the grind. After all, I’m coverin’ this shift for Kelly and if I don’t do it as well as her, she’ll kick me butt ov’r it when she does wake up.”

David returned the smile to Sean and took another sip of his americano. Sean returned to his position behind the espresso bar with Debbie.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Café Tír na n-Óg was not so busy as usual that day, so Sandra offered to allow Sean to leave his shift early and go home to change out of Kelly’s jeans before his evening class. Street traffic notwithstanding, it took more time to unlock his bicycle and then to resecure it at his apartment than to ride it from his workplace to his home.

He was very fortunate to work at a coffee shop no more than a city block from his apartment. Kelly had worked there first and recommended that Sean apply for an opening. Again, he thought about how many times his cousin had helped him and his sister Morgan out.

Just as soon as Sean arrived back at his apartment, he changed out of his cousin’s blue jeans. He was very careful to observe the feminine details which Sandra had noticed. He chuckled at himself as he thought back to his verbal exchange with Sandra at the coffee shop. He had been so careful to observe which turtlenecks belonged to his cousin, so how had he missed that these were Kelly’s jeans that morning? From the front, they looked like any other jeans, just like his. But from the sides and rear, Sandra was right. The top-stitching was definitely feminine. And inside, the lining was a pretty teal color.

Next, Sean made certain that he was donning a pair of his own blue jeans. He definitely felt more comfortable in his own. Most importantly, his crotch no longer felt so tightly squeezed. Not until he was back in his own did he appreciate just how tight his cousin’s jeans had been on him.

So as not to repeat such a mistake, Sean took some time to move all of Kelly’s and Morgan’s clothes to one end of the walk-in closet. Carefully, he checked each pair of jeans for details of gender. Also, he noted the positions of buttons on his and Mike’s shirts and compares them to the girls’ blouses. He had never noticed that buttons were on opposite sides before. So Sandra was right about that, too. That was curious to him. It made sense that men’s and women’s clothing were cut differently because hips and breasts gave differently shaped bodies, but why would buttons be on opposite sides? He had heard that women were more likely to be left-handed, but he did not even think that were true. He would have to research that.

Sean looked at the clock next to his bed and decided he needed to get to campus soon. His course in computer programming (C++) was that evening and he looked forward to it. There was a lecture, but the course was mostly lab and he had already made good progress on his project design. He liked learning that way, since the tools in the programming environment helped him evaluate his work almost immediately.

All that Sean still needed was to put his programming text into his backpack along with a couple bars of soft granola and a can of an energy drink. He thought then to update his memory wand with his most current drafts of homework and powered down his desktop. With that Sean began his short trek to the campus.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Usually he would have been eagerly working on his lab assignment, fully absorbed in the details of the C++ programing language, but once again, Sean’s thoughts were distracted by his cousin’s condition. Jack, his lab partner, observed his lack of focus.

“Hey Sean, what’s wrong?” Jack asked his friend. “You’re just not yourself tonight.”

“Sorry, Jack,” apologized Sean. “My cousin Kelly’s in the hospital. I’m really worried about her.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She was in an accident yesterday morning. She was ridin’ her bicycle to work and a car turned the wrong way into her lane and they crashed. She flew into the car’s windshield and got a concussion. Now she’s in a coma.”

“I’m wond’ring if that’s the accident I saw on the local news yesterday?”

“At least one of the local stations had posted a video report on their website.”

“Are you and her close? Jack asked.

“Very!” Sean replied. “She’s more sister to me than cousin. In fact, most folks think we’re twins.”

“Twins?”

“Yeah! Me and her look so much a like. At work today I was coverin’ her shift an’ a guy she knows mistook me for her. We’re used to it, though. Happens all the time.”

“Well, I hope she’ll be okay,” Jack offered. “And that goes for you, too!”

“Thanks, Jack. I’m gonna talk to the prof and ask ’im if I can leave at break.”

Jack just looked at his lab partner for a moment, almost staring, until Sean broke the awkward silence.

“What?” Sean asked.

“Huh? Oh!” Jack seemed to have his mind elsewhere, too. “Believe it or not, I was trying to picture you as a girl. Wouldn’t Kelly look like you dressed as a girl?”

“Not really,” Sean denied with a grin. “We might look alike, but she’s the prettier one.” He reached into his windbreaker’s pocket for his wallet. “Take a look at this group photo. That’s me next t’er in the middle, ’er brother Mike an’ me sister Morgan. We’re all more like siblings than cousins.”

“So you’re the redhead in the skirt?” Jack teased Sean, who responded by lightly slapping the back of his head. The two lab partners just laughed.

And somehow, for the first time in two days, Sean felt just a little relaxed, as if maybe Kelly would be all right after all.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sean had printed off what he hoped to be the final draft of his assignment for his course in Nordic mythology, a prospectus for his term paper. It began with an abstract of the proposed thesis and a formal outline of the paper. He was wanted to compare the Trickster in Nordic and Celtic mythoi, but the professor was requiring all the students to meet with her to discuss their specific proposed theses before beginning their research.

After getting home early from class, he had tried to be more relaxed, but Sean was too worried about Kelly. But he had discovered that only mythology allowed him to think about anything else. Perhaps that indeed was the nature of myth, simply to allow one to make sense of what otherwise seems senseless.

Taking blue pencil in hand, Sean had returned to his desk to begin editing his draft when his cellphone rang out the opening bars of The March of Brian Boru.

“Hello!”

“Is this Sean?”

“Yeah! Who’s this?”

“I’m David, Shelly’s brother. Remember? From the coffee shop?”

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t recognize your voice. But how’d you get my number?”

“From Shelly, who got it from Sandra. Am I bothering you right now?”

“Not really. I’ve been writin’ up an assignment for a class and was goin’ t’ edit another draft. But it’s not due yet and I’ve been workin’ on it ever since I got home. To be honest, I welcome the interruption.”

“I’ve been thinking about what to do since Kelly’s not available to model again for my photo essay any time soon,” explained David. “I’ve got a really big favor to ask you, and it might sound just a little crazy, but please hear me out before you say anything.”

“What kind of favor do you have in mind?”

“Well, Sean, have you ever dressed up like a girl?”

“What?”

Sean considers another request to stand in for Kelly, his injured cousin. Also, Sean is asked to reconsider his own abandoned career in music.

“David, stop right there,” Sean cautioned him.” I know where you’re goin’ with this, and no, I’m not gonna sub for Kelly modelin’. I’m takin’ her shift at the coffee shop and that’s it. Her band wants me to sub for ’er, too. But I’m not dressin’ like a girl just ’coz Kelly ’n’ me look alike.”

“But I just need a few more shots. Just retakes of three or four that didn’t quite work…”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no!” reiterated Sean. “Are you willing to go in drag to help someone’s class project? When you’ve done it, then you can ask me again. I don’t really even know you.”

Fortunately for David, Sean couldn’t read his facial expression over the telephone. He knew he was wrong asking such an absurd favor from a new acquaintance. David now appreciated why someone might not want visual communication on a telephone call. He remember from a recent course lecture that the “picturephone” had failed way back in the 1960s for just such a reason.

“Sean, I’m sorry,” admitted David. “I was way outta line to ask you. I guess I’m just desperate about my photo essay. I’m so close to having it finished. All I need is to fix those closing scenes and I’m done.”

“Look, I’m sorry for you, but I don’t think you even know what you’re asking. Just because me ’n’ Kelly look like twins doesn’t mean we can easily substitute for each other. You remember how you said Kelly was a natural model?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s Kelly. Everyone’s always told her she should be a model,” Sean explained. “Me? I regard sitting for a portrait with the same fear that others have for a tax audit!”

“You couldn’t be that camera shy,” objected David, chuckling at such an absurd metaphor.

“So you’d stake your grade on it?” Sean asked rhetorically. “I’d think not!

“Now, the band she plays in wants me to sub for her—as a girl! Well, I have a very basic competence at the piano and clarinet. I can handle keyboard harmony for them, but I couldn’t take her place on those any more than she could match me on violin, which was my main instrument. She’s got an angel’s singin’ voice, but I’m a tenor. And I can sing really good, but my voice, my style are not at all like hers.

“And I’m a guy. That’s my perspective on things. Yeah, we may look alike but we’re diff’rent persons. We have our own ways o’ thinkin’. Even if I were a girl, we’d still be diff’rent in our thinkin’ an’ feelin’ an’ we’d have diff’rent attitudes t’ward things.”

“Geeze! I never thought about that,” admitted David. “It’s just that I can’t ignore how much alike the two of you are. You do look more like siblings than cousins, twins even.”

“Like I said before, we’re used to it.”

“So you never, like, took advantage of it to play pranks or get away with anything?”

“No, not really,” Sean dismissed the question. “Kelly’s always been too honest for anything like that. She’s never asked me, like, to dress up to get out of anything or to deceive anyone. There’ve been two or three times that I’ve let someone think they saw me when ’twas really her. But she doesn’t even know it. B’sides, I wouldn’t ask her to do somethin’ like that any more than she’d ask it o’ me.”

“So you’ve never played dress up with your cousin?”

“Well, not with just her,” Sean continued. “In high school we had a Powder Puff Football League tournament our junior ’n’ senior years and I was required to be one of the cheerleaders. Kelly and my sister Morgan were both varsity cheerleaders. So they helped me ’n’ her brother Mike dress up in their junior varsity cheer uniforms. I got stuck with it two years. Then my sister thought it would be fun for Hallowe’en if we all went as a cheer squad. So we did it that time, too.”

“Ever do it again?”

“Gosh no! We got our share of teasin’ but then all the guys at school had to dress up as cheerleaders, majorettes, pompom girls, or whatever,” recounted Sean, still deeply worried that he had won the award for Prettiest Cheerleader both years. “I mean, it was fun enough at the time, but I wouldn’t care to do it again.”

“Sorry,” David apologized, “I just wanted to finish my photo essay without reshooting the whole final sequence.”

“And I understand that. But I’m not someone who can help you out with it. Again, just ’coz I might look like Kelly doesn’t mean I can take ’er place. And I am sorry you’re in this position. I wish for all our sakes Kelly hadn’t been in that accident. Most of all for hers.”

Sean heard silence over the phone.

“Y’know, Sean, I gotta say I miss her. Kelly’s really our favorite model in class.”

“I kinda got that when we talked back in Tí­r na n-Óg today.”

“I don’t know how the rest of the class will take the news. After all, I’m not the only one she modeled for. And it’s not all about modeling with her. She’s become very much a friend to Shelley as well as a few other classmates in the class. I think she loves us as much as we love her.”

Sean smiled. “That’s our Kelly, for sure,” he said to David.” He wondered if his cousin knew just how many people out there were praying for her.

“I’ll be going, Sean,” David announced. “I guess I’ll have to try something else for my photo essay.”

“Hey, if it’s anything like making music, just be yourself,” Sean suggested. “Let your creativity come through. It will all come together if you let it.”

“Thanks, Sean! Have a good night!”

“Goodnight to you, too, David!”

Sean ended the call and put down his mobile phone and tried to edit the proposal for his mythology paper. But he was no longer in the mood to work on it.

He went to his closet and picked up a guitar case from the corner. He laid it across his bed and opened it. Morgan had left her back-up acoustic guitar for her brother to try out. He sat for a while trying to strum a few chords, but he couldn’t coax any music from it. Nor did it feel right to him. He looked at his fingertips. The callouses had softened and vanished.

He had thought about taking guitar lessons from the Music Department on campus, but he didn’t want to answer the questions that they were sure to ask. Maybe he could find a serious teacher off campus? He would have to ask Morgan, would Maestro Álvarez take him on as a new student?

Frustrated, Sean returned the guitar to its case, latched it and put it away.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Once again, on a mystic stage, positioned somewhere between mind and memory and dream, the Sleeper’s images began emerging once more.

She wore a leotard and matching long tutu of royal blue with white tights and ballet shoes of silver lamé. Over this she also wore a garment draped front and back over her shoulders, somewhat like a doublet, but of a diaphanous gossamer-like fabric in a pastel blue, belted at the waist by a silver chain. A pretty silver tiara sparkled atop her long auburn curls, cascading down her back and right shoulder. The beautiful dark-red finish of a violin shimmered in the light on her other shoulder.

She stood in the center of the stage, surrounded by a chorus of dancers, both older and younger than herself. They danced around her, twirling pirouettes and bounding jétés. But she danced not on foot or tiptoe, but by her fingertips up and down the fingerboard, while her bow danced across the strings.

So the dancer’s chorus spun as the sounds of Bach’s Præludium from the Partita in E Major filled the air about them all.

Applause filled the air as the dancers in the chorus all curtsied, as the violinist held out her bow to direct the audience’s attention.

But the images faded from the Sleeper’s mind along with the applause…

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The next morning, Sean actually slept in. He had remembered to turn off the alarm clock and, since he was really tired, slept past eight o’clock. He would have slept even longer, but the telephone rang and woke him up. This was not his cellphone, but his landline.

His hand reached out for the telephone and somehow managed to get the handset to his ear without dropping it or knocking anything else over.

“Hello, this is Sean,” he answered in a quasi-waking state.

“Sean? Sean O’ Donnelly?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Who ’re you?”

“I’m Bettina McNamara in the Admissions Office at the Juilliard School. Our violin faculty have asked me to arrange an audition and interview for you. I’d like to ask, when would you be able to come to New York for an audition and interview?”

“Me answer’s jus’ the same ’s I told y’r office before,” Sean replied. “Never!” He slammed the receiver down on its cradle, and then rolled over to snooze, muttering quietly to himself, “No, Juilliard! Not ever!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Bettina was surprised that anyone would turn down an invitation for an audition and interview at the Juilliard School. She felt quite upset over how curtly (and even rudely) Mr. Sean O’Donnelly had rejected the school’s invitation. Anyway, she had extended the offer and O’Donnelly had rejected it. All that she could do was to continue with her other calls and to tell her boss about this one. He would let the violin faculty know that Mr. O’Donnelly had turned down their invitation. Again.

What Ms. MacNamara did not know, was that similar exchanges had taken place between Sean O’Donnelly and the admissions officers of the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, the New England Conservatory of Music in Boston, and the Peabody Institute of Music in Baltimore. All were disappointed and more than just a little upset at his quick dismissal of the opportunities they each had offered him.

The problem that Sean had with all those schools, was that they were in New York or Rochester or Boston or Baltimore. He didn’t want to go to any of those cities.

And so Sean had his heart set on the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love.

His Philadelphia.

His home.

Sean had applied only to the Curtis Institute of Music, where he could continue to study violin beyond his current level and yet remain at home among family and friends. But Curtis had the highest ratio of applicants to admittees of any institution of higher education of any kind in the United States. By that measure, Curtis was the nation’s most difficult school in which to enroll. This school would only admit students whom they could offer scholarships.

Sean had played an audition at Curtis that impressed the jury as nearly miraculous. But the performance of yet another young violinist had surpassed even his own. Indeed Sean had admired her audition himself. Still, although he had placed ahead of three other candidates, each only slightly less deserving than himself, there was only one seat, and one scholarship, available at Curtis for which they all had auditioned.

He did not win it.

Sean had been inconsolable ever since he received the letter of rejection from Curtis. Yet it had invited and even encouraged him to reapply for the following year’s class. They simply did not have another seat available for violin that year. The violin faculty at Curtis were ready to move heaven and earth to reserve him a seat in the next class. But that had not helped.

Sean’s spirit had been crushed.

Despondent, Sean had not touched his violin.

Not since he had read that letter.

Not since a year ago.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Sleeper’s mind reprised the earlier setting from the shadows of thought.

The violinist remained on stage as the chorus danced their way off. Then a second girl, looking to be a twin of the violinist appeared next to her. She wore a costume of the same style, but her color scheme of pastel and forest green and gold corresponded to her apparent twin’s pastel and royal blue and silver, including ballet shoes of gold lamé, a gold chain belt, and a gold tiara atop her flaming auburn hair, which had been gathered into a ponytail high on her crown.

The audience hushed as the ballerina began dancing to the Gavotte en Rondeau from the Partita in E Major played by the violinist on stage with her. She danced the opening theme and refrain alone, but for the second theme, another dancer, a boy, leapt en scène from a wing of the stage. He was taller than the auburn-haired twins, with somewhat long, straight black hair. He wore a two-toned jacket of dark blue and green, with a baldric in gold lamé over the left shoulder, across the chest and back, fastened just below the right hip, with black tights and ballet shoes of gold lamé as well. He joined the green-clad dancer in her dance.

The girl and boy danced the gavotte both singly and together, finishing with the danseur kneeling behind the ballerina and the violinist standing next to them both.

But as the audience clapped their approval, the Sleeper could no longer maintain the scene, now merging once more into the broader collection of memories, thoughts, and dreams from which it emerged.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sean awoke to a second call about half an hour later, on his cellphone this time.

“G’mornin’. Sean here…”

“Good morning, Sean,” a young woman’s voice greeted him. He recognized but could not identify it. “How are you today?”

“I’m jus’ gettin’ up,” he grumbled. “Who ’re you ’n’ why ’re ya callin’ me now?”

“Well, why don’t-cha put on a pretty dress so we can take you to visit your cousin?”

Fiona!

Sean was already displeased. “Sing another tune already,” he complained. “Or d’ya know any others?”

He savored his curt putdown of the bandleader only briefly as he did not actually expect her riposte

She sang another tune:

“Boys in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Whose noses I powder and curl their eyelashes,
And then earlobes pierce to wear sapphire earrings:
These are a few of my favorite things!”

Not to be outdone, Sean was no less adept than Fiona at lyrical parody:

“When the bitch bites, when the diva sings,
Before you drive me mad,
Let winds carry you off beneath your bat-wings,
And then I won’t feel so bad!”

Then Sean simply pressed the little red button on his smartphone, imagining apologies to Rodgers and Hammerstein. But with Fiona, he did not wish to deal now. The girl, at least in his mind, was certifiable! Sean could visit Kelly, without the Daughters of Danaan to drive him.

In and out of the shower took him only a few minutes. Then donning his underwear, Sean carefully checked the blue jeans, making certain that they were his own.

He picked up his mobile telephone and dialed a phone number.

“Hello?” the familiar voice answered.

“That you, Uncle Jerry?”

“Why, it surely is, Little Seanie!” Uncle Jerry answered.

“On duty yet?”

“Oh no! Not f’r another hour. Ya need somethin’?”

“Can ya drop me off t’ see Kelly?”

“Surely, me laddie. Not a problem,” assured the cabbie. I’ll be there ’n about, say, eight minutes.”

“That’s great!—Oh! You got a bike rack on the cab? I’ll need to go to work directly from Sain’ Bonnie’s.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Fiona!” Shouted Mórag. “Are you insane?”

“Why?” protested the bandleader. “We were just joking around.”

“Then why did he hang up on you?”

“He couldn’t take a little teasing.”

“Teasing? You call it teasing? You meant it as more than just teasing.”

’What’s it matter, anyway?”

“In the first place, Fiona, we need him. We need him to fill in for Kelly until she wakes up and—well—if Sean’s who I think he is—I expect we may want him with us longer-term as well.”

“What?”

Mórag crossed her arms and, leaning her back against the wall, sighed and rolled her eyes.

“I hadn’t said anything about it yet, but I thought I recognized Sean at the hospital. Still, I couldn’t place him until I got a call yesterday from Tatiana, my friend at Curtis.”

“The music school?”

“Uh-huh! I think Sean was another candidate for the violin scholarship she won there. I was there at the auditions. Do you remember Tatiana? She sometimes goes by ’Tanya’ if that helps? Blonde Russian girl?”

“Yes, I remember Tanya.”

“To make a long story short, Tatiana just barely won out over Sean for the remaining seat in this year’s class. Two of the three candidates he placed ahead of now have full scholarships to Juilliard in New York and the third got one at the New England Conservatory of Music.

“Anyway, you said we needed a fiddler for our band. Well, Sean may be the best available to us. I’ve heard him play and I don’t think you’ll find anyone better who’d even consider working with us.”

“How about Tatiana?” Fiona wondered out loud. “Could you maybe ask her?”

“I could, but she’s all classical in her training and style. She may not even be interested in folk music,” related Mórag. “And I doubt she’d have the time, given her schedule at Curtis. It’s real demanding over there. Besides, she’s not even Irish!”

“But we can’t use Sean unless he wears an ‘appropriate’ costume.”

“Fiona, give it a rest!” Mórag warned her friend sternly. “You’re the only one who insists on dressing him up. The rest of us don’t mind a guy on stage with us at all.”

“But our vision was for an all-girl band,” Fiona reminded her.

“Yes. Yes it was. But maybe that’s not so important as making the best music we can. There’s quite a few guys out there who are fans of Cherish the Ladies and Celtic Woman. They’ll like our music and our message, too.

“And y’know, if an all-girl band is what we really want, dressing a guy like a girl doesn’t change the fact that we wouldn’t all be girls. It would be a lie. That would be worse for us, I would think, than having a guy openly on stage with us.”

“Are there even any women fiddlers around we could ask?” Fiona inquired. “And Sean still hasn’t auditioned for us yet.”

Mórag tried to think of anyone she knew who played fiddle in the Irish style, but they, too, were all men. She stepped away from the wall and sat down into an armchair.

“Off hand, I can’t think of any,” answered Mórag. “But I do know couple of girls who play violin who are versatile enough to learn our style. It would take some time and work, though.”

“But what do we do for now?” Fiona mused. “We don’t have very long before our first opening.”

Mórag wondered why she had even involved herself in this band. Fiona was their leader, who ought to be answering these questions and making the decisions. No, Fiona was their bandleader on the basis of her charisma alone. In Mórag’s view, Fiona had not been showing much in the way of actual leadership.

“We need to hear Sean’s audition tomorrow morning. No later,” suggested Mórag. “If we can use his talents, then he can begin rehearsing with us Friday night. Else, we can hear other auditions then.”

“But if Sean’s mad at us—”

“No, Fiona, he’s mad at you! Don’t you call him again. I’ll talk to him. You’ve already spooked him, but I think I can calm him down enough to get him here tomorrow. Just don’t upset him again.”

“Then what should I do until then?” Fiona asked.

Mórag began feeling her own impatience rising once more.

“Dammit, Fiona! You’re our leader. So lead!” Look for what we need to do and get Molly and Móira to help you do it, if necessary. Try to line up another gig by Friday night. We may need to cancel our opening next week if we can’t get things worked out with Sean.”

With that, Mórag decided that she had had enough and slammed the door on her way out.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Did y’ eat breakfas’ at all, laddie?” Uncle Jerry asked his erstwhile angel.

Sean had noted the box of donuts on the front seat and a second cup of coffee in one of the cab’s cupholders. The extra cup of coffee mad him smile. Jerry had really looked out for him since he’d come back from Iraq. He’d stepped in to watch out for Sean, Morgan, and their mother while their father and her husband were still over there.

Jerry stopped for a red light and hand the gratuitous coffee to to Sean, then opened the lid of the donut box for him to choose.

“Thanks, Uncle Jerry,” said Sean. “Could I have one of the chocolate?”

“Surely, me laddie!” Jerry beamed as he used a napkin to pick a chocolate donut out for his passenger.

“Thanks again, Uncle Jerry. I really appreciate it. I didn’t have time f’r breakfas’ at ’ome,” Sean side, biting into the donut. “An’ thanks f’r takin’ me t’ Sain’ Bonnie’s. I wanna spend the rest o’ me mornin’ wi’ Kelly.”

“I un’erstan’, Seanie,” the cabbie assured him. “All you Li’l Angels ’re precious to me, ’coz your all precious t’ Jesus an’ t’ Mother Mary, too! How I’ve watched all o’ you grow up!”

Jerry suddenly yawned a seriously powerful yawn.

“You okay, Uncle Jerry? I’ve never known you still to be sleepy at this hour. You slept all right, didn’t you?”

“Well to tell the truth, laddie, I be havin’ dreams about all ye kids since Kelly’s li’l bang-up Monday mornin’. I woke up too early, methinks.”

“I understand. I be havin’ weird dreams, too, though I can’t recall ’em now. Dunno why, though. But I think Kelly be in ’em.”

“So we both be dreamin’ o’ Kelly, then?”

“Aye, Jerry, we both be dreamin’ of her! Sean mused over it a moment. “I think you’re right. It be ’er accident that got us all worried!”

The green and yellow vehicle approached St. Bonaventure’s Hospital and Jerry O’Shaughnessy maneuvered it into the parking area reserved for taxis behind their waiting lane. Sean quickly finished his doughnut off and deftly removed his bicycle from the rack on Uncle Jerry’s cab. He then secured it in a large rack on the ground near the main entrance to St. Bonnie’s. Sean had noticed in the past that the bicycle racks around the hospital campus were almost all fully occupied whenever he came to visit. The staff as well as visitors must really like to ride bicycles.

Jerry and Sean walked through the main entrance and directly to the visitor’s desk.

“G’mornin’, Roni!” Sean greeted the young woman at the Visitors’ Desk.

“Hi, Sean! Mr. O’Shaughnessy!” she greeted them in return. “You’re here to see Kelly again?”

“Aye, me lassie, we are?” affirmed Jerry. “ ’Tis all right, be it not?”

Veronica could only smile when she heard the quaint diction and mellow timbre of Jerry’s Irish-American brogue. She thought it could be an affectation. But if it were, she wouldn’t call him out. It sounded too sweet and charming. Rhinestones might be fake diamonds, but they could sparkle just as pretty!

Still, Roni checked her screen and noticed there had been some activity in her room earlier, but Kelly was cleared to receive visitors now.

“It looks like something of note may ’ve happened earlier this morning in Kelly’s room, but she’s approved again for visitors,” Roni confirmed. “You can go on up to I-C-U to visit. You’ll need these badges.”

She gave Sean and Jerry each a Vistor’s badge and a lanyard.

“Thanks, Roni!” Sean beamed. He was beginning to like the receptionist there. Maybe—just maybe—he might get up the courage to ask her to dinner and a movie after all this was over.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When Sean and Jerry arrived in Kelly’s room, they found a man in a white coat holding a clipboard, making notations on a document as he studied various data on monitors attached to medical devices.

“Oh? Hello there!” he greeted them. “I’m Doctor Tim Belknap. I’m a neurologist specializing in sleep and dream research.”

“Good mornin’, Doctor. I’m Sean O’Donnelly, Kelly’s cousin. This is Jerry O’Shaughnessy, a longtime friend of the family.”

The men each acknowledged one another, quickly by warm firm handshakes.

“We heard that there was something happening in here earlier this morning. Is that why you’re here?”

“Absolutely, Mr. O’Donnelly,” the neurologist answered, somewhat excitedly. “Miss FitzPatrick has shown rather remarkable brainwave activity twice this morning, both sets of patterns having similar global characteristics to another set from yesterday. I’m surprised to see this specific kind of activity in the brainwaves of a comatose patient.”

Dr. Belknap folded two or three pages of his clipboard over to show Sean and Jerry printouts of parallel graphs of what appeared to be a set of periodic functions ranging from smooth to jagged in appearance. He pointed out graphs whose waveforms looked significantly different from and more complex than neighboring ones.

“Here, here, and flipping to another page, here are times of surprisingly heavy activity, especially rapid eye movement. The intensity noted here I’ve never seen before in any patient while this combination of intensities here is rarely seen in comatose patients. I don’t know what to make of it really.”

“What’s your intuition suggest?” Sean pressed him for an answer. “What’s your gut feeling?”

“Based on these and other data and my own interpretation of current theory, I’d have to say—well—her dreams are so vivid and intense that she’s—how do I say this?—perceives her dreams as the ‘real’ world.”

“I’d like to sit and read to her, if that’s all right?” requested Sean.

“Sure! That would be interesting,” Dr. Belknap answered him, perhaps too eagerly. “We could see directly if she’s being stimulated—I need to check on another patient,” he said looking at his beeper beeping. “I’ll be back later.”

Jerry wasn’t sure he’d actually seen the neurologist leave the room while Sean didn’t observe Dr. Belknap’s exit at all. The physician was indeed a man on a mission.

“I’m gonna pray wi’ Kelly here, Seanie,” said Jerry quietly, pulling a rosary from his pocket and taking a seat next to her. Taking her hand in his, holding his rosary in the other, Uncle Jerry began reciting the prayers, sotto voce.

Sean sat down across across from Uncle Jerry and held Kelly’s other hand for a few minutes, taking care not to disturb the variety of tubes and wires attached to his cousin. Then he pulled out his mythology text aand began to read aloud.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Once again, the Sleeper enters into REM-sleep and images loosely distributed throughout the mind coalesce into a coherent scene.

The auburn-haired violinist struck the opening chords of the Bourée as another dancer came on stage. She was quite petite, shorter than the violinist and the other dancer. She wore a pastel green leotard and a short tutu of forest green and royal blue panels arranged around her waist as the petals of a flower. She also wore white tights and silver lamé ballet shoes. A pair of gossamer butterfly wings were tied onto her back by silver lamé cords. She wore on top of her coal black hair her own silver tiara.

This dancer was incredibly light on her feet, seeming always on tip-toe, yet never quite touching the floor, leaping, twisting, turning, spinning, stretching, even floating above the stage. How she appeared to dance so impossibly none could guess. That she could dance so impossibly she did not know, because she simply felt, rather than saw, her own dance. To her, dancing the rôle of the Princess Butterfly was having fun.

The audience could not even see a hidden source of joy for the Princess Butterfly, even as he stood on stage next to her. For the violinist whose auburn curls cascaded around her violin and across her should and down her chest and back was a boy, her sweet brother, whom they had persuaded to assume the rôle of the Elysian Princess as only he could play with the brilliance desired. So needed as he was, he allowed himself to be garbed in the pretty costume of a princess and for the girls to make him over and shower him in a mist of perfume. He was fearful and afraid, abducted into a world not his own, surrounded with the music of girlish giggling and warmed by the hugs and embraces and nourished by the special kisses that girls reserve for only their sisters. Like the intricate harmonies of Bach’s Præludium in E Major, their attention both excited and relaxed him at once.

As the Elysian Princess strikes the final strains of the Bourée, the Princess Butterfly seems to float into a sleepy embrace across the lap of the Forest Princess, still sitting with her legs doubled beside her on stage.

A growing applause acknowledged the simple triumph of the children on stage. Then the curtain slowly fell just as for any who in triumph are weary and have earned their nights sleep.

The Sleeper’s mind was also as fatigued and likewise, lowered its own curtain over the fading images.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Morgan?” Monsieur LaMonte asked. « Vous êtes bien? Mademoiselle O’Donnelly? Mademoiselle, reveillez-vous! » He brought his hands together in a single loud, popping clap.

Startled by the noise, Morgan bolted upright and immediately was met with with the laughter and jeers of her classmates and they further embarassed her by just singing the second line of the famous song repeatedly:

« Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?
Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?
Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?… »

Monsieur LaMonte needed to get the class settled down again: « Soyez tranquilles! Nous en avons assez! Elle en a assez! J’en ai assez! Non? »

The class quieted down after their teacher turned an evil eye toward the usual two or three students in their self-appointed roles of anti-social leadership. He looked back at Morgan.

“Morgan, I don’t like this,” he said, lowering his voice for a moment of privacy. “Let’s talk outside, please. And bring your things with you.”

Monsieur LaMonte quickly turned and wrote the chapter and page numbers for a brief reading assignment. He turned to his students, « Classe, voici! Lisez! »

He glanced his icy evil eye toward the troublemakers one more time before escorting Morgan outside.

“Again, I don’t like this,” reiterated Mr. LaMonte in his most concerned tone. “I’ve never seen you like this before, Morgan. You’re falling asleep in class, trembling. Your hands we’re shaking so much you couldn’t write yesterday. You’ve been crying. You came to class with your eyes red and your makeup reapplied with a shaky hand. What’s wrong?”

“My cousin Kelly was in an accident Monday morning and she’s in a coma.”

“Geeze! That’s awful! I’m sorry!”

“You remember her, don’t you? She and my brother Sean were both in your class. They look like twins with auburn hair?”

“Oh yes, I remember them well,” the teacher recalled.

“Well, Kelly, Sean, and me, and her older brother Mike all grew up together, so we’re all more like siblings than cousins. We’re all really worried.”

“Are you, maybe, not sleeping enough since then?”

“I think I’m sleeping, but I’m waking up exhausted, like I’m not getting refreshed in my sleep. I’ve been having more dreams, maybe even nightmares? I don’t know, I can’t remember.”

“That’s all right, Morgan,” assured Mr. LaMonte. “I’ve heard enough to send you to the school nurse. I’ll excuse you from class today. Just go directly to Nurse Carlson’s office in the Infirmary and get her advice.”

“Thanks, Monsieur LaMonte,” she said and started toward the school’s infirmary.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sean awoke in a cold sweat, startled by Dr. Belknap’s hand gently tugging at his shoulder. His book was in his lap since he had apparently fallen sleep while reading to Kelly. Uncle Jerry had already gone.

“Mister O’Donnelly, you’ve missed quite a show!” the sleep expert announced. “Your cousin seems to have had another of her atypical REM episodes. It ended only a few minutes ago.”

“Is she all right?”

“As far as I can tell, she is,” confirmed the physician. “Do you have any idea when you fell asleep?”

“No, I didn’t even know I was sleepy until you woke me up. Why?”

“I’m wondering if there’s any relation between your reading to her and her REM episodes. But I’d have to know just when your reading began and ended.”

“Sorry I fell asleep, Doc.”

“Don’t worry about it. You didn’t know. Do you read to her much?”

“Every time I come in, I do.”

“It would help if you would note the exact time you begin and end reading.”

“I’ll try and remember that next time.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Dr. Belknap thanked him and with a smile, left the room.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

After Dr. Belknap left the room, Sean sat down again and continued to read to his cousin a while longer. He did notice that one of Kelly’s bandmates had entered and was standing next to him. She waited until he had finished reading the current story before interrupting him.

“Good morning, Sean,” Mórag greeted him. “Remember me?”

“Yeah, I do,” he answered. “G’mornin’, Mórag.”

“I’m sorry about what Fiona said to you this morning,” she apologized. “Please don’t be angry with the rest of us for what she did.”

“Did she tell you to come and apologize to me?”

“No. It was my idea. I also told her not to call you. She did enough damage that I hope to undo. Since you’re here, too, I’m hoping we might talk.”

“All right. But let’s step outside.”

Sean and Mórag went out to the waiting area of the ICU and sat down.

“Sean, what I’d like to say first is that Molly, Móira, and myself still would like you to audition tomorrow morning. And we think that Fiona’s nuts trying to get you dress up like Kelly.”

“Well, I’m glad someone thinks so! Why’s that such an issue with ’er anyway?”

Mórag felt hesitant to tell Sean private things about her friend, but since Fiona was trying to involve herself in Sean’s life, Mórag thought he had a right to know about her friend’s proclivities.

“To make a long story short, I think Fiona has a crush on you, Sean.”

“What?”

“She’s falling for you,” reiterated Mórag. “She’s crazy for you.”

“But why does she want me dressing up? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Yes, it does. But you don’t know her history,” Mórag answered. “Since she was in Kindergarten, she’s always had fun dressing boys up like girls. Classmates, friends, her brother, and after she started dating, boyfriends.”

“What?”

“She gets a thrill from making boys dress like girls. She’s done it for a long time. It was cute when we were schoolgirls, but she’s never quite grown out of it. Her insistence on getting you in a dress makes me think she’s got a crush on you.”

“Oh, that’s just great!” Sean sighed in sarcasm. “And I’m in no way interested in her. Let’s just say she’s not my type. Besides, you could say I’ve got a ‘crush’ of my own.”

“Will you tell me who it is?”

“No.”

Mórag had figured Sean for someone who tended to be very reserved. His responses were certainly consistent with that. In fact she was a little surprised that he had admitted to having a crush on anyone. So maybe he trusted her somewhat. But the issue she had to bring up next might strain that trust. Yet she had to raise the question.

“Sean, when we met Monday, I thought I recognized you but I couldn’t place where until I talked with a girlfriend. Now I know for sure. But when we talked about your musical background, you never mentioned the violin.”

“How did you know?” Sean asked desperately, looking almost as if a deep secret had been betrayed. “Did Kelly tell you?”

“Oh no! My girlfriend Tanya had to win over you to get into Curtis. I was at the auditions with her,” replied Mórag. “I’ve heard you play and you’re brilliant!”

Sean and Mórag discuss why he abandoned his promising career as a violinist. The school nurse worries about Morgan’s anxiety, while Sean battles insomnia before his audition with the Daughters of Danaan. And Kelly seems to exert a profound influence on those around her, even from a coma…

Sean turned once again to look at Kelly lying in her hospital bed, his back toward Mórag.

“Mórag, that was a year ago,” he told her. “But when I didn’t get into Curtis, I put my violin away and haven’t played since.”

“But why?”

“I had learned all I could from my teachers. I needed to go to Curtis, but your friend won the last available seat in the class.”

“Then why not go to another school? I know that both the candidates you placed ahead of won scholarships at Juilliard and the New England Conservatory of Music.”

“I don’t wanna go elsewhere. Philly is my home. It’s where I belong. Those other schools aren’t where I wanna be. I like it here, near my family, friends, the people who love me.”

“But why stop playing?”

“I already answered that, Mórag.”

“No, I don’t think you did. Not the whole story anyway.”

Sean just looked down at the floor a moment, then over at Kelly, then looked Mórag right in her crystal blue eyes.

“My heart’s just not in it anymore. When I didn’t get into Curtis, ’twas devastatin’. There wasn’t anywhere left for me to go here. So I put my instrument away.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yeah, that’s it!”

“Y’ know, Sean, we could use a fiddler in our band, especially one of your caliber.”

“No, I didn’t play fiddle; I played violin.”

“So what’s the difference?”

“Style, technique, répertoire. Even minor differences in the instrument sometimes. The bridge might be cut flatter for a fiddle than for a violin. Fiddle players often prefer steel core strings to other kinds. But now it’s really more the style and tradition than any specific differences between the instruments.”

“I would’ve thought being Irish, you’d have learned some fiddling.”

“No. For me, the violin was always about serious music. My trainin’ was all classical,” Sean explained. “I did my folk music all on the tin whistle. Me dad’s brother was the fiddler for the family band.”

“We’re serious about our music, too,” asserted Mórag, taking slight umbrage at Sean’s remarks.

“What I mean is that since I studied the violin seriously,” clarified Sean, “whenever I played folk, it was for fun. Just for family get-togethers. Picnics, holidays, birthdays. That sort o’ thing.”

“Then for you folk music was for kicking back, relaxing, just a good time?” Mórag smiled, reflecting a moment on her own enjoyment of the music. Sean, indeed, was a kindred soul, perhaps beyond being Irish and a musician.

“Yeah. That’s about right. Ne’er thought about it that way at the time, though.”

“Please, Sean, come and play with us now. We could really use you.”

“Only until Kelly is able to perform with you again, and only on piano or tin whistle. Or on clarinet if you need one.”

“Violin?” asked Mórag.

“No violin,” confirmed Sean. “I’ve put away my violin—for good.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, her face solemn. “You’re letting all that study, such talent—such a gift—go to waste?”

“Sorry, but I just can’t play anymore. Please accept that. I made my decision a year ago. And please, don’t go openin’ an old wound again.”

Sean walked across the room and at his cousin’s bedside again. He held her hand. Mórag took a seat on the other side of the bed. She could see tears in his eyes.

* * * * * * * * *

Morgan walked down the stairs to the school’s basement. The School Nurse’s Office was on that level, between the Health Sciences classroom and the Infirmary. The sign on the door read:

School Nurse
Ingrid Carlson, MSN, Ed.D.

The door was ajar, but still Morgan knocked on it.

“Hello, Nurse Carlson? she queried. “Are you there?”

“Come in please!” answered a voice, pleasantly songlike but perkier than what Morgan felt like hearing at the moment. “I’ll be with you anon!”

Anon? Then Morgan remembered that Nurse Carlson frequently enjoyed acting in Shakespearean theater. Ingrid was deliberately eccentric in selected ways, especially when showing off as a woman. Indeed, she hated wearing “scrubs” so most often wore a short, traditional white dress and nurse’s cap, which Morgan could just glimpse while she waited at the door.

“Is that you, Morgan?” she asked. “Why are you here?”

“Monsieur LaMonte sent me down.” Morgan offered her hall pass to the nurse as she continued, “I think I’m just tired. Haven’t slept much for two nights.”

Nurse Carlson noticed that her patient’s eyes seemed especially tired. “You do look like it’s something more serious than staying up late to study for a test,” she observed, opening the door fully. “Come in, Morgan. Let’s take a look.”

Ingrid asked Morgan to sit upon the examination table and then put a thermometer under her tongue. She then felt for the girl’s pulse and recorded 110 bpm on Morgan’s chart, also writing “Tachycardia“ under Notes. Next, she wrapped the cuff for her sphygmomanometer around Morgan’s upper left arm and began pumping its rubber bulb, listening with a stethoscope. She completed pumping up the cuff and released the valve. When she didn’t like the measurement, Ingrid repeated the ritual, but the result was the same, 168/112 mmHg. She noted “Hypertension, Stage-2” on the chart.

“Girl, your blood pressure is through the roof!” Nurse Carlson said. “Especially for a teenager. Your pulse is racing. I don’t like this—not at all!”

The nurse took and read the thermometer, 98.4° Fahrenheit—no real fever, anyway. Ingrid glanced at the girls hands and saw that they were trembling slightly.

“Headache?”

“No,” answered Morgan, quietly.

“Feeling dizzy? Light-headed?”

“Yes.”

“Which?”

“Light-headed, now. But I felt dizzy coming downstairs.”

Ingrid jotted more notes on the chart. “Miss O’Donnelly, I don’t like this. Together with the insomnia, these symptons suggest, at the very least, that you’re coming off a panic attack. Something going on I should know about?”

“My cousin was hurt in an accident Monday morning. She’s still unconscious. We and our brothers are, like, very close,” replied Morgan. “I haven’t slept much since it happened. None of us have.”

“What’s her name?” inquired the nurse. “I’m guessing that she went to school here?”

“Uh-huh. Her name’s Kelly. Long, curly auburn hair? She and my brother Sean look like twins?”

“So Sean is your brother, Morgan?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“Well, I never connected you with him before,” the nurse confessed. “You and Sean don’t look at all alike.”

“I know,” conceded Morgan. “But Kelly’s older brother Mike and me look more alike than Sean and me do. We’re all really worried about her.”

“Well, I’m concerned as well,” Ingrid said, smiling in sympathy, “but for you. I’m sending you to an urgent care clinic. I don’t want your family to need worry over yet another young lady.”

Nurse Carlson had printed out a set of forms: an academic continuity request and a medical referral order. Protocol in this case required that she immediately refer Morgan to a qualified medical facility for treatment and that the school provide transportation directly there. The academic continuity form listed her classes and requested that each of Morgan’s teachers send her assignments to the school’s main office where they would then be available for pick-up or delivery.

“I’m sending you to urgent care at County General,” Ingrid told her patient.

“Could you send me to Saint Bonnies, instead?”

“But County General is closer,” the nurse observed. “Why Saint Bonaventure’s?”

“County General may be closer to the school, but Saint Bonnie’s is closer to home,” explained Morgan. “That’s where Kelly is and it will be easier for Mom and everyone to meet me there.”

Ingrid smiled at that and changed data in her computer, which then printed out a new medical referral form for Morgan. The nurse signed it, then tore a blank form off a pad of hall passes.

“Can you call anyone to take you there now?” she asked as she ticked appropriate boxes, dated and signed the hall pass, and gave it to Morgan.

“No,” the schoolgirl answered. “Mom’s at work and my brother’s prob’ly at Saint Bonnie’s already.”

Ingrid tore yet another form from a small pad and filled it out. “This is a request for a transportation voucher. Because this is a medical urgency, the school will pay for your ride. Since you shouldn’t wait for a bus, I can call the taxi while you go to your locker.”

“Then call Lemon-Lime Taxi and ask them to send taxi Number Twelve,” suggested Morgan.

“Why them?”

“Because their cab Number Twelve’s driver is my Sunday school teacher.”

* * * * * * * * *

Sean smiled back at Debbie who was busy cleaning up the two big electric soup kettles from lunchtime. The patrons had gone quickly through it today. Sandra had thought about starting another pot of the lentil soup, but was not certain whether the demand would finish out a third pot. She would usually wait until the customers came in before the evening shift to ask Sean to start the soups for dinner.

“You doin’ okay, sugar?” Debbie asked her coworker in her Georgian drawl, coyly batting her eyes at Sean.

“Yeah, Deb, although I’m not sleepin’ so well as I should be, not wi’ Kelly in the hospital.” Sean stepped in the backroom to get ready for his shift. The barista donned his own apron and hat from their accustomed pegs once again. He had usually worked the same shift with Debbie, but now that he had taken Kelly’s shift, he was actually taking over from Debbie as she ended her shift. But he would need to wear neither Kelly’s cap nor apron today. Nor her girlie blue jeans with the flowery topstitching and the pretty teal lining.

“Well, it was nice of you to switch your shift with hers,” Debbie thanked him. “It made everything easier for both me and Sandra.”

“I’m glad to help out,” he smiled back at his coworker.

Debbie finished rinsing out the soup kettles, usually the last duty to conclude her shift each day. Sandra then addressed him. “Kat’s still out on her lunch break, Sean. Ready to go?”

“Ready,” Sean confirmed tying his apron behind him. “Got a question for you, boss.”

“What?”

“D’you know any of the girls in the band Kelly plays in?”

“Just as customers, mostly,” Sandra answered him, “although I’ve had a couple of classes with Molly. Why?”

“They’ve been askin’ me to sub for ’er while Kelly’s out. I don’t mind helpin’ out for her sake, but their bandleader’s bein’ a real bitch about it, quite frankly.”

“Would that be Fiona?”

“Yeah. They’re supposed to be a ladies’ band and because I look like Kelly, Fiona’s got this idea of dressin’ me up like a girl an’ pretendin’ to be her.”

“Is that why you wore her jeans yesterday?”

“No,” answered Sean. “That was me jus’ not payin’ attention when gettin’ dressed in the mornin’. Unless I was jus’ stressed out from that bandleader not lettin’ up on it.”

Sandra studied Sean’s face seriously for a moment.

“You really do look like her, Sean. I can certainly understand someone thinking she could try to get you dressed up. And I can also understand you not wanting to do it.”

“Ew!” Debbie cringed from eavesdropping on her coworkers’ conversation. “She wanted you to dress like a girl? That’s just—just wrong! Ew!”

“No, it’s not somethin’ I wanna do either, Deb, but it seems to upset you more than it does me.”

“Well, it’s a sin,” she declared.

“Oh?” Sandra uttered in disbelief, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s in the Bible,” confirmed Debbie. “Deuteronomy, chapter twenty-two, verse five. Look it up.”

“Then why did the nuns where I went to school punish boys by making them dress like girls?” challenged Sandra.

Debbie seemed shocked at the very idea. “You guys are Catholic and I’m not,” she said. “I won’t—I can’t explain a nun’s thinkin’ on anything like that. To me it’s just weird.”

“You’re from Georgia,” Sean interjected. “You’ve never had powder-puff football with boys dressed up as cheerleaders?”

Debbie just stood there blushing, looking first at Sean, with a look of disappointment, then at Sandra. “Don’t forget, I’ve switched shifts for tomorrow, so Shelly will be here in the morning.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” replied Sandra, still unsure why Debbie had become upset so quickly. “We’ll see you Friday morning, then.”

“G’bye, Sandra, Sean! See ya Friday!” said Debbie, quickly trying to put her smile back on as she retreated through the back door.

“G’bye, Deb!” Sean returned the salutation as she left. But he still knew that somehow the exchange had left her feeling hurt. Maybe he could talk to her about it again.

After Debbie had gone, Sean reprised his conversation with Sandra.

“So you went to a Catholic school, too?” he asked.

“Only through the eighth grade,” answered Sandra. “But the tuition for the ninth grade was more expensive than we could afford, so I had to go to a public high school instead.”

“That happened to Morgan an’ me, too. After Dad got called up for Iraq—the Persian Gulf, really—his Navy pay wasn’t even close to what he made in business, so we had to go to public schools, too. Same thing for Kelly an’ Mike, too, ’cause ’eir dad got called up the same day for Afghanistan.”

Sandra smiled at me. “That’s too bad, Sean. I would like to have graduated from the parish high school.”

“So would we,” Sean answered rather wistfully. “And y’ know, I’d forgotten all about it, but what you said to Deb happened to me a couple times?”

“What?”

“I got petticoated—by the nuns at school.”

“So they made you wear a dress?” inquired Sandra, staring amazed at Sean.

“Yes. Twice. Well, it wasn’t actually a dress, but a blouse with a skirt or a jumper,” recalled Sean. “Huh?—strange, though, that I’d forgotten about it?”

“What did you do to deserve such punishment?”

“Hmm? Can’t quite remember why? But the first time it was for three days. The next was for two or three weeks, I think.”

“I would guess it was for something serious.”

“I may need to ask Mom,” mused Sean, staring out somewhat distantly into space. “Kelly would know, too. And I’m sure she’d have tried to make it more pleasant for me. Morgan might know, too, since it would have been obvious if I’d been made to dress up for so long.”

“Y’ know, Sean, I think you’d ’ve made a pretty girl, especially with yours hair and eyes,” opined Sandra. “Was your hair as long then as it is now?”

Sean blushed at her remark. “No. But ’twas longer than what many of the girls wore.”

“Anyway, you have dressed up like a girl before?”

“Yeah. Just for the fun of it, though, except maybe for those times at school,” Sean recollected. “We all went out as cheerleaders for Hallowe’en—Kelly, me, my sister, her brother Mike. And me and Mike both were cheerleaders for our powder-puff football tournaments in high school.”

“I’d like to have seen you dressed like that,” smiled Sandra.

“Not likely!” chuckled Sean. “But I did win the Prettiest Cheerleader trophy both years I participated. But I’ve left that sort o’ thing behind.”

“So you don’t really wanna dress up for Fiona’s band, do you?”

“No. Not at all! Did promise to audition for them but they’d hafta lemme perform as myself.”

“Sounds fair enough to me,” agreed Sandra. “Well, I see Kat coming up the street, so we can get ready for the mid-afternoon customers now.”

* * * * * * * * *

Dr. Belknap rushed into the room where Kelly FitzPatrick still slept the sleep of the deeply unconscious. Reading the digital monitors displayed around her, he puzzled once again, knowing that something wasn’t quite as it should be, yet able neither to identify nor to prove what continued calling to his intuition. The monitor for the electroencephalograph was indicating not only increased theta-wave activity, but also near waking levels of beta-waves, even though she remained unconscious.

Suddenly, the neurologist heard clanking and clattering of the bed in the room. He turned to see the girl still sleeping yet attempting stereotyped movement, even though one arm was in a sling. She tried to display arms akimbo, a fist punching overhead into the air, and a salute across her breasts. He guessed that she would clap her hands if both were free. Then her legs began bending and kicking in what he could swear were rehearsed steps. He stepped to the door of the room.

“I need help in here!” he yelled.

The duty nurse engaged eye contact with a floor nurse who then rushed to the FitzPatrick girl’s room and saw the spectacle that Dr. Belknap was observing.

“Quick!” ordered the doctor. “Restrain her before she pulls everything loose!”

The nurse deftly restrained Kelly’s free arm, quickly and almost effortlessly, while Dr. Belknap fought to pin her legs. “What’s she doing?”

“She’s cheerleading, Doctor!” the nurse informed him as she smoothly and gently secured first one foot, and then the other. “Her movements are cheer routines. As much as she can manage in her condition, anyway.”

The neurologist nodded to the nurse. A young woman of that age, so trim, so fit, so athletic with nearly perfect muscle tone… and her family and friends, even her coworkers and classmates seeming to have a stronger bond with her than he’d expected… Of course this girl was a cheerleader!

“Thanks, Heather,” he said. “How’d you know?”

“I was a cheerleader as well as a candy-striper. That’s how I restrained her. I knew the cheer routine and did it with her in my mind. I could feel how and where she’d move next. It was easy to fasten a restraint at the end of each move.”

“No kidding?”

“No kidding!”

Dr. Belknap smiled wryly, mentally upbraiding himself for having dismissed cheerleading as silly, even to his own daughters. They’d been pestering him—pleading with him, really, to go to a cheerleading camp in the summer. But now he understood that this activity which he had so often and so readily disparaged, may have helped condition his patient’s mind and body to survive her current ordeal.

“Her unconscious mind was recalling the choreography then,” Dr. Belknap concluded. “I’ve read about this occurring with dancers, gymnasts, cheerleaders, but I’ve never actually seen it happen before now. I think she may be fighting her way out of the coma.”

“Then I should also mention that I saw her lips trying to recite the cheer as well.”

“Thank you, Heather!” he beamed, grabbing a clipboard and then, jotting her observation down, quickly adding two exclamation points, which he then underscored and circled.

Heather had noticed the neurologist relax a moment. He’d really been under stress, not only with Kelly, but also with a couple of other comatose patients who had been completely unresponsive so far. At least now he’d have hopeful news for Kelly’s family.

Just then, Dr. Belknap decided to change his mind about a personal and family matter. He’d send his daughters to cheer camp after all. So it’s silly! Maybe it’s silly in a healthy way, maybe healthier than he had hitherto believed. Silliness and health? Why not? But the doctor could not believe what was in his mind to do next.

In something that seemed wholly out of character for him, the physician came up beside Kelly’s bed and took her leather-cuffed hand in his own, leaned over her and chanted:

Out from darkness into light,
Chasing sunshine, leaving night,
All your courage, all your might,
Forward, Kelly! Fight, fight, fight!

Heather heard him recite it twice more more before squeezing his patient’s hand, taking his clipboard, and leaving the room. The nurse held her hand over her mouth to hide her smile and hold back her giggles, but a moistening in the corner of her eye betrayed yet another feeling, anyway.

* * * * * * * * *

It was not like Sean to skip class. Then again, he had not exactly skipped it. He had gone to class and signed in, but could not maintain his focus during the first session of the lecture. So at break, he had told his professor that he wasn’t feeling well and signed out.

That night a cold, light rain fell on the streets, driven by a strong, persistent breeze. Walking home, Sean felt his senses, his awareness heightened. He pulled his windbreaker tighter, seeming to warm himself more. The sensations felt familiar, yet somehow wrong, as if belonging to another day, another time, deeper somewhere in memory.

Autumn maybe? This cold, wet, spring evening, walking in the streets shared sensations with such a night in October or November.

* * * * * * * * *

Arriving home, he tried to read some more in his Nordic mythography, but still couldn’t concentrate for more than a few minutes.

He had not eaten since lunch and his stomach growled. So, Sean put on a teakettle and, while waiting for it to boil, poured himself a glass of skim milk and opened the package of a small chocolate-covered meal-replacement bar. He washed the bar down with the milk while he waited for the water to reach boiling.

He felt fatigued, indeed very tired, feeling as if he should doze off. Yet he could not rest due to the anxious thoughts about Kelly and what was happening around her.

The teapot whistled and Sean lifted it from the burner and set it down on a formica pad. He dropped an herbal teabag in a ceramic mug decorated with his high school colors and logo. As the tea began to steep, he remembered that he had an audition with the Daughters of Danaan the next day.

Knowing he needed to be fully rested when he woke up in the morning, he decided that he’d take that sleep aid his physician had prescribed him. It was strong stuff, though. He avoided taking it, but he just didn’t think he could get to sleep on his own tonight.

Sean went to the medicine cabinet and retrieved the bottle of—what was it? Zolpidem tartrate? He returned to the kitchen and sat down to the effusion of herbal tea, which was now ready. He took a ten-milligram tablet with his tea, and then relaxed as the herbal frangrance permeated the apartment.

* * * * * * * * *

As the Sleeper’s consciousness vascillated between delta-waves and theta, images again formed in the interface between the conscious and unconscious minds…

The four cheerleaders held their jackets tighter in the rain and wind as they all laughed and giggled together. One of the squad seemed to be, in fact, a teenaged boy dressed in a girl’s cheer uniform, as indeed he was. Although two of the others appeared to be beautiful twin sisters whose vibrant auburn locks were adorned in cascading curls, on closer inspection, one of them also proved to be a boy attired as a girl. He was met by another girl wearing a short black dress, black high-heeled boots, and a broad-brimmed conical hat allowing her platinum blond hair cut in semi-pageboy style to peek out from beneath. She carried a broom whose bristles had been cut, gathered, and bound by her own hand. And a cat whose fur glistened as black velvet followed and danced about her of its own accord.

The boy costumed as the cheerleading twin sister embraced and kissed the platinum-haired witch surrounded by the huddle of their friends, which a princess with gossamer wings and wand had joined along with an angel and a ballerina. Cheers and giggles went up from the huddle as they all hugged together.

The Sleeper was tired and needed rest, so was unable to sustain the theta-waves. The Sleeper’s mind retreated into delta, deeper into sleep…

* * * * * * * * *

Sean rolled over and looked at his clock, displaying “3:47“ with the icon of Miss Moon winking back at him. Yet he was quite unaware that he had read the time, although subconsciously Sean did know it. Then he got out of bed to begin his daily ablutions a few hours early, although he was unaware that when he stepped into the shower, he was wearing his pyjamas.

Zolpidem tartrate had been known to do that on occasion.

Indeed, Sean managed his entire morning ritual while he was essentially still asleep. He even dried his hair in this half-waking, half-sleeping state. Wrapping himself in a large bath towel, he wandered from bathroom across bedroom to walk-in closet to pick his atttire for the day.

* * * * * * * * *

Sandra pulled up in her tiny Korean-made compact car behind the coffeshop, ready to open up Café Tír na n-Óg for the day. No sooner than she had shut the engine down, the soft, cold pre-dawn drizzle had left a stream cascading down her car’s windshield. She grabbed her purse, got out, locked her car, and went to enter through the back door of the building.

Kat and Shelly would be joining her for the morning shift soon, so Sandra immediately set about opening up the shop, first by turning on the lighting and heat. Next, she booted up the cash registers and computer. Then Sandra began grinding the coffee beans afresh before loading the filters and tanks for the row of drip coffeemakers, which she then started up. The drip-coffee underway, she powered the shop’s two espresso machines up and adjusted their valves to prime them for the morning’s business.

She opened the pastry case and carefully inspected the remaining croissants, scones, streudel, and sweetrolls from Wednesday to be sure that it was all still edible. These were sold half-price until the fresh pastries for the day would be delivered, about an hour later. Sandra then took a slightly stale cinnamon bun for her own breakfast before pouring herself the first coffee of the day, adding just a little cream. Cheer in a mug! she thought to herself, smiling.

All that up and running, she was ready to open the door and welcome the morning customers.

* * * * * * * * *

Sean tugged the windbreaker he wore, not his own, to close more tightly about him as he began to awaken ever so slowly. His eyes opened and saw the sign Café Tír na n-Óg in the storefront window, reflecting the glow of a low-intensity sodium streetlamp. He saw, yet did not notice, the lights inside the coffeeshop suddenly begin to glare before closing his eyes again.

He drew his bare legs up tighter beneath himself as they were touched smoothly by the mist that also was caressing his face. As he shivered against the chill and drizzle, Sean felt the occasional droplets of rain striking his cheek and legs. He was in both a real and a metaphorical fog; firstly, the cold, wet, and misty fog of an early morning drizzle; and the fog of a semi-conscious mind, whose awareness of the outer world was still shared with the inner world of dreams. And for some reason, he found this wet chill quietly exhilarating.

So indeed, Sean saw himself wearing the bold, patriotic colors that had been the familiar, happy motif of his high school days. He looked at the red, white, and blue box pleats of the short cheer skirt he wore barely hiding the tight red bloomers underneath, and inside of the matching windbreaker, bearing the device of a megaphone on the left breast inscribed with the name “Kelly,” his eye caught the blue shell trimmed in red and white overtop the warm, white turtleneck bodyliner that he wore.

Although this wonderful collection of sights, sounds, and sensations had been transmitted to him, his mind had not processed the data for his waking state, but instead integrated the images into his dreamworld. So, Sean did not consciously notice that he had curled up on a bench wearing his cousin’s cheerleading uniform, in a cold spring rain, in front of his workplace. Nor would he be aware of where he was and how he was dressed for yet a few minutes.

* * * * * * * * *

Sandra had unlocked the front door when she noticed someone curled up on one of the benches around the patio, partially protected from the rain by the large umbrellas over the outdoor tables. Going over to investigate, she saw a girl, half-asleep, wearing a red, white, and blue cheerleading uniform. She knew that she had seen the uniform before, but having grown up elsewhere, she could not identify the school. Then she caught sight of the distinctively flaming auburn hair, worn in a ponytail with red, white, and blue ribbons, secured by a matching scrunchie. She had recognized the cheerleader.

“Omigosh! Is that you, Kelly?” Sandra cried, dodging benches as she rushed to her friend and knelt next to her. “Are you okay?”

The cheerleader turned toward Sandra. “Huh? Where am I?”

“What?—Sean?”

Morgan’s attending physician orders her to stay overnight for observation at St. Bonaventure’s. Sandra brings Sean wearing Kelly’s cheerleading uniform out of the cold rain into Café Tír na n-Óg to sleep off whatever’s wrong. But what about his morning audition for the Daughters of Danaan? News of Kelly’s accident spreads.

“Please, Doctor, lemme go home,” Morgan begged the young blue-eyed, sandy-haired physician. “I just feel especially tired today. All I really need is some sleep.”

“Sorry, young lady, but I want you here overnight for observation,” insisted Dr. Chafee. “You’ve been unable to sleep at home for the two nights since your cousin’s accident and I wanna make sure you get some sleep tonight. A young woman like you ought not be showing up in urgent care with exhaustion and hypertension as you did earlier today.”

“Morgan, listen to the doctor,” Mrs. O’Donnelly told her daughter. “You need some sleep and here they’ll make sure you get it.”

“But Sean hasn’t called back yet,” whined Morgan. “He doesn’t even know I’m here!”

“You’re staying right here in this room, Morgan,” declared her mother. “I want you rested and ready to go tomorrow morning. You can do that if you’ll listen to your doctor.”

“Your mom’s right,” Dr. Chafee added. “They’ll be back here tomorrow to take you home.”

“But I wanna see Kelly, too,” complained Morgan. “I haven’t seen her today.”

Maureen O’Donnelly went to the closet next to her daughter’s bed, then took out the clothes and shoes that she had worn earlier in the day, and rolled them into a bundle.

“Mom, what are you doing?”

“Making sure you stay here overnight!”

“But I won’t have anything to wear except this gown,” the girl complained. “And I’m half-naked in it.

“Well, you shouldn’t need any more clothing until tomorrow, anyway,” emphasized her mother. “We’ll bring you clean clothes in the morning.”

The duty nurse opened the door to address everyone. “Ma’am, visiting hours end in five minutes. Please be ready to leave. Doctor, the patient in three-oh-four needs to see you right away.”

“Thank you, nurse!” Morgan’s mother acknowledged as Aunt Kathleen just re-entered the room, passing Dr. Chafee who left with the nurse to visit the patient in Room 304.

“Guess what!” Kathleen said. “Sean left Kelly’s room at almost the same time Morgan came in. I’m not sure if he left just before or just after. Morgan, it’s almost like you missed each other in the lobby or passed going up and down in different elevators.”

“Auntie, Mom, then I think I know what happened,” she said. “After he left Kelly’s room Monday, he forgot to turn his ’phone back on until I mentioned it to him. I bet he forgot it again.”

“Does he have a telephone in his apartment?” Mom asked.

“I dunno. I haven’t seen one there. If there is, he prob’ly only uses it for his computer,” said Morgan. “I’ve only seen him use his cell ’phone there. That’s the only ’phone number I have for him.”

“Then maybe he’ll turn it on again when he remembers,” said Kathleen. “But try again in the morning when you wake up. He might have it on again by then.”

“But I’m worried about him,” Morgan protested.

“No, Morgan!” her mother stopped her. “Let your Auntie and me do the worries. You sleep. The doctor said you haven’t slept for two days. Get some sleep, now!”

Aunt Kathleen and Mom bent over Morgan to exchange hugs and kisses.

“I wish Dad were here, too,” Morgan confided with them.

“We’ve put in calls to your father and your Uncle Seamus, too,” her mother assured her.

“Mom, Auntie, I love you both!”

“We know and we love you, too,” Morgan’s mom and aunt concurred with more kisses.

The duty nurse appeared at the doorway again. “It’s time to go!”

“Goodnight, my baby,” said her mother, and then her aunt wished her, “G’night, Morgan.”

“G’night, Mom, Auntie!” The girl yawned to them as they moved toward the door and the nurse ushered them out. When the nurse came back, she had to rouse Morgan.

“Please, Miss O’Donnelly! Do wake up,” the nurse whispered somewhat loudly to Morgan. “You need to take your sleeping pill.”

Morgan stirred in her bed and the nurse helped her sit up for a moment and gave her a pill from a paper cup and some water.

Zolpidem tartrate.

* * * * * * * * *

“Sean! What’s happened to you?” Sandra asked, although she was really talking more to herself than to her employee and friend. He was not fully conscious—if he were, he would be embarrassed and maybe even humiliated—but he was wet and cold. “Come on, Sean! I think you really need some coffee.”

“Huh?” he tried to respond. “Where am—? Who are—?

“Don’t worry ’bout it!” she said, hugging and lifting him all at once. She spoke to him in a quiet, sympathetic voice. “Come inside where it’s warm. Get you some coffee—”

“What am—?” Sean attempted, but was too dazed to ask a complete question. He semi-consciously allowed Sandra to guide him from the patio into the coffeeshop and over to a large sofa. Instinctively, he settled into a corner of the sofa, grabbing a large, fluffy pillow, curling up around it, tucking his legs under himself in a decidedly feminine fashion. She tried to rouse him again, but he just yawned.

Sandra went back to her office where she retrieved a quilted blanket that she kept there. She came back out and just looked at Sean. How delicately feminine he looked, yes! Yet beyond that, his face appeared somehow younger, more demure, as if he were only a fifteen or sixteen year-old girl, much like his cousin Kelly, whose face also appeared two or three years too young.

So then Sandra laid the blanket over Sean and tucked it around him, and then he seemed to snuggle more deeply into the sofa with it and the pillow. He was fully asleep now, appearing content and peaceful. Sandra knelt on the floor next to him and noticed that he was wearing very light eye makeup and lipgloss. And even amid the strong aroma of a morning’s brew, she caught the faint scent of the same fragrance that Kelly was so fond of wearing. Then, Sandra surprised herself, kissing Sean sweetly on the forehead, as a mother might kiss her daughter.

* * * * * * * * *

Heather watched the monitor carefully. The FitzPatrick girl’s EEG was looking strange again. Dr. Belknap was coming in early in the morning, so he’d want to see this. She leaned over her patient and repeated the cheer that she had heard the neurologist whisper:

Out from darkness into light,
Chasing sunshine, leaving night,
All your courage, all your might,
Forward, Kelly! Fight! Fight! Fight!

“We’re teammates after all, Kelly,” she whispered into her patient’s ear and then kissed her forehead. “Rest up, girl, and get well. We have so much to talk about, you and I!”

* * * * * * * * *

Once again, the Sleeper’s mind endured a turbulent night while the body would prefer a healing rest. Yet delta-rhythms yielded to the growing theta-waves and as the line between deep sleep and REM-sleep was crossed another time, a newly formed mindscape emerged…

The children were ready to go on stage. Although two were boys and two were girls, siblings and cousins, each wore a traditional Irish girl's feis dress, all with their hair in cute braids. While one red-haired child played the violin, the other three danced the traditional step dances with an excellence that belied their years. The eldest among them was but eight years of age. This group of four seemed to be present through many of the performances, with other dancers and musicians, both boys and girls, younger and older, all joining in and bowing out in turn.

Especially busy was the young red-haired fiddler, once again surprising his audience as much by his sweet emulation of girlish charm as by his dazzling musical talent. Only his family, his teacher, and the choreographer knew that he was a daring lad dressed as a demure Irish lass.

Off stage after their performance, the three young dancers and the red-haired fiddler huddled together to hug their oldest, sad that he must change out of pretty girl’s clothes to dress again as a boy. But now the young violinist discovers that his own clothes are missing from the changing rooms, so he must remain dressed as a girl. The two girls now giggle as he can only surmise their responsibility for his continued habillement.

They emerged from backstage, three apparent girls and a boy. But the boy who had been so sad at changing his clothes now quietly chuckled at the other boy’s predicament. And now, the fiddler smiled at the two girls in approval of their prank, as he endured some embarrassment for the sake of lightening his cousin’s burden.

While they were in the changing rooms, the teenagers had taken their turn on stage and the audience now turned their attention…

The mindscape faded again as the Sleeper’s theta-rhythms waned and delta-waves reasserted their healing power. So once more, the Sleeper left REM-sleep for more restful deep sleep and the cycle began anew.

* * * * * * * * *

As he began to awaken, Sean became conscious of customers’ voices as they milled about in Café Tír na n-Óg [pron. ka-FEH CHEER nuh n-UHG]. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee caught his senses and he was already enjoying it before he could recognize what it was and where. The lighting was still dim in his corner of the shop and vaguely, he could see fuzzily the outlines and shadows of persons seated in the armchairs next to the sofa where he was curled up sleeping. The quilt covered his bare legs very comfortably and he felt it warming, protecting him. Indeed he felt warm and cozy then and there. Although he knew it was time for him to awaken for the day, he fought his body’s accustomed program to do so.

The warmth and coziness were so much stronger than he had experienced before, that they imprisoned the very willing Sean in a temporary state of bliss. He thought that he had awakened into a pleasant dream and to continue awakening could only disrupt the sleep-in which he believed himself to enjoy. This illusion had been largely created by the zolpidem tartrate still in his system and further sustained by the aroma and general atmosphere of the coffeeshop. And the illusion masked who he was to himself. He was yet unaware that he had worn Kelly’s cheer uniform since the wee hours of the morning.

So Sean still lagged behind his normal process of waking up, yet his body now felt sufficently rested to begin the day. He was ready to spring into action, even if his mind was not quite ready to function. All that he needed to become fully alert, was a whiff of his cousin’s favorite perfume, which he had dabbed on his wrists and behind his ears as he had girled up earlier in the morning. His nostrils had been too filled with the aromas of his favorite coffee blends to notice the floral scent of the fragrance he wore.

* * * * * * * * *

Sandra heard someone rapping at the window of the back door. Shelly and Kat were waiting at the employees’ entrance. She opened the door and let them in.

“G’morning, girls,” Sandra greeted her crew.

“G’morning,” replied Kat.

“How are you?” Shelly asked their boss.

“I’m just a little freaked out by events so far this morning.”

“What happened?”

“I found Sean sleeping on the patio with it drizzling when I got here this morning. I brought him in but you won’t believe what he’s wearing. Anyway, he’s asleep on the sofa in the dining area.”

Kat and Shelly went into the dining area of the coffeeshop and squealed and gasped at the scene that awaited them. Sandra was relieved that Debbie had switched her shift, given how strongly she had expressed her dislike of crossdressing. As it was, Sandra guessed that Sean would be embarrassed enough to wake up dressed as a girl in Café Tír na n-Óg.

“What happened to Sean?” Kat asked as Sandra followed them into the room. “Where did he get that uniform?”

“My first guess was alcohol, but I can’t smell any on him. And I don’t see any obvious signs of drug abuse, either—at least not of the more common drugs—so I really have no idea what’s happened to him,” Sandra explained. “Kelly’s name is embroidered on the windbreaker, so the uniform must be hers.”

Shelly looked at her coworker on the sofa. “Sean’s adorable like that,” she assessed. “So delicate!”

“We need to treat her as sweetly as she looks,” proposed Kat.

“Girls, I can recall a time or two when Sean’s helped me out under similar conditions,” Sandra told them. “You’re right, Kat. The very least we can do is give him the benefit of the doubt.”

* * * * * * * * *

The morning’s business picked up faster than usual. Even though Kat and Shelly were excellent employees, Sandra realized that they had seldom worked with each other and never before worked the morning shift together. They had not yet established their own rhythm working as a team. Her most experienced worker for the morning shift was on the sofa, sleeping off whatever had happened to him. She knew what she had to do once Sean was fully awake.

A few minutes later Sean sat up on the sofa, pulling the quilt tightly around himself. In a few seconds he became conscious and aware of how he was dressed and then of where he was. Sandra saw that he was awake and went over to talk to him.

“What am I doing in—?” he started to ask.

“Sean, I have no idea why you’re here today and dressed like that,” she said, “but I really need you behind the bar right now. You know the morning shift better than anyone else.”

“Can I go home and change first?”

“Sorry, but there’s no time. Just throw an apron on and we’ll play it by ear.” She grabbed Sean by the wrist and pulled him off the sofa and dragged him toward the employee closet where he put Kelly’s high school windbreaker on his own peg. He slid his own apron over his head and quickly tied it behind him.

“I can’t believe I’m wearing this,” he whispered to Sandra. “I don’t remember getting dressed.”

“Well, you look totally like a girl right now,” Sandra told Sean, sotto voce. “No one’s gonna know you’re a guy unless you tell ’em.”

“I’m still not comfortable with this. And then my shift starts just after this one ends.”

“Then you’re gonna have quite a day!” Sandra teased. “By the way, you’re really cute as a girl. I can see why Fiona wants you crossdressed for her band.”

“The band!” he exclaimed in panic. “Fiona demanded I come for an audition today. I can’t work this morning—I promised to be there!”

“Dibs!” Sandra asserted, arms akimbo. Then she pointed her finger right at him. “You’re here now and you’re mine!”

“But I promised,” whined Sean.

“You wanna let Fiona see you in that get-up?”

“You’re really trying to spoil my day, now, aren’t you?” complained the cross-dressed barista.

Sandra stuck her tongue out at Sean and giggled. He just smiled back.

“Well, every time I’ve worn this, I’ve had a lot of fun,” recalled Sean. “Maybe it’ll be that way today, too. But you’re right. There’s no way I want Fiona to see me wearing this. But I do think I’m maybe a little too old for this sort of thing.”

“Not at all, Sean. In fact, I kinda like it,” admitted his boss. “You certainly will help break up the monotony by wearing it today. Anyway, I need you to help get Kat and Shelly working together. You’re used to working the morning shift weekdays with Kat, but Shelly’s not worked it before. They need to establish more rapport with each other and some kind of rhythm between them.”

“Okay. I’ll get right on it,” he told her. “By the way, when I’m dressed up like this, my cousins and Sis always call me Sí­na [pron. SHEE-nuh]. Might help keep this all quiet if you do the same. Please tell Kat and Shelly to call me Sí­na, too.”

“You got it, Sean—oh!—Sí­na!” Sandra teased, then stuck her tongue out at him between her teeth with a subtle smile and not-so-subtle giggle.

“Sandra, you can be so wicked sometimes!” Sean retorted in a whisper.

“If you’ll promise to dress up like that more often, I’ll promise to teach you how!” his boss offered as she shoved him a mug of americano, his own preferred morning coffee.

“Thanks,” said Sean as he did something that he had not done since high school. He giggled. Girlishly. Sandra’s eyes widened in surprise when she heard him and watched him cover his lips with his outstretched fingers, also observing that he wore a very nicely understated peach nail color. Now that was really strange.

“Sean—Sí­na, I mean—,” she shook her head knowing this time that she really did slip-up with his name. “This may be harder than I thought. Anyway, let’s get it going before the next wave hits.”

She could ask him about his choice of nail polish later. And somehow Sí­na sounded different than Sean, too. She spoke more softly, yes, and maybe her voice was at a higher pitch? No, that wasn’t it, either.

Seeing that Sean already had Kat and Shelly into a modified routine, Sandra retreated to her office a moment and found herself thinking again. She couldn’t figure it out. Since he had awakened from his nap or whatever, he had become someone else. This wasn’t like yesterday when he had apparently pulled on Kelly’s blue jeans by mistake. Now Sandra understood that he really had been unaware that he was wearing girls’ jeans. He had still moved and spoken like a guy. But today, he was moving and speaking as a young woman. He had applied make-up very carefully to his face as well as doing his nails. But why?

This was a puzzle to her. He was out there and as she watched from her office, he looked like Kelly, and acted as she would, too. And his behavior appeared natural and automatic.

* * * * * * * * *

Paolo Cassini looked down at his agenda for the day. He noted that today he should check for responses from the new girls that he had scouted. One girl had signed and returned her letter of intent to Cassini & Sons, but not the other.

“David, we haven’t heard yet from the redheaded girl that you introduced me to,” the tall talent agent with hollow cheeks told his young intern, shorter by six inches (15 cm). He continued scanning notes from his journal. “The one who had modeled for your class project? Kelly FitzPatrick?”

“Oh! Good morning, Mister Cassini,” the intern replied. “I didn’t know you had sent her one. I’m sorry to tell you this, but she’s in the hospital.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She was in an accident. Apparently a car hit her bicycle head-on and she went flying. She’s been in a coma since then.”

“Sorry to hear that,” said Paolo. “How did you find out?”

“Her cousin works in the same coffeeshop with her and my sister.”

“The Irish-themed place?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“That’s too bad,” Paolo continued, running his hand through his dark, though graying, curly hair. “Even though she’s a little older than most of our girls making it in the business, I feel good about her prospects. I think she’s got what it takes.”

* * * * * * * * *

Mórag wondered, why hadn’t she heard from Sean? Of course, there was no question why he hadn’t called Fiona. He simply did not wish to talk with her. So, Mórag dialed Sean’s number and it rang a few times, but he didn’t answer and the call went right to voice mail.

“Sean, this is Mórag calling. You have an audition scheduled with us today. You do remember, right? Please call me back to confirm. You’ve got my number. Bye!”

* * * * * * * * *

Sean wondered if the Daughters of Danaan might’ve been trying to call him.

“Sandra,” whispered Sean to his boss. “Did I have a purse or anything else when you found me?”

“Y’know, I didn’t notice,” she answered. “Didn’t really even think about it, let alone look. Lemme go check.” So Sandra went to the main window and glanced outside and saw a large megaphone-shaped bag on one of the patio tables. The bag matched the colors of the cheer uniform that Sean—or Sí­na—wore.

“Yes, there’s what looks like a cheerleader’s bag on a table next to the bench where you were sleeping.”

“Could I take a moment to go for it? I need to let someone know I can’t make the audition.”

“As soon as the crowd thins out. That’s only fair,” agreed Sandra. “I really do appreciate you helping us out this morning, especially since you’ve inspired me with an idea for the business.”

“Oh? And what might that be?”

“Not telling just yet,” Sandra teased and then turned to look at him with a grin and a tinkle in her eye. “I need to talk about it with the owner first.”

Looking down at what he was wearing, Sean asked “Do I need to worry?”

“Maybe,” she answered with a giggle. She looked him over and nodded. “Definitely.”

* * * * * * * * *

Major Seamus FitzPatrick relaxed as he felt the helicopter touch down at the base in Kandehar and its rotor blades whirred to a halt. He and his team had been on a reconnaissance mission in the mountains of Afghanistan once again. Although they had come under fire at one point, apparently the Taliban scouts mistook them for a different detachment of soldiers. Thus, the enemy soldiers reported back the size of FitzPatrick’s smaller team of Marines instead of the larger force. As a result, a sizeable Taliban force had been defeated as they attempted an ambush against a superior number of forewarned US Army troops. The major had tracked the scouts all along and, thanks to his team’s intelligence, a counterattack had been set up behind the Taliban position.

As he disembarked from the helicopter, the major noticed an Asian-looking non-commissioned officer, coming towards him double time.

“Good evening, Major FitzPatrick!” he said saluting.

“Good evening!” Maj FitzPatrick returned the salute. “You’re Staff Sergeant Trinh—from Personnel, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir! I’m sorry, sir, but I have urgent news for you,” SSgt Trinh related. “While you were on mission, your daughter Kelly was seriously injured in an accident and is now in a coma at a hospital in Philadelphia.”

“Do you know anything else, Sergeant?”

“No, sir, I don’t. They’re awaiting more news at H-Q. After your debriefing we can take you to Kabul, if needed, sir.”

“Thanks, Sergeant. Then get me to the debriefing, A-S-A-P! The sooner it’s done, the faster I can get to Kabul.”

“Yes, sir!”

* * * * * * * * *

Sean ran outside, grabbed the cheerleading bag, and came back in. He felt more than a little silly venturing outside in Kelly’s cheer uniform. Nonetheless, he was focused on a single problem and zipped the bag open and retrieved a clutch purse. He opened it and retrieved his smartphone.

Quite a few messages had been left for him, the most recent from Mórag, but several others from his sister, his mother, and his aunt. His family had been trying to get in touch with him since yesterday afternoon. He had forgotten to turn the ringer back on after visiting Kelly at St. Bonnie’s.

* * * * * * * * *

“Turn right onto Finnegan Avenue…,” the GPS device instructed Paolo as he vaguely remembered the intersection. “Continue another fifty yards to your destination… Parking in the adjacent lot is available for customers.”

The talent scout turned his GPS off. The locale was now more familiar to him. He had approached it from a different direction on his previous visit, but he recognized the Irish motifs of Café Tír na n-Óg. He took his binder out and opened it to his Prospects list and scanned the pages…

FitzPatrick, Kelly, age 19
Barrista, Café Tír na n-Óg
Student, college unk.

Notes: Intro David, sister Shelly works w/K.
Prospects: Must sign!! PTM

This seemed the right place. He had noted “PTM”—Promise the Moon—for Kelly. At first, he has simply dismissed his intern’s raving about her as mere infatuation. Then he saw David’s photo essay. His intern was a rank amateur (although promising) photographer, but she was perfect in every shot. Yet she was a novice as a model, unknown, untried, and until now untested. How could anyone look so brilliant?

There was but one explanation.

Kelly had the best raw, natural talent that Paolo Cassini had seen in his career as a talent scout and agent. But now she was injured and lay in a hospital somewhere. He hoped that her cousin who worked in the coffeeshop might know something.

* * * * * * * * *

Sean heard the telephone ring twice before it was answered.

“Hello! Mórag speaking…”

“Hi, Mórag! This is Sean returning your call…”

“When are you coming for your audition?…”

Sean decided that a direct approach would be best.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do it today, now…”

“But didn’t you say you had the morning free?…”

“Well, I did, but when I came by the shop earlier this morning, we were unexpectedly busy and my boss put me to work right away…”

“That’s too bad… Hmm?… Any time available later today?…”

“Sorry, but my own shift starts after this one and after that I have an evening class… I guess Friday evening is the only other option?…”

“I think so… Well, I’ll let Fiona know… And Sean—thanks for calling back!…”

“You’re welcome, Mórag… G’bye!…”

“G’bye!…”

* * * * * * * * *

Mórag called Fiona right then and there to relay the news. Fiona answered on the first ring.

“That you, Mórag?…”

“Yes, it’s me. Sean just called back and said that he was called into work this morning unexpectedly…”

“You don’t think he’s trying to back out of it, do you?…”

“Now why would he do that?…” Mórag asked Fiona, then thought to herself, maybe to avoid a raving, lunatic bitch like you?

“Well, I don’t want him backing out,…” Fiona insisted.

“Hey! You haven’t even heard him play yet,…” Mórag reminded her. “We still don’t know if his style will sound right with ours…”

“But we don’t have anyone else…”

“No, and we don’t know that we have him yet, Fiona, so leave him alone!…”

“Okay! Geeze! Lemme have break, will ya?…”

“I’ll see you later, Fiona… G’bye!…”

“G’bye!…”

* * * * * * * * *

Just as Sean put his smartphone away after talking to Mórag, the little bell over the door rang and a tall, blue-eyed man with dark, curly hair, grayed at the temples, entered the coffeeshop. He stopped and stared right at Sean.

“Kelly? You’re okay?”

“Oh no! I’m Sí­na, her cousin,” answered Sean as he prepared himself for another conversation with a stranger mistaking him for Kelly. “She’s still in the hospital.”

“You two could be twins.”

“I know. We hear that all the time,” Sean confirmed. Then thinking the man just another one of Kelly’s regular customers, he continued. “Can I help—?”

“Good morning, Mister Cassini!” Shelly suddenly interrupted her coworker as she stepped out of the office. “Uh, Sí­na, this is Mister Cassini, my brother’s boss. I believe you met David yesterday?”

“Oh yes, I did!” Sean—as Sí­na—replied. “Nice to meet you, Mister Cassini!”

“Oh please, ladies! Call me Paul,” he warmly introduced himself. “Mister Cassini sounds more like my father than like me.”

Perhaps, thought Sean, thinking him at least as old as his own father. And somehow the name Cassini seemed vaguely familiar to him but he wasn’t certain from where.

“What would you like?” Sean asked him.

“I’ll have a caffè latte, short, and a chocolate croissant.”

“Five seventy-five, please,” announced Sean ringing up the transaction.

“Keep the tip,” Mr. Cassini said placing a ten-dollar bill on the counter. “I’m sorry about your cousin. David told me earlier today what had happened to her. How is she?”

“She’s still in a coma at Saint Bonnie’s. I’m working her shift here today,” Sean informed the man as he dropped the change in the tip jar. “If you’d prefer, find a table and I’ll bring your order to you when it’s ready.”

After their new customer went to sit down at a table, Shelly whispered to Sean, “He’s a talent agent and David’s interning with him at his agency. Kelly’s photos got his interest. David thinks his agency wants to talk to her about signing a modeling contract.”

“Kelly never mentioned anything to me about modeling. I didn’t know she was doing any until I met your brother yesterday. David called me later to ask me to dress up like her to reshoot some of the pictures.”

“Looks to me like you could pull it off,” Shelly giggled back to him as she steamed some milk.

“I told him no.”

“You wouldn’t help my brother with his project?”

“Sorry, but just because I look like Kelly doesn’t mean I can model like her,” Sean told her. “Besides, I really hate getting photographed.”

“So do I,” Shelly said grinning back at him. “David tends to get overly enthusiastic with his camera sometimes. I’ve been his frequent but unwilling model.”

Shelly had finished brewing the caffè latte for Mr. Cassini and Sean warmed a nice croissant and took it and the coffee over to him.

“Here’s your latte and croissant, Mister—”

“That’s Paul, if you please!” stubbornly insisted the talent scout.

“Sorry, Paul! I’ll try to remember that,” Sean apologized, blushing just a little. “I’m just trying to be respectful, sir.”

“I understand. You’re a nice girl, just like your cousin,” he attempted to flatter Sí­na. “But such formality seems so out of place here.”

Sean smiled. “We only want you to feel appreciated.”

Paul returned the smile in acknowledgement. “So tell me, Sí­na, have you considered a modeling career, yourself?”

“No, not at all!” denied Sean. “I was just telling Shelly that unlike Kelly, photographs of me don’t turn out very well.”

“Too bad,” he dismissed her rejection casually, accepting his coffee and croissant from her. He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and withdrew a small, gold-plated card holder. “Here’s my card, if you ever change your mind.”

Sean looked at it:

Cassini & Sons, LLP
An Agency Representing Talent
for
Modeling & the Performing Arts

He recognized the name and graphic design of the business card as matching that of the return address of the mysterious large envelope.

“Kelly received something in the mail from your agency the day of her accident. I let her use my apartment for a contact address.”

“So you have it, then?”

“Uh-huh,” affirmed Sean. “It’s at home.”

“That’s good news,” said Paul. “Please get it to her as soon as she’s well enough to do business. It’s a letter of intent. We think she’d be an excellent model and want her to sign with us as soon as possible. It would be a shame for her to miss out on such an opportunity because of the accident.”

“Thank you for your concern about my cousin. I’ll try to do that when she wakes up. I just hope it’s soon.”

“So do I,” concurred Paul.

Just then Kat came over to the table. “Get into the office quick!” she told Sean. “Shelly just saw Fiona coming here!”

While Sean is wearing his cousin’s cheer uniform, his sister has her own issues with clothes. Sean must avoid Fiona at the Café while others make plans for his future. Meanwhile, concerned fathers seek their children out.

“Night Watch?… This is Janet Chang at the third floor duty station,” the supervising nurse said into the inter-office telephone. “We have a young, female patient missing from Room Three Twelve… Morgan O’Donnelly… White, age eighteen… Five foot five, weight one hundred and fifteen… Blue eyes… Long dark hair… Complection very fair with light freckling visible on face and arms…”

At the other end of the call, Night Watch Sergeant Douglas FitzSimmons of St. Bonaventure’s Night Watch jotted down the information as Nurse Chang told it.

“When did she disappear?…”

“She was present for her previous bed check at three thirty-five but missing just now at four fifteen…”

“What was she wearing? Hospital gown?…”

“I don’t know for certain. She left her hospital gown and slippers on the floor. Since the closet in her room was empty, she must be wearing her own clothes now…”

“Any description, especially a coat or a jacket?…”

“No,” replied Nurse Chang. “Sorry, but the nurse who checked her in isn’t on duty now…”

“What else can you tell me about her condition?…”

“She’s on a sedative but still may be somnambulant…”

Oh, great! Sgt. FitzSimmons thought to himself. A teenage girl sleepwalking on drugs! What kind of sedative?

“Chang, what’s she on?…”

She balked just a moment at telling him due to the myriad of privacy laws and hospital regulations, but this was an exceptional case and an emergency at that.

“Zolpidem tartrate…”

“Dammit!” fumed the Night Watch sergeant. No wonder! The girl most likely was sleepwalking. “I’m on it, Chang! Right now!…”

Sgt. FitzSimmons put the telephone handset down in its cradle and picked up the microphone for the hospital radio set. “Hello, Night Watch! Listen up!… We have an eighteen year-old girl likely sleepwalking somewhere in the building or on the grounds. The subject’s name is O’Donnelly, Morgan O’Donnelly. She’s five-five, weighs one-fifteen, has dark hair, blue eyes, and fair complection with a few freckles on her face and arms. And since the subject is female, I’m putting Corporal Martin in charge…”

“Sarge, you wound me!…” a young baritone voice broke in.

“MacGee, if you so much as make unauthorized eye contact with her, I will wound you!…” the sergeant warned him. “Again, Trish is in charge. Everyone else follow general protocol, observe and report only, unless an immediate threat to subject appears. If you see the subject, report to Trish. Is that clear enough to everyone?…”

“Ten-four, Sarge!…” Terry MacGee replied.

“Roger that!…” answered Jim Leveque in his deep, booming bass.

«¡Comprendo, mi señor!…» André Gómez answered, his tenor voice and Hispanic accent clearly penetrating the noise.

“Acknowledged!…” the voice of Trish’s lyric soprano also broke through the night static.

“Corporal Martin, switch to private channel and stand by, please,…” Sgt. McNearny instructed. At once, Trish complied and waited for her sergeant’s voice.

“That you, Trish?…”

“Standing by for your instructions, Doug…”

“They gave her zolpidem…”

Trish exhaled a weary sigh. “Whose bright idea was that, do ya think?…”

“I dunno, but more than likely the girl doesn’t even know she’s strolling down some hospital corridor…”

“How long?…”

“She went missing sometime after three thirty-five…”

“Then either she had only just left the room and hasn’t been seen or took the stairs and already went outside…”

“Hope she’s still on the grounds or it’s a police call,…” Sgt. FitzSimmons was starting to worry. The weather was cold with light rain, and that reminded him of what he didn’t know.

“I didn’t want the other guys to hear this, but this girl left her hospital gown in her room, so she might be naked…”

“You’re right. Better find her before McGee does!” Trish said smiling. “What room was she in?…”

“Three Twelve…”

“That’s the east side of the floor and the north end of the building. Where’s the closest exit to the room?…”

“The closest stairwell is the fire escape at the north end of the building. It exits only outside on the ground floor…”

“I’m already on the way out. Who’s outside this round?…”

“Gómez. The tracking board has him just now passing the northwest corner of St. Luke’s Garden,” Doug told her. “Switch back to common channel, Trish…”

“Acknowledged…”

“You there, Gómez?…” Night Watch Sgt. FitzSimmons asked into his radio.

«¡Sí! Gómez aquí…», answered the Night Watchman.

“Trish thinks the subject’s outside, most likely north of the building. She might be coming toward you…”

Watchman Gómez took a small pair of collapsible binoculars from his right breast pocket, popped them open and began panning across the north parking lot, and then into St. John’s Garden. Seeing the missing girl, he doubled his pace towards her position in yet another garden.

«¡Ay! La veo, mi señor», Gómez reported. «Está una muchacha nuda bailando en el Jardín del San Mateo…»

“Trish, André reports—“

“Yes, I heard—a naked girl dancing in St. Matthew’s Garden,” Trish confirmed. “And I think I can see her now, but my glasses are getting too wet out here…”

“Okay, Trish… André, you still there?…”

«¡Sí!…»

“Then wait where you are until Trish gets there and has control of the situation…”

«Comprendo, mi señor—¡Está bién!…»

“She just laid down on a bench east of Saint Matthew’s Garden, and it looks like she’s curling up to sleep,…” observed Trish.

“Go get her!…” ordered Doug.

Cpl. Martin had been walking fast but half-sprinted the rest of the way, minding that the surfaces, concrete and grass, might be slippery. Still, she covered the intervening distance in a matter of seconds. When she got to the garden, Morgan was lying naked on a bench, curled up on her side, hugging herself, and strangely enough, smiling. But then, Trish saw that the girl was wearing a chain of flowers around her left ankle, another about her right wrist as a bracelet, and a simple floral wreath in her hair. A pile of various early spring flowers were strewn across the grass between the bench and the garden, matching the ones that Miss O’Donnelly had apparently braided into anklet, bracelet, and crown.

Then Cpl. Martin shuddered when she realized that Morgan’s skin was calm and smooth and that she was not shivering. Trish was shivering, though. Naked, cold and wet, Morgan should also be shivering with goosebumps all over. The girl’s smile was incongruous, or worse. Her body temperature was likely dropping. Watchman Gómez had shed his windbreaker already and was about to drape it over the girl’s upper body just as Cpl. Martin arrived. So Trish followed suit, covering Morgan up below the waist as best she could with her own.

“Doug, I’m no expert,” she transmitted to her sergeant. “But from what I’ve learned in my first aid courses, she’s in hypothermia. Have a nurse or someone standing by at the North Entrance with a gurney and blankets—No!—Rush the gurney and blankets out to meet us…”

* * * * * * * * *

The telephone next to the Chief Engineer’s bunk buzzed quietly

“Commander O’Donnelly, sir,” an excited young sailor on the other end of the line addressed him. “You have a personal call from someone in Kabul. Do you know a Major Seamus FitzPatrick in the Marine Corps there?…”

“Aye, yeoman, we’re best friends an’ also related by marriage,” CDR O’Donnelly informed him. “I’ll take the call in here…”

“Aye aye, sir!…” acknowledged the yeoman. The engineer heard the line switch over.

“Malcolm O’Donnelly here…”

“Colm, it’s me—Seamus,…” said a familiar tenor voice on the telephone.

“How are ya, Seamus?…” asked the commander.

“I’m okay, but didja hear about Kelly?…”

“No, but for some reason she’s been on me mind for a couple o’ days…”

“Izzat so?…”

“Aye, ’tis…”

“Me little girl was in an accident goin’ t’ work on ’er bicycle Monday mornin’ an’ is in Sain’ Bonnie’s now…”

“Sain’ Raphael help her! Y’know anything else?…”

“Hit head-on by a car turnin’ the wrong way onto ’er street. She’s been in a coma ever since,” the major recounted. “Kat, Maureen, and all our kids ’ve been sittin’ up with ’er at the hospital…”

“I pray she’ll wake up soon…”

“Aye! Me as well!” Maj FitzPatrick agreed. “Look, I can get a ride t’ the Gulf. One of our pilots has t’ pick up personnel from your carrier. I’ll ride with one o’ your jets t’ Germany an’ on stateside from there.

“You got it, Seamus! CDR O’Donnelly assured him. “I’ll clear things at me end. When can you be here?”

“By sundown, I’m certain, though I’ve not seen a flight schedule yet,” the Marine officer informed him. “I’m not sure how long the flight’ll take.”

“Have your pilot radio ahead and I’ll meet you at touchdown.”

* * * * * * * * *

Fiona moved as if she were a force of nature. She strode directly up the path to Café Tír na n-Óg, swung the door open, although a patron or two might have sworn that she did so without touching it, and marched right up to the counter, her long auburn hair seeming to require an additional moment to flow to a halt around her.

“I’m here to see Sean,” announced Fiona. “Where is he?”

Sandra barely had time to think up anything, but used one of the best known facts about her employee—his riding. “He’s not here right now. He just took off for a round of deliveries,” the manager lied to Fiona. “You might’ve noticed as you came in that his bicycle wasn’t in the rack.”

Fiona heard Sandra’s report with suspicion, but Sean didn’t seem to be there at the moment.

“Can I get you something?” Sandra asked with a cheery smile, rubbing in her mastery of the exchange as she dismissed Fiona’s attempt to interrogate her. Sandra was simply better at the game than Fiona.

“No!” Fiona answered with an overly dramatic flip of her reddish mane as she hastened her way out the door.

“What was that?” Kat wondered aloud, her face displaying a look of comic affright.

“Sína’s bogeyman,” replied her boss. “Bogeywoman, anyway.”

Kat giggled at Sandra’s remark as they and Shelly watched Fiona storm down the sidewalk and turn out of view. Sandra stepped back into the office where Sean was hiding.

“Okay Sína,” she told him. “You can come out now. The überbitch is gone.”

Sean emerged from the office and took his place behind the counter once again. “Thanks, Sandra,” he said. “That was entirely too close.”

“That’s okay,” answered his boss. “We all hafta look out for each other here from time to time.”

“Who is she, anyway?” Shelly asked.

“She’s Fiona, leader of Kelly’s band,” Sean enlightened her. She wants me to fill in for her until she’s well. I’m willing enough to do it, except she also wants me to dress as a girl and go on-stage as Kelly.”

“That should be okay, Sína,” teased Kat giggling. “I have no doubt you can pull it off.”

“Yeah, but you know what her Irish temper’s like,” Sean reminded them all. “Going on stage and pretending to be her is sure to raise her ire. I won’t even think of doing that.” His colleagues all nodded in agreement, each having witnessed Kelly’s wrath on one or more occasions.

Meanwhile, Paolo Cassini opened his binder to look at the portfolio of Kelly’s pictures that David had photographed. Yes, that Kelly was a natural model was no guarantee that her cousin would be. But he couldn’t quite believe Sína’s claim that her photos would turn out poorly. She was just too pretty. If she wasn’t the natural model that her cousin was, Sína could still be taught to model. Most models had to learn those skills anyway. The possibilities of booking apparently identical twin models couldn’t be ignored. Besides, Kelly would surely be able to get Sína modeling.

So Paolo got up from his table and walked back to the bar. “Sína, may I get another croissant, please.”

“Of course, you may,” answered Sean. “Chocolate again?”

“Cream cheese for this one,” Paolo chose. “I like to try a variety of flavors, after all.”

“That’s two seventy-five, Paul. Tax included.”

“By the way, is your family name FitzPatrick like your cousin’s?” Paolo gave Sean a five.

“Oh no!” Sean corrected him. “I’m an O’Donnelly—two ens, two els. Our moms are sisters. That’s where we get our red hair.” Sean handed two and a quarter dollars back to him.

“Please, Sína,” Paolo declined it. “Keep the change.” Sean dutifully dropped the money in the tip jar.

Paolo went back to his table, sat down again, and jotted a few notes down in his agenda binder:

O’Donnelly, Sína; age 19
Barista, Café Tír na n-Óg
Student, college unk.

Notes: Kelly FitzPatrick’s cousin, also works w/D’s sister Shelly; looks like ident. twin to K.
Prospects: Must also sign w/K as team!! PTM

Sean put the cream cheese croissant on a clean plate and took it over to Paolo’s table.

“Thank you, Sína,” said Paolo. “Please keep me informed about Kelly’s condition.”

“I will try to do that,” promised Sean, not suspecting Paolo’s hidden motive. “Could I get you anything else?”

“Not just now, my dear,” declined the talent agent. He hoped that he might eventually get both Kelly and Sína together after the former had recovered from her injuries.

The bell over the door rang and a new group of customers entered, so Sean returned to his position behind the counter. He and his coworkers focused on their customers and soon Sean forgot that he was dressed as Sína.

* * * * * * * * *

“So, he was out on a delivery,” observed Mórag. “Why should that be suspicious? “Coffee shops do cater meetings and smaller events for businesses. I’m beginning to think you’re obsessed with Sean.”

“I’m not obsessed with him!” Fiona denied. “I’m trying to lead this band! And it’s not like I’m getting much help from anyone.” She began to cry a little. Mórag embraced her and Fiona returned it warmly.

“Sisters always?” Fiona asked her, looking deeply into her friend’s eyes.

“Sisters always!” Mórag confirmed. She took Fiona by the hand and pulled her to the sofa. They both sat down. Mórag put an arm around her friend’s shoulder. She’d found Fiona’s recent attitude and behavior so frustrating. Yet she would not—she could not abandon this girl who’d been her best friend since grade school. “Being your best friend—your sister—your Irish sister, I need to let you know that I care about you and the turmoil inside that threatens yet another heartbreak. You’ve hardly recovered from your breakup with Cameron, but you’re already setting yourself up for new failure.”

Fiona had tears in her eyes. “I can’t help it,” she cried, a tightness in her voice audible. “Boys are just so sweet when they dress like girls.”

“I know, Fiona,” Mórag consoled her. “I like boys wearing dresses, too. But you need to understand that most guys don’t wanna do that, and those who do usually feel they gotta hide it. If you keep insisting on that as a criterion for a boyfriend, you’re going to be very lonely.”

“But it was so much fun when we were little.”

“Yes, it was. I remember—and a few boys even had fun dressing up for us.”

“Think any of them might still enjoy doing it?”

“Well, Fiona, y’ never know…”

* * * * * * * * *

Nurse Chang was studying the patient’s electronic chart on a tablet computer at the foot of the bed in Room 312. She used a stylus to update notes on the patient. In normal circumstances, the Charge Nurse would not be monitoring a single patient, but this one had presented a special challenge overnight.

“Mm…!” Morgan began to stir, wiggling and stretching under a stack of warm blankets. “This feels nice! Good morning, Nurse…?”

“Janet Chang,” the nurse told her. “I’m the Charge Nurse for the night shift. I came in to check on you one more time. You had quite a busy night.”

“Why?” pondered the young woman. “Did I sing while I was sleeping?”

“Did you sing?”

“Mm-hmm,” Morgan confirmed that was indeed what she had asked. ”I had this strange dream that I was singing and dancing naked in a flower garden.”

“Uh—Miss O’Donnelly, you were not dreaming.”

“Whaddya mean I wasn’t dreaming?” Morgan wondered in confusion.

The nurse walked over to the nightstand next to Morgan’s bed and picked up the wreath of flowers the girl had worn as a crown. “Was this in your dream?”

“Yes, but how could—? Omigosh!” Morgan gasped, cupping a hand over her mouth.

“You weren’t dreaming,” reiterated the nurse. “You were singing and dancing nude in the flower garden just north of the building. First, you made yourself an anklet, a bracelet, and a crown from flowers, next you began dancing and singing. Then you lay down on a bench in the ice cold drizzle and went back to sleep. You had begun to slip into hypothermia, but our Night Watch found you just in time. We spent some time getting you warmed up again. It could’ve been dangerous if they hadn’t found you when they did.”

“I was, like, really dancing naked outdoors?” Morgan asked, still incredulous of what she’d been told.

“Yes,” the nurse reaffirmed. “In a cold, light rain.”

“But I didn’t know I was doing it,” the girl pled in her defense. “And I couldn’t, like, imagine myself doing anything like that knowingly.”

“Miss O’Donnelly, I’m not here to judge you,” Nurse Chang assured her. “I see naked people every day. I wasn’t so much concerned with the nudity as I was by your exposure to the cold.”

“It’s just I’m—I’m so—so embarrassed I was outside naked.”

“So? You went outside naked. Maybe you have just a little naughty streak in you? You’re certainly not the first girl to dance naked in a spring rain.” Nurse Chang assured her, smiling. “Besides, I have an idea what may have happened. But I’ll let Doctor Chafee explain it.”

Demurely, Morgan returned Nurse Chang’s smile.

* * * * * * * * *

Paolo sat down at his desk and opened his agenda to go over the results of his morning’s activities. Coming to his notes on Sína O’Donnelly, he wondered if David might know her as well as Kelly. So he pressed a button on the interoffice telephone.

“David, could you come in for a moment?…” Paolo asked his intern. Although Mr. Cassini could just as easily have asked his questions by telephone, he always preferred to speak to people directly, face-to-face whenever possible.

“I’ll be right there, sir,…” David answered. Anxious, he paused to take a deep breath, wondering what he might have done to get called before his boss. The young intern got up from his desk and began to tread slowly to Mr. Cassini’s office.

The door was open, so David peeked in. “Mister Cassini, sir, what do you need?” he asked tremulously.

“Please remember just to call me ‘Paul,’” Mr. Cassini reminded him. “We don’t stand on ceremony here, although we may occasionally fall from it.”

David wondered, what could have Mr. Cassini meant by that?

“Anyway, David, have you met Kelly FitzPatrick’s cousin?”

“Yeah, I met him yesterday,” the intern confirmed. “They could be twins.”

“Him?” asked Paolo. “I met a young woman named ‘Sína’ this morning.”

“Well, the cousin I met yesterday was a guy named ‘Sean,’” David recounted. I also called him later in the evening to find out any more news about Kelly.” However, the young photographer decided not to tell his boss about how he’d asked Sean to dress up as Kelly to retake a few pictures. After all, Sean had refused his request.

“So Kelly must have another cousin,” concluded the talent agent. “What I want, now, is to sign them both. Do you have any idea how much we can get for supermodel twins?”

“They’re not twins—they’re cousins.”

“But they look like twins. And in this business how they look is more important than who they are.”

David began to object again, but thought better of it. Besides, that’s what an internship was for—to get some experience in the work world. And if Kelly did sign with Cassini & Sons, he would get credit as the photographer who discovered her. Might he claim credit for finding her cousin as well?

“So then, how can I help?” David asked still unsure where all this was going.

“Café Tír na n-Óg is one of your regular hangouts, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then make it your preferred hangout. Since this is an assignment, bring your receipts in and I’ll reimburse you for what you spend there. Try to get candid photos of Sína or Kelly whenever they show up.”

“Okay,” agreed David. “I can do that.” Still, he felt as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Anything else?”

“Not really,” said Paolo. “Just keep me apprised of any developments with Kelly or her cousins.”

The intern just stood there another moment longer.

“You can go now, David,” said Paolo, dismissing him.

“Yes, sir,” the intern acknowledged anxiously. “Thank you, sir.”

“Again, son, just call me ‘Paul,’” insisted David’s boss. “This ain’t the army.”

David left Mr. Cassini’s office to return to his own desk. Meanwhile, Paolo thought about the brief exchange that had just taken place. The kid was hard-working and bright with lots of talent but seemed so stiff, too straight-laced. That was a definite handicap in the industry. David needed to learn how to chill-out or he’d never make it in the fashion world. But still…

* * * * * * * * *

“So, Doctor Chafee, what did happen to me this morning?” Morgan asked the young physician. “How could I do what Nurse Chang said I did?”

He sat down next to his patient’s bed and sighed. “The sleeping pill that I prescribed for you, zolpidem tartrate, has an interesting history,” Dr. Chafee began. “Patients taking it have been observed to engage in various complex behaviors while asleep, unconscious and unaware, and then to awake with no memory of what’s happened. No one really knows why or how.”

“Why did you give it to me, if it could do that?” Morgan asked.

“There’s no way to know how anyone reacts to a drug until actually taking it,” he explained. “Not unless maybe someone in your family had taken it before. And that’s often true of any medication.”

“Then what’s next?”

“The reason I wanted you to stay overnight was to make sure you were fully rested, but I’m not so sure we managed that. Besides, I also need to be certain that you’re okay after the hypothermia as well.”

“But don’t give me that sleeping pill again.”

“Oh no! Not that one!” Dr. Chafee assured her, chuckling. “I’ll have to find something more suitable for you. If that were to happen again, the Director of Hospital Security would so drop-kick my butt out of here.”

Morgan giggled as she realized that she wasn’t the only one who’d been embarrassed by her early morning performance. “Was he upset because I was dancing naked or because he missed the show?”

“You may be onto the truth there,” the doctor answered laughing. “Jim hates to be left out.”

Morgan giggled awhile after that.

* * * * * * * * *

Sean sat alone in a hidden corner of Café Tír na n-Óg, enjoying a cup of his favorite savory lentil soup and a grilled panini sandwich. He drank only a simple lemon spritzer with it. Meanwhile, he thought to catch up with a few of his missed text and voicemail messages.

“… So is Morgan alright, then?…” Sean asked his mother.

“Yes, but her doctor wants her to stay overnight again,” emphasized Maureen O’Donnelly. “He doesn’t think she’s sufficiently rested yet. And apparently, your little sister went on some wild adventure in the wee hours o’ the mornin’ and caught herself quite a chill…”

Sean thought about Sandra bringing him in from the cold drizzle. Had Morgan experienced something similar? That they both faced such strange but similar situations in the early morning today seemed weird.

“Mom, I’ll be certain to look in on her right after I get off work today,” he promised. “I’ll look in on her and Kelly both…”

“That’s fine, Sean. G’bye!…”

“G’bye, Mom!…”

So Morgan was in St. Bonnie’s, too. From what his mother had said, he must’ve just missed her when he left the hospital yesterday. Having both his cousin and now his sister in the hospital was a bit much. And he couldn’t help but wonder about his own sanity. Why did he show up at work dressed like his cousin today? He couldn’t remember dressing or coming to the café. Maybe he needed a night at St. Bonnie’s himself?

Sean took a spoonful of his soup. Maybe he just needed a good night’s sleep. Whatever happened last night could not have been sleep—too crazy! He bit into his panini. As he did, he caught a glimpse of his own well-polished fingernails. Did he do that? Effort and care had been used, like Kelly and Morgan had taught him. But he didn’t remember.

Just then, Sandra came over and sat down on the edge of the low table in front of Sean’s armchair. “How’s Sína doing right now?”

“Sína is quite relaxed,” he said. “Sean, however, is about as confused as ever.”

His boss smiled at him. “Well first, thanks for showing up here this morning. I don’t know why, but I’m glad you did. You saved our butts!” Sandra explained. “And thanks especially for coming in the cheer uniform. You so lightened the mood by doing that, and not just for us—the customers picked up on it, too.”

“I still have no clue why,” he denied. “Showing up early at work for a shift not mine, dressed like a girl, is hardly how I planned today.”

“Too bad,” complained his boss, her eyes twinkling perhaps more than a boss’s eyes should. “I’d so like to see Sína here again.”

Why did girls want him in drag? It really made no sense to Sean. Admittedly, he looked more than convincing as a girl. That had always been true, especially since people confused him with Kelly all the time. But he kept running into girls for whom his girlish looks were a fixation. Fiona was obsessed with him, and Sandra was attracted to him, both seeming to want him as a girl. But Fiona had never seen him en femme. No, none of it made sense!

“I really thought that I’d left dressing up behind,” Sean admitted to her.

“Like your violin?”

Sandra’s remark stung—hard. He’d never talked about his childhood ambition to become a violinist with her. Why did she have to bring it up now?

“Yes, like my violin,” confessed Sean. His gaze fixed upon Sandra’s eyes. “Kelly must’ve told you about it?”

Sandra realized that she’d struck a nerve—a very sensitive nerve—with him. “Yes, she did. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” confirmed Sean, soberly glancing down at his soup. “It’s but a shattered dream now.” He spooned more of the lentil soup into his mouth before continuing with a quote from the Douay-Rheims Bible:

“When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child. But, when I became a man, I put away the things of a child.”

“I don’t regard sharing happiness with those around you as childish,” proclaimed Sandra. “You have a true gift in you. And I believe He will hold you accountable for how you use it.”

“But I’ve lost it already.”

“Have you? Have you really lost it already?” Sandra put to him. “I don’t think so. I don’t know much about music, except for what I like to hear. But your music, your gift is sleeping inside you, waiting for you to wake it up again—for you yourself to wake up!”

On the verge of making a proverbial scene, Sandra paused. She’d never reprimanded Sean before now and it wasn’t even about his job. And she was the one who’d broached the off-limits topic. “I’m sorry, Sean,” she apologized to him. “All I had really wanted to say was how much we appreciated you coming in for no good reason and helping out. I know you wanna go change, and Shelly’s offered to take your afternoon shift today. So, you can go home now with our thanks. And please, don’t be upset with me for bringing that up.”

Sean took a moment and let the affair settle in his mind. He mostly got along well with his boss and coworkers at the café. And Sandra’s remarks were well-intended even if unwanted. But more important than what she’d said, was what she did. This morning, she brought him in from the cold and tucked a blanket around him to sleep. She’d kept the teasing sufficiently friendly and low-key that he’d mostly forgotten how he was dressed while dealing with customers.

“Forgiven,” Sean pronounced with a demure grin. “After all, you did pull silly me out of the cold this morning.”

* * * * * * * * *

A weary mind rests, its delta-waves ruling until something signals for its other-than-conscious awareness to enter the theta-state. An apparent fog lifts, revealing a scene from a mindscape…

The four children, brother and sister with their cousins, another brother and sister, are gathered in a dressing room. Three wear beautiful Irish dresses for step-dancing. The fourth, dark-haired and taller than the others, sits in tears, holding a dress of similar design. He fingers the burst seams that once held the beautiful dress securely on his form. Slowly, he compares his girth to the bodice of the dress, noting that his shoulders, chest, and waist had outgrown the precious garment.

His sister with her beautiful mane of fiery red hair sits down beside him and puts an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close to her, letting him cry. Their cousins join them, pulling their seats close enough to hold hands together as a group. They maintain their contact for a few moments until the auburn-haired younger boy wearing an Irish dress goes to get his violin. He returns to this small family circle, as he performs a sad lament for the torn dress.

The sad boy nods to the youngest of them, the violinist’s dark-haired sister, who takes the torn, outworn dress from her cousin and stows it in its garment bag. Perhaps it may be repaired. She seeks another dress for her cousin in a closet, but she cannot find another dress that would fit him. She retrieves an Irish kilt to fit him, with which he must make due.

He is still sad as he dons the kilt, although the violinist plays a bright reel to encourage his cousin’s dampened spirit. The time is come for these children to continue onto their stage, where a world eagerly awaits them to perform…

And a new fog rolls in, dampening the rhythm of theta-waves, and the mindscape recedes into the delta-state of deep sleep…

* * * * * * * * *

“Wake up, Major!” Capt Merrill boldly announced over the whirr of the main rotor as he began his approach to set the helicopter down on the deck of the aircraft carrier. Maj FitzPatrick slowly stirred from his nap, the debriefing report still open at the page he was reading when he dozed off. He had been in the war for too long when he could sleep in spite of the pounding noise of a rotor. Sweat had sprung from his brow, so pulling a handkerchief from a pocket of his dress jacket, the major wiped the moisture from his face.

Capt Merrill was an expert and really didn’t need the signalman on the flight deck to wave him to the helipad; the pilot could do it in his sleep. Rather, the signalman was there to wave him off if things changed suddenly of which a pilot couldn’t be aware. But today there was no such excitement as Capt Merrill set his vehicle down in the target circle. Maj FitzPatrick quickly disembarked from the helicopter and returned the salutes of a Marine lieutenant and two sergeants whom Capt Merrill was taking on as passengers.

Seamus saw Malcolm standing next to another officer, a lieutenant commander, wearing an armband designating him as “OOD,” the Officer of the Deck. “Permission t’ come aboard, sir?” Maj FitzPatrick addressed him with a salute.

“Granted, Major,” the Officer of the Deck said returning the salute with a loud voice. “Welcome aboard!” The OOD then offered a handshake, eagerly accepted by the visiting Marine officer.

“Thank you, Commander,” the Marine officer yelled. The deck of an aircraft carrier can be a noisy place.

“Welcome, Seamus!” Malcolm O’Donnelly greeted his best friend and wife’s brother-in-law with a handshake and a hug. “Good t’ see y’again! I’d like ya t’ meet Lieutenant Commander William Barrett. He’s Officer o’ the Deck, today.”

“So how do you guys know each other?” LCDR Barrett inquired, ushering the other officers toward the warship’s superstructure, which would be quieter inside.

“First we grew up next door to one another in Philadelphia,” explained Maj FitzPatrick.

“Then we married the pair o’ twin sisters who grew up across the street from us,” CDR O’Donnelly continued. “Our kids are all like a single family—hard t’ tell where the line between cousin and sibling is.”

“Me daughter an’ his son are frequently mistaken for each other,” added Maj FitzPatrick, reaching for his wallet. “They look even more like twins than our wives.”

CDR O’Donnelly pulled his own wallet out as he and Maj FitzPatrick began displaying their respective family photographs to LCDR Barrett.

“Officers’ mess is already underway, gentlemen,” announced the OOD as they clambered down the cramped ladder-like stairs. “I’ve already eaten, so if the Captain is there, I’ll introduce you. Otherwise I have to go right back to the bridge.”

“Busy day, Commander?” Seamus asked.

“Not especially, but as Officer of the Deck, I stand in for the Captain,” he explained. “For example, I welcome visitors aboard when the Captain is otherwise engaged.”

“All officers o’ command rank serve in rotation as Officer o’ the Deck, Seamus,” added Colm. “I’m third in rank aboard this floatin’ airstrip.”

* * * * * * * * *

The orderly wheeled Morgan into her cousin’s room where a nurse and Dr. Belknap were working. The neurologist peered at the patient monitor as the nurse had just finished sponge-bathing Kelly.

“How’s Kelly, Doctor Belknap?” Morgan asked. “I didn’t get to see her yesterday after I came in.”

“So are you here as a patient, yourself?” Dr. Belknap replied, surprised to see his own patient’s cousin visiting in a wheelchair.

“Yes. I was so stressed out over Kelly’s accident that I hadn’t slept,” the girl explained. “And my blood pressure was so high that the school nurse sent me to Urgent Care and Doctor Chafee made me stay overnight.”

“Well, to answer your previous question, yesterday was quite exciting,” recounted the neurologist. “Kelly engaged in a complex motor behavior, to the extent possible, while still unconscious. It was a previously choreographed behavior that Nurse Heather here recognized as a cheerleading routine. I’ve read about such cases in journals, but I’d never observed it myself until now. It’s really good news for Kelly.”

“I’m glad she’s getting better,” said Morgan. “Cheering her way back to health sounds just like Kelly. Cheerleading was so important to her.”

“Well, her choreographed routines in memory have given her mind and body something to grab onto,” the doctor explained. “I used to think of cheerleading as silly, but after looking at Kelly’s charts, I couldn’t prescribe a better workout for her brain.”

“She was a cheerleader at Liberty-Patriot High School, wasn’t she?” Heather asked from across the room. “I recognized the cheer and did it with her until I could fasten her restrains. She almost kicked some equipment over.”

“I’m on the varsity cheer squad at Liberty-Patriot myself,” Morgan told her. “But it’s my senior year and we’re done except for baseball season now.”

“Hi there, Sis!” Morgan heard the familiar Irish tenor voice behind her.

She turned around quickly. “Sean!” Morgan rose from the wheelchair to embrace her brother, now dressed in his usual jeans, turtleneck, and flannel shirt. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“I couldn’t believe it when I heard you were in here, too,” Sean cried to his sister, kissing her cheek. “’Twas almost too much!”

“The stress from Kelly’s accident and school and, like, everything, it got to me all at once,” she explained. “Now, I just hope Mom and Aunt Kathleen hold up alright. It’s gotta be tough on them.”

“Relax a little, Sis,” Sean advised her. “That’s why you’re in here right now.”

“I was, like, gonna sit awhile with Kelly,” Morgan told him. “Hold her hand.”

“I’ve been reading to her when I’m here,” Sean explained. “I could swear I saw her smile yesterday.”

“Sean,” Dr. Belknap addressed him. “I should tell you that Kelly’s brainwaves have been unusually active while you’re reading to her, more than I would’ve expected. And sometime after you left yesterday, she began to move according to what I’m told are cheerleading routines, even while she was still unconscious.”

“Doctor Belknap told me about that just before you came in,” confirmed Morgan. “And like, Nurse Heather was a cheerleader at Liberty-Patriot High School herself.”

The nurse finger-waved at Sean. “Doctor, I think it’s time we left our sweet young patient in the kind and caring hands of her kin.”

“I would guess so,” Dr. Belknap agreed.

The nurse positioned Morgan’s wheelchair where she could hold onto Kelly’s free hand easily. Sean took the mythology text from his backpack and sat down next to his sister and his cousin. The nurse and the neurologist left the room right away, as both needed to attend to other patients.

Sean was turning the page to the next story in his book while his sister held Kelly’s hand to her cheek and kissed it. But Morgan had noticed a detail of her brother’s grooming that simply begged for investigation.

“Nice nails, Sean! Do them yourself?”

“What?”

“You did your fingernails in peach,” observed Morgan. “Sína making an appearance?”

Sean looked down at his polished fingernails. He’d forgotten to clean the nail polish off when he changed clothes at his apartment.

“Omigosh! I, like, totally forgot about it!” exclaimed Sean.

“Well, I’m guessing there’s a fun story about why you’re wearing nail polish,” reckoned Morgan. “And you’re not leaving until I hear it.”

New talent is sought, while an abandoned talent is encouraged once again. Fathers talk about their sons—and daughters?—pondering their futures. The bandleader follows the band. An exhausted neighbor sleeps blissfully in the night.

Paolo Cassini sat at his desk, poring again over the photographs of Kelly FitzPatrick. Any of them looked like Sína O’Donnelly could have posed for them. The girls looked just like twins to Paolo. It really didn’t matter too much whether they were actual twins, merely sisters, or even cousins, the fact that they looked identical was enough to make them a high-profile and highly sought asset for his firm. Sína may be reluctant, but he’d bring her on board somehow. Kelly could probably do it. She was, after all, loaded with charm. Paolo imagined that she’d been talking Sína into various activities for years.

Everything depended on Kelly’s recovery from that accident, though. Paolo felt frustrated. The girl had so much talent, but she was as fragile as anyone else. They had models who were injured before, but Kelly’s accident happened just as she was about to get started in the business. If she didn’t recover soon, it could end her chances of—no! Maybe he could convince Sína to take Kelly’s place briefly? He opened his agenda to the entry for Sína. He had not acquired a telephone number for her. But wait! Perhaps David had it. So he picked up the handset for his interoffice telephone and pressed the button for his intern’s extension.

“Yes, Mister—I mean Paul?” the intern answered nervously. “Can I help you?…”

“David, do you have a ’phone number for Kelly’s cousin Sína?…”

“No, but I do have one for her cousin Sean, if that helps…”

Paolo considered it a moment. He wondered, if Sean were Sína’s brother or if they were cousins by different parents? But in either case, Sean might be able to put him in touch with Sína.

“Well, it might. Could you give me the number?…” asked Paolo.

“Sure!…” David answered. He picked up his smartphone and pushed a few keys. “I just sent it to your cellphone by text message.…”

“Thanks, David!…”

☆ ☆ ☆

Aboard an aircraft carrier in the Persian Gulf, a Navy commander and a Marine major dine across a table from one another in the Ship’s Galley during Officers’ Mess.

“I’m sorry ’bout Kelly, Seamus,” Malcolm consoled his longtime buddy. “I wish there was more I c’ do.”

“Believe ’t or not, Colm, I’m not as worried ’bout her as I am Mike,” the Marine officer admitted to his best friend. “Kelly’s a strong girl, like ’er Ma, an’ she takes more after me than does ’er brother. She’ll make it through this, mark me words. No, ’tis me boy. I dunno if he’s gonna make it through life.”

“A big ’n’ strong young man like Mike? Wha’ c’ be wrong with ’im?”

“We both know what’s wrong with ’im, Colm. You twigged to it ’fore I did years ago. Remember?”

“Aye!” Malcolm’s voice emitted in a loud whisper, and then lower, “The dress thing—it still bothers ’im? An’ after all these years?”

“It does, me brother,” Seamus confirmed. “Sometimes I wonder if ’is soul be more a daughter than a son.”

“So how’d y’ feel ’bout that?”

“Oh, I hope not. If so, then I’ve lost both the man ’e is an’ the daughter ’e shoulda been.”

“No need t’ be doubly disappointed, Seamus. Talk t’ im. If it still vex ’im, he’ll be happy t’ find ’is Da can talk t’ im ’bout it.”

“Afraid ’tis this damn war,” the major admitted. “I’m only a reserve officer, but I’ve been on active duty e’er since Nine-Eleven. That’s been so long, I mus’ seem like a career Marine t’ me kids.”

“It’s kinda happened t’ me, too,” the commander answered. “I’m too good ’t what I do for the Navy t’ send me home ’til we pull out of this theater of operations.”

“At least we’re windin’ it down,” said Maj FitzPatrick wearily. “Can’t pull out fast enough f’r me. I’m hopin’ t’ get back t’ me family an’ the business as soon ’s I can. You still ha’ y’r chair ’t the university?”

“Aye! They’ve been more than happy t’ keep ’t open for me since I already ha’ me tenure. S’ long ’s I’m o’er here, they c’n pay a new kid who just got ’is Pee-aitch-Dee only half me sal’ry. So they keep fillin’ me chair wi’ visitin’ professors an’ adjuncts. But once I’m back, they gotta pay up in full!”

Seamus laughed along with Malcolm at that. They were both reserve officers who’d been pulled away from their civilian employment and activated for the Second Gulf War. Seamus worked in his family’s construction business, while Malcolm had received his tenure and then promoted to be associate professor of engineering at a university just before Nine-Eleven. The politics and economics of college teaching had, strangely enough, caused his long deployment to work in his favor, while Seamus could always count on working for the family business. And then Malcolm, too, had worked for his best friend’s father right after he received his bachelor’s degree.

“Seriously, Colm, wha’ d’ I tell Mikey?” Seamus asked his buddy, almost pleading. “I don’ e’en know how t’ bring ’t up with ’im.”

“Tell ’im the truth,” advised Malcolm. “Be honest wi’ Mikey ’bout wha’ y’ know an’ how y’ feel. An’ more than that, be honest wi’ y’rself about ’t all.”

“But I’m not sure how I feel, Colm.”

“Y’ know, when y’r out on the high seas and there’s nothin’ t’ be seen f’r miles aroun’, navigation starts wi’ gettin’ a fix on where y’ are. Whether by direction an’ distance from y’r previous position, reducin’ a sight by sextant, or a hyperbolic fix by ’lectronics, or these days by Gee-Pee-Ess, y’ can’t plot y’r course t’ elsewhere ’til y’ know where y’ already are. So I guess what I’m sayin’ is look ’t wha’ y’ know an’ think ’bout how y’ feel. An’ give y’rself permission t’ feel howe’er y’ feel. Not ’til then’ll y’ be ready to talk t’ Mike.

“Howe’er y’ feel, that’s y’r truth. An’ if y’ don’ ha’ the courage to tell ’im y’r truth, how c’n y’ expect ’im t’ have it to tell ye ’is?

“An’ as f’r m’self? If Mike come out t’ ye, I’d say that takes a soldier’s battlefield courage.”

“I guess we’ll see when I get back home.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“Well, I dunno what happened,” Sean told his sister. “I really don’t. This mornin’ I, like, woke up on a sofa in Café Tír na n-Óg wearin’ Kelly’s cheerleadin’ uniform, but I have no idea how, ’cept that Sandra found me outside on the patio sleepin’ on a picnic bench in the cold drizzle. So she dragged me inside, put me on the sofa, and threw a blanket o’er me.”

Morgan wondered just how much her brother’s experience in the morning were like her own. “Did anyone else, like, see you?”

“Oh, yeah! Before long everyone who came in saw me dressed up,” Sean continued. When I woke up, there I was, at workplace, on a sofa, wrapped in a blanket, dressed like a girl in Kelly’s cheer uniform.”

“Omigosh!” Morgan squealed at her brother’s revelation. “In front of everyone?”

“More than that,” he continued. “We were busier than normal at the coffee shop this mornin’, so Sandra put me to work just as soon as I was awake.”

“Wearing Kelly’s cheer uniform?”

“Yeah.”

“That had to be a riot!” Morgan surmised, giggling as she tried to imagine the scene in her mind’s eye.

“Well, it was mostly low key—lower than you might think, anyway—until Kelly’s bandmate Fiona came in lookin’ for me. But Kat an’ Shelley warned me, so I hid in the office. Since my bike wasn’t in the rack, Sandra told Fiona I was out on a delivery.”

“I know Sandra’s your boss, but who are Kat and Shelley?”

“Kat usually works the mornin’ shift with me. Shelley works weekends mostly, but is takin’ my mornin’ shift while I cover Kelly’s in the afternoon. Anyway, everyone already thought I was Kelly, so I just introduced myself as Sína. There was this one guy from a talent agency who came in lookin’ for her an’ wanted t’ know if I was a model like Kelly.”

“So Kelly’s been modeling?”

“She must have some kind of deal with him for it.”

“She never told me!” Morgan whined indignantly.

“Actually, I think we’re all outta the loop on this one. Mikey an’ Aunt Kathleen didn’ even know ’bout it. Some big important envelope came for her in the mail Monday but I didn’ have any idea what it was ’til today. She must have a lot goin’ on.”

“She usually tells us what she’s up to, though.”

“Aye, she does. But I think both the modelin’ and ’er band are kinda new. She simply may not’ve had the chance to talk ’bout it yet. You’re right that she likes to discuss important things with us. I was surprised t’ find out ’bout the Daughters of Danaan, myself.”

“What’s happening to us, Sean?” Morgan asked her brother, almost pleading. “We used to be so close we all knew what any one of us was thinking about at any time.”

“I guess that’s changed. We’re in differ’nt places in life. Differ’nt schools, differ’nt jobs, differ’nt purposes. I thought I’d be at Curtis but I’m not. I always thought I’d be a violinist, so I don’ even know what I wanna do now.”

“You don’t even, like, play your violin anymore.”

“I know. But I’ve gone as far with it as I can. There’s no more challenge.”

“But do you gotta go to Curtis?”

“It’s the only way I can stay in Philly. Don’ wanna go anywhere else.”

“I wish I could do something to help you get in.”

“That’s okay, Morgan,” he absolved his sister. “No one can really help me get in there. It’s not the nature of the place. I’d really hafta get in there on my own.”

“Tell me, brother,” she said looking him in the eye. “Is doing a degree in computer and information science, like, what you really want?”

Sean looked at Morgan a moment, then answered, “I’m good enough at it to have a successful career.”

“But you didn’t answer my question,” she persisted, maintaining eye contact. “Is that what you really want? ”

Fragments of the music that he’d played since he’d first picked up a violin until he had achieved his pinnacle filled his mind, his inner ear. Then the agony of loss hit him right in the solar plexus. Sean broke the eye contact with Morgan and looked down. “No,” he sighed. “It’s not mine. But what else can I do?”

“Brother, you already know what you can do,” said Morgan reaching out to hold his hands. “Why don’t you, like, just go and do it?”

☆ ☆ ☆

Seamus waited with Malcolm as the mechanics continued their pre-flight check of the naval jet. While the two officers waited, LCDR Barrett, as the OOD, escorted two other men, one wearing a flight suit, toward them.

“Captain, I should allow Commander O’Donnelly to introduce his guest,” LCDR Barrett deferred to the ship’s chief engineer.

“Captain, this is my best friend, Major Seamus FitzPatrick of our own Marine Corps,” Malcolm introduced his buddy to his own commanding officer (CO). “Seamus, this Captain Jeremiah Randall Wilson, skipper of our carrier.” The major saluted the captain who returned it, then the two warmly shook hands.

“Pleased to meet you, Captain,” Seamus greeted his best friend’s CO.

“Likewise, Major,” CAPT Wilson said, then inquired, “So how did you and Mac get to know each other?

“We were next-door neighbors growing up,” answered Seamus. “How old were we when met, Colm?”

“Oh gosh! I’m not exactly sure,” he apologized. “Just three or four years old, I think.”

“Certainly no later than that,” the major confirmed. “And then, Captain, we married the twin sisters across the street from us, so we’re also related by marriage.”

“Aye! Our kids’ve all grown up together, almost like one set of siblings,” the chief engineer added.

“Well, anyway, I’m glad that I could meet you before you had to fly off, Major,” said CAPT Wilson. “Let me introduce you to Lieutenant Commander Thomas Mayfield, your pilot. He’ll be flying you to Ramstein. From there, you can get your flight stateside.”

“Nice to meet you, Lieutenant Commander,” Maj FitzPatrick greeted him. “I look forward to flying with you.”

“I’m happy to meet you, too, Major,” LCDR Mayfield reciprocated. “I need to embark and go through my pre-flight checklist. We’ll have enough time during our flight to get acquainted.”

“I can appreciate that,” concealed the major. “This’ll be the first flight that I’ll ’ve taken by a fixed-wing aircraft in a few months.”

“Major, I can promise you a smooth flight from here to Germany,” the naval pilot bragged. “After this, you’re motto will be “‘Fly Navy!’”

“Now wait a minute, Commander!” Maj FitzPatrick retorted jovially. “We have our own jets and pilots.”

“Not right here, right now, you don’t!” LCDR Mayfield teased him.

“No, I guess not, Commander!” Seamus retorted with a chuckle.

“Yeoman Briggs!” Malcolm addressed an enlisted man carrying a canvas bag. “Over here!”

“Aye aye, sir!” replied the yeoman.

MalMal took the bag from the youth and zipped it open. The commander carefully examined its contents and smiled at Seamus. I’ve put gifts in there for my wife and kids, your wife and kids, and for you, too. There’s something for Colonel Jerry and Father Tim as well.” He gave the bag to his buddy.

“Gentlemen, we have a schedule to keep,” announced LCDR Mayfield. “I need you to embark, Major, and stowe your gear aboard.”

Seamus set the bag down on the flight deck so that he and Malcolm could hug. After that, they separated and saluted each other. Seamus then turned to face CAPT Wilson and saluted him, asking, “Request permission to disembark, Captain?”

“Permission granted, Major,” replied the captain returning the salute. With that, Maj FitzPatrick climbed the rollaway ladder to the backseat of the naval aircraft.

☆ ☆ ☆

Sean pulled closed the door of his apartment and leaned against it for a moment. The day had been so exhausting for him—and confusing. He’d gone out well before dawn that morning. He didn’t like skipping class, but he couldn’t focus tonight. So he had dropped off the assignment due for his class that evening and decided to go home.

He had met with the professor for his mythology course that afternoon to discuss what he intended for his paper. She had liked his general idea of comparing Norse myths to his own Celtic tradition, but warned him that his outline was much too broad. She suggested that he narrow the scope of his topic for his first foray into comparative mythology, maybe attempting parallel analyses of a Norse myth and a similar Celtic one. He’d have other opportunities to build on his grander ideas later in other courses.

However, what Morgan had said to him had bothered him since he had spoken with her. And he couldn’t get the music out of his mind. It had been playing in his head since she had told him that he already knew what he wanted.

His tummy growled to demand sustenance. Sean hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime at Café Tír na n-Óg, and even that had been a light meal. Still, he was too fatigued to cook anything, so he retrieved the uneaten meal replacement bar from his backpack and went to get some milk from the refrigerator.

Sean slowly chewed the bar while trying to look over his calculus book. He was confident enough in his mathematical abilities to learn it largely on his own, yet he wasn’t in the mood for it, not quite focused on it now, especially not after talking with his sister earlier. What she had said was really bothering him now.

He slammed the textbook closed and imbibed some milk to wash down the bar he was chewing. He liked the bar. The mix of fruit and grains held together by peanut butter and chocolate was tasty, but it had no added sugars, so it wasn’t overly sweet. And it was just enough that he felt sated.

☆ ☆ ☆

The Daughters of Danaan sat around a table in Café Tír na n-Óg, discussing what to do over coffee and a light dinner.

“Look,” Morag addressed the group. “He was called into work this morning unexpectedly. Fiona, you even came here to confirm it after I told you not to. And what did you find?”

“He wasn’t here when I came in,” the bandleader more complained than recounted. “Sandra said he was ‘on a delivery,’” Fiona said gesturing quotation marks with her fingers.

Moira spoke up, “He’s promised to audition with us tomorrow night and I fully expect him to keep his word. He just seems like that kind of a guy. After all, Sean is Kelly’s cousin. Her kind of honor runs in the family. I really think that the only trouble we’d have with him now is if we keep on his case about what he’s told us he won’t do.

“Fiona, that means you shut up about him appearing on stage as a girl. He’s a guy, so the Daughters of Danaan can have a brother until Kelly’s okay.

“And Morag, you need to quit asking him to play violin again.”

“But he was so brilliant!” Morag argued wistfully.

“And that may be,” concurred Moira. “But he was heartbroken when he failed his audition at Curtis. Every time you bring it up, he only feels worse.”

“I guess I kinda forgot about that,” confessed Morag.

“We need to keep Sean’s working with us in perspective,” Molly reminded everyone there. “He’s merely agreed to audition with us to play short-term while Kelly recovers. And that’s just for keyboards and tin whistle—unless we really can use his clarinet.”

“No, I don’t think so,” opined Fiona. “The clarinet just isn’t—well—Irish!”

“Alright, Fiona,” said Morag. “Moira and I will visit Sean tomorrow morning to confirm an audition with him for the evening.”

Moira signaled for Morag to come with her to the ladies’ room. As soon as Morag was close enough, Moira whispered to her, “Have you or Fiona considered what we’ll do if Sean’s musical style doesn’t fit with ours?”

“Moira! Don’t even think that!” Morag whinged to her friend. “We don’t have anyone else right now and I don’t want you to jinx it! Besides, he and Kelly studied with the same piano teacher. It would be strange if their styles were too different.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Moira as she closed the door to the ladies’ room behind them.

☆ ☆ ☆

Sean peeked over at the clock. Miss Moon flirted back at him, displaying the time as “11:38.” He’d been in bed for more than an hour, yet couldn’t get to sleep even though he felt exhausted. So, he sat up in his bed for a moment before going for the medicine cabinet. Perhaps he could make up some sleep tonight.

He filled up a glass with water and opened the cabinet to grab the amber plastic bottle of zolpidem tartrate. The instructions on the bottle read for him simply to take one or two tablets, as needed for sleep, at bedtime. He had only taken one the previous night. Maybe he should try two tonight?

So Sean took two ten-milligram tablets, drank them down, and returned to his bed, hoping for a better night’s sleep.

☆ ☆ ☆

A new mindscape emerged from the Sleeper’s other-than-conscious mind once more. The mind uses delta-waves to heal the body, but from time to time, theta-waves must emerge and exercise other aspects of thought.

Two children occupy a small room within the mindscape once again. They are the cousins with manes of long red curls, one a boy, the other a girl, yet both are attired in pretty, velvet dresses.

The boy wears a dress of navy blue velvet, nude hose, and black ballet flats with bow-tied ribbons, while standing to play a violin. The girl’s attire is similar, but her dress is of forest green, and she sits on a sofa upholstered in burgundy, listening to him play the Sarabande from Bach’s Partita for Violin № 2 in d minor

As he plays, her gaze is locked on him as she is spellbound by his music. He feels no embarrassment or discomfort with his attire, as he is happy to dress as a girl around his cousins and sister. This is simply a fun thing for them.

The Sleeper’s theta-state becomes unstable and the mindscape begins to fade. This time, however, the Sleeper does not immediately retreat to the delta-state but instead begins to generate alpha-waves, moving from mere recollection to creative meditation.

☆ ☆ ☆

The time was approaching two o’clock in the morning as Adele Bancroft wearily climbed the stairs to the second floor of her apartment building, when she heard music coming from behind the first door on the right. She stopped to listen intently to the sound of a solo violin in the night. Moreover, it wasn’t a recording, but a neighbor actually performing it, right then and there. A music student herself, she had recognized the Chaconne from Bach’s Partita for Violin № 2 in d minor. And whoever was playing it, was doing so expertly.

So, Adele took advantage of the sofa placed in the common area between the first and second doors on the right to drop her backpack at the far end of it. Then curling up in the near corner of the sofa, the weary young woman left the busy day behind as the sonorities of the Chaconne became for her a lullabye.

Sleepers awaken. What message does Sean’s neighbor Adele leave? Why will Sandra say or do almost anything to protect Sean from Fiona? Why is the talent scout Paolo still scouting Sína? Sleepers awaken.

Sean slowly awakened, but still he was less than fully alert. Apparently, he’d fallen asleep on the sofa. He looked down to see himself wearing his cousin’s favorite flirty, blue chiffon dress. It was her favorite because its fabric was so light that whenever she turned around in it, the skirt flew up almost, but not quite, giving a peek to onlookers. Sean became aware of the gentle caress of nylon about his legs, but the pantyhose were sagging around his waist after sleeping in them. He saw a pair of high-heeled navy blue pumps on the floor.

Like yesterday morning, he had no idea why he was waking up wearing his cousin’s clothes. He couldn’t remember getting dressed during the night. But then again, Sean couldn’t remember going to bed, either.

Glancing at the table in front of the sofa, Sean froze sitting up, as if in shock. His violin lay in the open case, the shoulder rest attached and a handkerchief tucked around its chinrest. His music stand stood across the room with a score open on it. Sean couldn’t quite believe it, but the evidence was clear that for the first time in a year, he had played his violin. Yet he couldn’t remember playing it.

So Sean wandered back through his bedroom to the closet where he looked at himself in the full-length mirror behind the door. He looked so much like Kelly. Stripping out of his cousin’s blue dress down to just bra and panties, she still appeared to be staring back at him. Grabbing a jar of cold cream from Kelly’s drawer of their common dresser, Sean went to the bathroom sink to look in its mirror before taking his morning shower.

☆ ☆ ☆

One of the small oblong windows refracted a sunbeam so that it penetrated just the corner of Adele’s eye. As the sunlight warmed her face, the girl began stretching out on the sofa and greeted the morning with a smile. The Chaconne that had induced her to sleep still sounded in her mind. A musician to her deepest inner being, music always played in her mind. She needed no MP3 player or other device to listen to; she could always hear mentally anything that she wished. Nonetheless, when she arrived home, well after midnight, she had turned off her mind’s ear to listen to a neighbor unknowingly serenading her.

Noting the time, a little after six o’clock, she knew that she needed to get to her apartment and get ready for her day. But next she reached for her purse and pulled out a pen and notepad. Adele thought a moment, then wrote a brief message.

The young woman stood up and tried unsuccessfully to smooth the wrinkles from her navy blue corduroy skirt. She slung her backpack over one shoulder and her purse over the other. Adele walked over to the door of the apartment and, kneeling down, slid the note under the door.

☆ ☆ ☆

Inside Café Tír na n-Óg, Fiona and Mórag each ordered and paid for a cappuccino and a croissant from Sandra at the bar, then found themselves a quieter table in a corner. A moment later, Debbie brought their food and beverages to them.

“G’mornin’, girls!” Debbie greeted them in her peachy, Georgian drawl. “You each had a cappuccino, then a cherry croissant for you, Fiona, and a chocolate for you, Mórag.”

“Thank you, Debbie,” offered Mórag on their behalf.

“And a good morning to you as well,” added Fiona. “By the way, I know that Sean lives in the neighborhood here, but do you know exactly where his apartment is?”

“Y’know, I don’t know exactly where it is,” the barista admitted. “I know it’s close, ’coz he always walks or bicycles here. But I’ve never gone there with him or asked. Why?”

“We just wanna, like, remind him of his audition tonight,” answered Mórag. “He was supposed to come yesterday morning but he got called in to work here.”

Debbie knew that Sean had shown up to work in drag, wearing his cousin’s cheerleader’s uniform. The very thought of it had freaked out the southern belle—and to think that she had imagined him as a possible boyfriend! Shivering at the thought, Debbie almost told them, but then decided that to apprise them of it was not her place. Although growing up with an unfortunate reputation for gossip, since coming to Philadelphia for college she had tried to practice a modicum of self-restraint. After all, he’d not really done anything to her, save not be the kind of guy that she’d hoped that he were.

“I can’t tell you any more,” said Debbie. “But Sandra knows him better and I think she may’ve actually been to his building.”

“Could we talk with her, then?” Fiona requested. “It would really help.”

“I’ll go get her,” promised the barista.

☆ ☆ ☆

Having finished his shower and dried himself, Sean had pulled on his boxers and an undershirt. Next, he went back to his bathroom mirror and began wielding his blow-dryer in an almost hopeless attempt to control his unruly auburn mane. Then, he could hardly believe his next thought: maybe he needed a haircut. But Sean had always worn his hair long. He had no idea how he’d look with it short.

Nevertheless, he thought, it was time for a change. After all, he’d really outgrown the fun and games of switching clothes and trading places with his cousin. Indeed, dressing up as a girl had been fun for him on occasion, even into high school. Still, the time was now to put away that specific childish thing. And his guess was that Kelly was likely tired of it as well. Even now, though, a young woman seemed to peer back from the mirror at him more than a young man.

Since he needed to finish getting dressed, he returned to the closet, but firstly, he noticed Kelly’s blue dress still on the bed, somewhat crumpled, so he replaced it on its hanger, hoping that it might straighten out from its own weight. After all, a guy ought not sleep in his cousin’s favorite blue chiffon dress.

☆ ☆ ☆

“Debbie said you wanted to talk to me,” Sandra addressed Fiona and Mórag. “How can I help you?”

“We wanna stop by Sean’s place while we’re in the neighborhood,” said Fiona. “Do you know where he lives?”

“Sorry, but I can’t tell you,” the café’s manager apologized. “Our business’ policy doesn’t allow the release of any employee’s personal data without their written consent.”

Sandra didn’t know whether Sean still sought to avoid Fiona, but he had done so anxiously yesterday. Besides, Sandra thought that Fiona were unbalanced. So, until Sean told her otherwise, Sandra chose to protect his privacy, just as he’d done for her.

Three months earlier…

Sean’s landline quietly rang. That usually meant that he had a visitor seeking entry to the building. So he picked the handset up and answered.

“Hello?…”

“Sean? It’s Sandra. I need help,” pled a desperate voice. “Can I come in?…”

“Sure! I’ll let you in. I’ll be right down!…” Sean told her and bolted from his apartment and down the stairs. When he got to the landing, Sandra was doubled up on the floor, just inside the security door. “Did someone attack you? Should I call the police?”

“No! I’m cramping!” Sean’s boss told him, sobbing. “But it’s worse than ever—a lot worse!”

Carefully, Sean stood Sandra as upright as she could and helped her climb the stairs up to his apartment. He could see her tears flowing down her face chapped red from the wintry cold. Twice she nearly stumbled on the stairs, but Sean supported her to the top and led her directly into his main room as he’d left his door open when he went downstairs.

Sandra doubled up at one end of the sofa, dropping her purse in the floor as she let out a gasp of pain. “I have a heating pad and some pain pills in my purse. Can you get them for me?”

As the young woman held her lower abdomen as tight as she could, Sean rummaged through her purse, quickly finding her tartan-covered heating pad and an amber, transparent plastic bottle of pills: hydrocodone/paracetamol. He quickly went to the kitchen and brought his guest a glass of water so that she could take her pills.

“Thanks,” whimpered Sandra, taking the water from him.

“How does this heating pad work?” Sean asked.

“You heat it up in a microwave oven,” she answered. “Then I hold it next to me.”

Sean took the heating pad into the kitchen to warm it up, setting the timer for five minutes. Meanwhile, he figured that Sandra had to be cold, since she had apparently walked to his place from the café. He went into his bedroom to retrieve a colorful quilt from the top shelf of his big closet. He emerged from his bedroom to cover his guest with the quilt. “Would you like something hot to drink? Coffee, tea, cocoa?”

“Cocoa would be nice,” she replied.

The microwave oven beeped to signal that the warming pad was ready. It was very hot, so he carried it to Sandra wrapped in a hand towel. She applied it to her lower abdomen, near her crotch, in an attempt to relax her muscles and soothe the pain. Sean returned to the kitchen to prepare the beverages.

When the cocoa was ready, Sean filled a mug for Sandra and another for himself. She briefly flashed a weary smile as he gave her the cocoa. “Thank you, Sean.”

“You said the cramping was worse than usual,” he recalled. “So you’ve had cramps before?”

“Every month,” she answered. “They’re menstrual cramps. But most girls don’t get ’em this bad. My doctor calls it dysmenorrhea.”

“So you gotta go through this every month?”

“Well, they hadn’t been quite so bad until a couple of months ago. This is the third time like this, but this time the cramps are a whole lot worse.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Thanks, but don’t worry about it. It’s all part of being a woman.”

“Can I do anything else for you?”

“Please, hold me,” she said. Then indicating the lower abdomen, just above her crotch, Sandra asked him, “Could you hold me right here? Maybe even massage it a bit?”

Although he was anxious about it, Sean complied with her strange request, then realized that apparently, by compressing and massaging her lower abdomen with his hands, he was helping to relieve Sandra’s cramps. So he stayed with her, holding and massaging her until the next morning when he convinced her to let him drive her to University Hospital in her own car.

And now at the café…

As Sandra recalled that cold wintry night, her resolve to protect Sean’s privacy stiffened. After all, how many boys were willing to sit up with a girl, not even their own girlfriend, all night to hold her and to nurse her through an attack of extremely severe menstrual cramps? Most men get squeamish if a woman even mentions her period.

“Please?” begged Fiona.

“Sorry!” Sandra reiterated. “It’s just not allowed. I could lose my job for revealing that information. Besides, you could just call Sean and ask him.” Before Fiona or Mórag could follow up with another question, Sandra whirled around and scampered back to the bar to continue taking orders from the morning customers.

☆ ☆ ☆

Paolo looked at his agenda for the day. The week had been somewhat frustrating for him since he’d been unable to get Kelly’s Letter of Intent to sign with Cassini & Sons, LLP, because of her accident. On the other hand, that circumstance had led to the discovery of Sína, Kelly’s identical twin cousin. The two girls together offered a possible synergy that promised to make them his highest earning models.

However, he still had to bring Sína on board, even though she’d expressed some reticence—fear, really—about being photographed. Yet this was nothing new; few models had quite the natural gift before the camera that Kelly had demonstrated. Besides, the two girls shared enough genetics that Sína couldn’t be too different from her photogenic cousin.

Leaning back in his wingbacked chair, Paolo wondered whether he ought to visit Café Tír na n-Óg to try recruiting Sína again. Then again, he didn’t wish to frighten the girl away. Although he was certain that Kelly could get her cousin on the team, she still remained in a coma at St. Bonaventure’s Hospital. He hoped that if necessary, Sína might even substitute for Kelly. But Paolo didn’t even have a telephone number for Sína. Then he remembered that he did have a number for Kelly’s cousin Sean. David had given it to him. Perhaps Sean could help him get in touch with Sína.

Turning behind the divider for O in his agenda binder, Mr. Cassini remembered Sean saying, “two ens, two els.” So Paolo ran down the page until he found the name O’Donnelly, Sean. He entered Sean’s telephone number into his smartphone and waited for the ring…

☆ ☆ ☆

His smartphone rang the default ringtone, so Sean answered it.

“Hello?…”

“That you, Sean?…” said a familiar voice.

“Who’s this?…” he queried.

“This is Mórag,” the voice answered. “Fiona and I are here at Café Tír na n-Óg and wondered if we might stop by?…”

“Well, I just got out of the shower,” he told her. “I really need to get dressed first.…”

“Sorry if it’s too inconvenient—…”

“Alright, Mórag,” Sean conceded to her. He opened Kelly’s drawer in the dresser and began rummaging through it. “Give me half an hour and then you can come by.…”

“Where are you?” Mórag asked. “I know you’re close by, but not exactly where.…”

“Listen up!” Sean told her, as he continued looking for something among Kelly’s things. “Cross to the south side of Finnegan Avenue, turn left and walk east. Then cross to the next block and continue east to about the middle of the block. The building’s a long, three-storey brownstone, with an entrance facing north near each end. My apartment’s at the west end, so you should use the first entrance you’ll come to. Come inside the door. There’s a telephone board. Press the star key. When you get a dial tone, press pound-two-five-eight…”

“That’s it?…”

“That’s it!” confirmed Sean, closing his cousin’s drawer and pulling open Morgan’s. “The time it takes me leaving from my bedroom until clocking in at the café is only seven minutes.…”

“Okay, Sean!” Mórag accepted the arrangement. “We’ll see you then. G’bye!…”

“Goodbye!…” Sean ended the call. With a sigh of relief, he found his sister’s bottle of nail polish remover and took it into the bathroom.

☆ ☆ ☆

Paolo felt disappointed and more than a little frustrated when he heard Sean’s voicemail answer:

“Hello! You’ve reached Sean—well, not really Sean, but his voicemail. I’m willin’ t’ call ya back, but-cha gotta leave me y’r name an’ number so I can. So if y’r okay wi’ that, leave ’t after the beep!…”

Mr. Cassini wasn’t happy that Sean hadn’t answered the call himself. Paolo hated waiting for any call to be returned. He was about to hang up, but took a breath as the voicemail beeped.

“Hey there, Sean! This is Paul Cassini. I met a young woman named Sína O’Donnelly at the café yesterday and wondered if she’s related to you or Kelly. My number is area code two-six-seven…five-five-five…thirty-five-hundred. Please call me as soon as you get this…”

☆ ☆ ☆

Mórag informed Fiona, “He gave me very clear directions. His building is on the next block on the other side of Finnegan Avenue. He asked us to wait half an hour ’coz he just got out of the shower.”

“So he’s not trying to avoid us today?” Fiona asked rhetorically.

“He’s not been trying to avoid us, Fiona,” Mórag told her bandleader, yet thought, but perhaps he’s just trying to avoid you!

“I need another cappuccino, I think,” complained Fiona, her attention seeming to wander from their conversation. “For some reason this one didn’t meet my caffeine quota.”

“You should’ve had the chocolate croissant with it—or maybe a mocha,” suggested her bandmate. “Cherries just don’t do the trick in the morning—not for me, anyway.”

☆ ☆ ☆

Sean worked quickly, but remained focused as he stripped the polish from his nails. Peach was a subtler nail color, not likely to be noticed by another guy if he missed any, but a girl might notice stray polish. He still couldn’t recall doing his nails, although it had to’ve been while he was donning Kelly’s cheerleading uniform during yesterday’s early morning hours. He’d completely forgotten about the nail polish until his sister mentioned it later in the afternoon. He should’ve removed it after he came home. Then he wouldn’t be rushing it now. His biggest worry was that the odor of acetone might linger even though he’d turned the exhaust fan on in the bathroom. Fiona might notice that and wonder.

He needed also to put away his violin and the quarto of Bach’s sonatas and the music stand. Mórag would notice any of those.

But then Sean thought through what he was doing again. He could think of no good reason to allow Mórag or Fiona in his apartment. He didn’t invite them, anyway; they invited themselves. Sean would simply talk to them outside in the commons area.

☆ ☆ ☆

“This looks like it here,” announced Mórag. “And he said to use the west entrance.” She and Fiona turned to walk up the sidewalk to the door. When they opened it, they stepped inside a foyer where there was an arrangement of brass mailboxes on the west wall and the telephone board on the east.

Mórag picked up the telephone handset and pressed the * -key. When she heard the dial tone, she pressed #258.

Upstairs in his apartment, Sean answered his landline. “Hello?…”

“Sean, we’re here!” announced Mórag. “Can you buzz us in?…”

“Alright,…” replied Sean, and pressed the 9 -key. Downstairs, an electromagnet buzzed and opened a bolt securing the door, allowing Mórag and Fiona to enter the building. Still not comfortable with these girls, especially Fiona, entering his apartment, he decided to meet them in the lobby of the first floor, so he quickly bounded down the stairs. He offered them seats in the common area.

“Are you coming for your audition tonight, Sean?” Fiona demanded of him just as soon as she was seated.

“I promised you I’d be there an’ I will,” he assured her. “I’d’ve been there yesterday mornin’, but when I stopped at the café, they were really busy. Kat and Shelly hadn’ worked together before, so Sandra asked me t’ stay an’ get the shif’ runnin’ more smoothly. Anyway, I’ll be there tonight with me tin whistle an’ me clarinet.”

“D’you think you could play the Irish flute as well?” Mórag asked him.

Sean paused a moment. “Never tried it b’fore, but the fing’rin’ oughtta be the same,” he mused. “I can give it a try, too.”

“Still, the main thing we need you for is to fill in for Kelly on piano and keyboards as needed,” Fiona reminded him. “You can do that?”

“Not a problem,” he dismissed the worry implied by her question. “But it’s all about whether my style ’ll work wi’ yours? ’T will or ’t won’t. When I play for you tonight, that should settle it.”

“It works for me,” agreed Mórag. “But you are the bandleader, Fiona, so it’s your call.”

“Okay, then,” decided Fiona. “Sean, can you be ready at six-thirty? The van will stop here for you.”

“I’ll be waitin’ for ya,” he promised.

☆ ☆ ☆

Sean noticed the paper that he’d left on the corner of the table. It was the note that someone had slipped under his door. He unfolded and read it.

Good morning, Neighbor!

Heard your violin when I came in. I ♡ed listening to you play the Bach Chaconne. Hope to meet you soon!

♡ Adele

He walked over to the music stand, wondering what was there. His quarto of J.S. Bach’s Partitas & Sonatas for Solo Violin was indeed open to the Chaconne of Partita № 2. Still, he couldn’t remember playing it.

☆ ☆ ☆

Seamus leaned back in his seat on the transport out of Ramstein. He looked forward to seeing his family again, but Kelly—poor Kelly was still in a coma. Would he even have a chance to talk to her? He’d missed so much of her life already. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.

When he’d enrolled in the Naval Recruit Officers’ Training Corps (NROTC) in college, Seamus never would have guessed that the decision would take him away from his wife and family for nearly a decade, with tours of duty in both Iraq and Afghanistan. Much of the Second Gulf War had been fought by Reservists. Too much, really. His buddy Malcolm had joined the program with him and had spent almost as long sailing the Persian Gulf.

Although he’d enrolled in the NROTC intending to spend his reserve duties in the Navy, his academic degrees in geology and the earth sciences caused the Marine Corps to take an interest in him. So Seamus ended up as a marine officer instead of as a naval officer. He was glad to have had the chance to visit Malcolm on his way home.

He peeked into the tote bag full of his friend’s gifts and noted one that had been properly gift-wrapped. It looked about the right size, so he rapped his knuckles twice and the knocking sound told him that the gift box was wooden. Seamus smiled as he tore the wrapping paper from the box. Two small brass keys were taped down next to the locking mechanism set into the wood. Taking one of the keys, he unlocked the door of the wooden box. Surrounded by a satin lining was a fifth (750 ml) of Connemara Peat Malt Irish Whiskey—Uisce Beatha. Also recessed in the satin lining were four shot glasses.

So Maj FitzPatrick broke the seal to open the whiskey, took one of the little glasses, and poured himself a libation.

“For family and friends,” the major whispered to himself and drank it down.

He poured a second shot. “For God and country!” He toasted his faith and service and imbibed it.

Seamus poured a third shot. Then with tears in his eyes, he whispered, “And now for you, my dearest, wee Kelly! Sláinte mhaith! ”

The major refilled the small glass yet again. “And now for you, Mike! Which be ye now, son or daughter? Courage to you either way—Sláinte mhaith! ”

So after the fourth shot of whiskey, he screwed the cap back on the bottle and locked it inside its small cabinet. Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep for the duration of the flight.

☆ ☆ ☆

The Sleeper’s consciousness once again emerged from delta-waves to theta, and slowly, the mindscape began to form…

The four children appeared on stage to begin their demonstration of step-dancing in their school’s auditorium. Two of them, looking like twins, had long, curly blazing red hair, one of whom deftly played the violin instead of dancing. The tallest, a black-haired boy wearing a kilt, resembled the shortest member of the troupe, a girl whose long, black hair had been coiffed into luxurious, bouncing ringlets.

The bekilted boy and the two girls danced the complex pattern of steps as the red-haired boy in the pretty Irish dress dazzled the audience with his fiddling. Their schoolmates marveled at them, especially as none of them had seen or heard them perform before. Nor did anyone seem bothered that the fiddler, though a boy, wore a dress matching the girls’. Rather, the auditorium rang aloud with schoolchildren clapping and stomping in time to the beat of jigs and reels.

Usually the red-haired violinist played seated as his sister and cousins danced, but now he’d left his stool in the corner and moved about the stage, skipping and twirling around, his body pulsing with the beat as he conducted the audience in their response. Teachers looked on from the wings and from the audience as chaperones, wondering at the provenance of the talent displayed by so young a troupe.

The red-haired girl danced downstage to the apron during a jig, and, in a very un-Irish move, raised her hands and beckoned to those who might wish to come onstage from the audience to join them. A number of girls and boys came and bounded up the short run of stairs on either side of the proscenium. A few of them fell right into step with the other dancers, while others tried to learn by watching and copying their steps. These classmates experienced various degrees of success and failure, a few even tripping themselves up, but all participating with good-natured giggling and laughter as well as applauding from the audience. The teachers nodded in approval as the troupe welcomed the playfully intrepid volunteers onstage and helped them with their efforts.

At length, the fiddler played an authentic cadence to a jig with an audible and visible flourish, signaling the close of the performance. The troupe stepped forward with courtseys and a bow to the applause of their peers in the audience as well as onstage, bidding the volunteers to join them in their bows before returning to the audience. After that, the troupe skipped offstage while their classmates scampered back to their seats.

Meanwhile, in the wings, the taller, black-haired bekilted boy’s happy smile, worn for the stage, burst into tears as his sister and cousins tried to console him in a group hug.

Thus, the mindscape faded into a fog as the Sleeper, compassionate and concerned, descended once again into delta-waves…

☆ ☆ ☆

“Sir, wake up!” Technical Sergeant Vonda LaFleur, USAF, gently shook the sleeping Marine Corps officer. “Wake up, Major FitzPatrick! We’re approaching Keflavík. You have a layover there for lunch and then you board your flight to McGuire Air Force Base.”

As Maj FitzPatrick sat up, his stomach growled and he felt a throbbing headache, the result of downing four shots of Irish whiskey in rapid succession and sleeping through breakfast. “Forgive me, Sergeant,” apologized Seamus. “Could you bring me some coffee and if there be any pastries remaining from breakfast, one would be nice.”

“Cream and sugar, Major?” she asked.

“No—just black and as strong as you got!” he requested. “Got a headache this morning.”

As TSgt LaFleur walked back to the galley, the major observed how her jumpsuit caressed her swaying hips. What kind of woman looks so sexy in a flight suit? He quickly dismissed that thought from his mind. After all, his own girl, his gorgeous redheaded soul mate, awaited him at home.

A moment later, Vonda was handing him a tray with a cup of coffee, a plate with a cherry-filled croissant, and a packet containing two aspirin. He hadn’t even seen her return. He’d been thinking about Kathleen.

“Thank you, Sergeant!” Maj FitzPatrick acknowledged. “That’s what the doctor ordered! By the way, you’re certainly not aboard as a flight attendant, so whaddya do for the Air Force?”

“I’m the communications specialist, but the pilot asked me to make sure you were awake in time for touchdown.” The major had noticed her wearing a wireless earpiece with an attached microphone. She might be acting momentarily as a “flight attendant,” yet she was still engaged in her primary duties while exercising the traditional interagency courtesy.

“That’s fortunate, then. Could you get a message stateside for me?”

“Yes, I can,” she replied, taking a small pad of forms from a pocket in her uniform. “Just write it on here and I’ll send it for you.”

He accepted the pad from her and reached for a pen clipped to his own shirt pocket. “I’d like my son, Mike, to meet me at McGuire, if possible—I especially need to talk with ’im. Otherwise, maybe my wife could meet me instead. Although I could arrange for a staff car, I’d rather not tie one up for my furlough or impinge on a driver’s time. Oh! Please include the time scheduled for my transport t’arrive there.”

“Yes, sir!” TSgt LaFleur confirmed as Maj FitzPatrick returned the pad to her.

☆ ☆ ☆

The girl felt quite groggy. She slowly tried to open her eyes but the lighting in the room was too bright for her to open them quickly. And as she kept trying to open her eyes, she felt the surge of a brutally throbbing headache. She’d never felt such pain before.

She heard a somehow familiar voice that she couldn’t quite identify. The timbre of the voice was soft and mellow, yet dynamic, like a storyteller recounting a narrative. She tried to see who was speaking, but her vision was still blurry and the girl couldn’t focus. Nonetheless, she could make out a heavy mass in a distinctive shade of red where the speaker’s hair would be.

The girl tried to move an arm, but was now becoming aware of the tangle of lead wires to electrodes, intravenous (IV) tubing, and catheters to which she was connected. Slowly, her eyes began to focus, though she still fought a headache induced by photosensitivity. The speaker, seated in a chair and reading from a book, did have long mane of unruly red hair. Her own eyes glanced to the left and the girl observed a long curly lock of red hair, and somehow she knew that it was her own hair color.

Then, the girl became aware of discomfort beyond a headache and arms bruised from IV tubes. Her throat was dry and sore; her mouth, partched. Patiently, she awaited the saliva to build up in her mouth, but to no avail. So she made the best effort that she could, and from her lips, weakly creaked the word, “Water!”

Sean stopped his narration and glancing towards his cousin, they made eye contact. He poured some water from a pitcher on a stand beside him into a paper cup and stripped the paper sheath off an angled straw.

The nurse had told him what to do when Kelly awakened and he knew how to give her the water—not too much at first. Then after her lips were moistened and her mouth and throat wet enough to talk, she uttered a name as a one-word question: “Sína?”

“Well, you haven’t called me that in a long while, but I have used it.”

“Sína,” she addressed her cousin in her semi-conscious state, mistaking him for a girl. “Who am I?”

Dr. Belknap tells Sean about Kelly’s new diagnosis and prognosis. A father and son talk seriously during their long drive home. Adele seeks to meet the mysterious violinist. Paolo Cassini hears important news. Is Sean the mysterious violinist?

Sean and Dr. Belknap were standing just outside Kelly’s room while Nurse Heather attended to her.

“Did she recognize you when she woke up?” Dr. Belknap asked Sean.

“Well, not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“She recognized ‘Sína’.”

“Sína?”

“Have ya noticed how much Kelly an’ I look alike?”

“Yes, I have,” concurred the doctor. “You two look more like twins than cousins.”

“An’ almost everyone else thought so, too, when we were kids,” admitted Sean. “So our moms thought we’d be cuter if they dressed us both alike for céilidhs an’ Irish festivals. Then we started dressin’ up like each other, ourselves, for whatever reason. Sína was me name whene’er I be dressed like a girl.”

Dr. Belknap chuckled at Sean’s story. “So that’s who she thought you were?”

“’Twas, but then she asked me who she be,” Sean continued. “Told ’er that she be Kelly, but I’m not sure she believed me.”

The neurologist held his chin with thumb and forefinger. “She suffered a serious concussion,” he told Sean. “That often results in retrograde amnesia. We can hope she’ll begin to recover her memories. But for her first recognition to be what you described concerns me. Do you remember the most recent time that you were in the guise of ‘Sína’ with your cousin?”

“Think it be for Hallowe’en—no! ’Twas for the Powder Puff Football Tournament durin’ our senior year o’ high school.”

“You were in the same graduating class?”

“Yeah, we were. We’re ’bout the same age. I’m not quite a month older.”

“Actually, what you’ve told me may help me determine how extensive her amnesia may be,” explained the neurologist. “Retrograde amnesia is usually temporary, but it’s often difficult to know how long recovery will take. If she’s only remembered you and herself as in high school, that indicates a rather significant loss of memory that may need a good while to recover. She could also be back to normal tomorrow, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Could I go back in to talk with her?”

“Do you mind if I join you?”

“Will it help?”

“I’d like to observe how she actually responds to you,” said Dr. Belknap.

“Sure!”

* * *

Michael slowed as he approached the main gate at McGuire Air Force Base and stopped right next to the security booth. He pressed the button to roll down the car window and a guard inside the booth greeted him.

“Good afternoon sir! Would you state your name and business, please?”

“Yes, Airman,” Michael addressed him, noting the rank badge on the guard’s sleeve. “Me name is Michael FitzPatrick an’ I’m here to pick up me dad, Marine Corps Major Seamus FitzPatrick. He’s flyin’ in from Icelan’.”

The guard consulted a video monitor for the airbase security system and confirmed Michael’s name and purpose as well as his father’s flight. He printed out a visitor’s badge with Michael’s name and put it into a transparent vinyl sleeve with a lanyard and handed it to him. “Mister FitzPatrick, this is your visitor’s pass. Please wear it at all times while you’re on the airbase.” Next, he gave Michael a plastic parking tag. “Also, hang this parking permit from your mirror so that it’s visible through your windshield. “Do you know where the visitors’ parking lot is, sir?”

“Yes, I do.”

The airman noted the time on the security booth’s clock. “The major’s flight from Keflavík touches down in seventeen minutes. Please remember to return your visitor’s pass and parking permit when you exit McGuire Air Force Base. Have a good day, Mister FitzPatrick!” he wished Michael. The guard then flipped a switch that raised the striped gate in front of the car. Another guard standing outside the booth and next to the gate and waved for Michael to drive through to continue to the visitors’ parking lot.

* * *

Dr. Belknap stood just inside the door of Kelly’s room as Sean sat down next to his cousin and held her free hand. “How’re ya feelin’, Kelly?” he asked.

“Really confused and I got the worst headache ever!” she replied.

“Not too surprisin’,” said Sean, smiling as he caressed Kelly’s hand. “Ya took a nasty bump on your head.”

“How’d it happen?”

“You were ridin’ your bicycle to work and a driver turned the wrong way ’n’ hitcha head-on. You flew into his win’shield. Hit it so hard your helmet split.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“That’s not surprising,” remarked Dr. Belknap, coming toward them from the door. “You have retrograde amnesia.”

“Do I know you?” Kelly wondered.

“Not yet,” he answered, smiling to invoke his best bedside manner. “I’m Doctor Timothy Belknap. I’m your neurologist. I’ve been watching over you since your accident.”

“Neurologist? Why do I need a neurologist? Can’t remember anything.”

“That’s because you've had a serious concussion. A neurologist studies and treats illnesses and injuries of the brain and nervous system.”

“The injury Sína told me about is why I got this headache and can’t remember much, then?”

“Yes, it is,” affirmed the doctor.

“And where am I?”

“You’re here at Sain’ Bonnie’s,” answered Sean.

“Is Father Tony, like—uh—the priest here?”

“Yeah, he is,” Sean replied. “D’ya wanna see ’im?”

“I will,” she sighed. “Sína, I’m so sorry I can’t remember this, but are we sisters?”

“We’re cousins,” answered Sean. “But most everyone think we be twins when first meetin’ us. An’ we’re mistaken for each other all the time.” He wasn’t certain whether to disabuse her erroneous perception of his gender, fearing that to contradict her might cause her distress. Sean glanced at Dr. Belknap seeking a cue for what to do next, but he didn’t get one. While he was thinking, Kelly squeezed his hand and smiled weakly at him.

“Sandra has me workin’ your shift at the café ’til you can go back,” he continued. “Some o’ your customers thought I were you.”

“Sandra?” Kelly wondered.

“Our boss at Café Tír na n-Óg.”

“I have a job?”

“Yeah, we both work there, but different shifts.”

“Sorry,” she apologized, now looking somewhat taciturn. “I don’t remember.”

“That’s okay for now,” Sean assured her. “You’ll remember more later.” Again, Sean looked over to Dr. Belknap, but this time the neurologist nodded his approval.

“You were reading to me when I woke up,” said Kelly. “Would you read to me some more?”

* * *

Michael sat in the lobby, waiting for his father’s flight to touch down at McGuire Air Force Base when he heard his smartphone receive a new text message. He took it from his pocket and saw that the message came from his cousin Morgan:

Kelly awake from coma
Lost memory

He sighed in relief from the news, although he could only wonder about the memory loss. But wasn’t that common after the kind of ordeal that his sister had gone through? Still, he had at least some good news to share with his father when he arrived.

Looking through the large plate glass windows, Michael saw a transport touch down on the nearest airstrip and a humvee drive up to meet it as the airplane taxied to a stop. A door opened downwards from the side of the fuselage to become a staircase and a man with flaming red hair, attired in a Marine Corps officer’s uniform, made his way down the stairs to meet the humvee. Of course, Michael immediately recognized the officer as his father.

The humvee drove up to the rear entrance of the lobby and Michael went out to meet it as the driver swung around so that the passenger side of the vehicle was toward him. Maj FitzPatrick stepped out and retrieved his duffle and a shopping bag from the rear of the vehicle. His son met him at the door with a full embrace.

“I’m glad to see you again, Dad!” Michael told him with a few tears flowing.

“Me, too, Michael!” Seamus returned his son’s greeting. “Still, I wish the reason be different.”

“Well, there’s some good news, though. I jus’ got a tex’ from Morgan while I was waitin’ for you. Kelly’s come out of ’er coma. But she’s lost ’er memory.”

“Saints be praised!” he said, relieved to know that his daughter had begun to recover. “I’m glad to hear she’s awake! She’s in Sain’ Bonnie’s, right?”

“Yeah,” answered Michael. “Should I take you home first or straight to the hospital?”

“I need to see Kelly as soon as we can get there!” Maj FitzPatrick more commanded than stated. “An’ we ’ave issues to discuss on the way. But first, lemme have your ’phone. I need to let your mother know I’m here an’ to meet us at the hospital.”

* * *

As Sean finished reading the story to his cousin, she smiled a slight smile at him. “Thank you,” she voiced weakly. “I like it when you read to me. The stories help.”

“I’m glad that they do,” Sean replied. “I’ve enjoyed readin’ them to you.”

“You been here every day since the accident?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for coming every day then, Sína.”

You’ve had visitors everyday, too. Your mom, my mom, your brother Michael, my sister Morgan, your coworkers, your band—.”

“My band?”

“Yeah,” replied Sean. “The Daughters of Danaan. You sing an’ play piano for them.”

“I’m sorry,” apologized Kelly despondently. “Can’t remember. Do you play with them, too?”

“No, but they’ve asked me to fill in for you ’til you’re well.”

“On piano?”

“Yeah.”

“But I’d think they’d want you to play fiddle,” remarked Kelly. “Haven’t they heard your fiddling?”

“Uh—no, they haven’t,” he said. Sean worried because, apparently, she didn’t remember that he’d quit playing the violin almost a year ago. “Besides, they need someone on piano an’ keyboards more.”

“Know what I’d like, Sína?”

“What?”

“Would you bring your violin and play for me?”

* * *

Sitting at the desk inside the cramped office of Café Tír na n-Óg, Sandra was busily putting together an order for the next week when she heard a signal from her smartphone informing her that she had a new text message. Sean’s image flashed on the small screen. Tapping it caused his message to appear:

Kelly out of coma
Lost memory
Can’t remember accident, job, band
Thinks I’m Sina!

Sandra worried about Kelly. Her traumatic injury had been sufficient to cause damage to her memory. Sandra the manager wasn’t worried about filling Kelly’s shift; no, that was already covered. Rather, Sandra the friend was worried about Kelly’s independence and her beautiful strength of character becoming broken. Kelly was more than a mere employee, more than even a powerful presence at the café. Kelly seemed to empower almost anyone with whom she interacted: coworkers, customers, friends, family, classmates, professors, whomever. Even Sandra herself felt a livelier bounce in her own step whenever Kelly appeared. So, she simply hoped that Kelly’s injury didn’t affect her personality.

Maybe she should call Sean? But he was a young man of few words and what he had summarized in his text message was likely everything that he knew right now. If he learned anything else about his cousin, he’d let her know.

Just then, Sandra heard the bell above the front door tinkling, so she got up to see who was coming in. Her brother David walked up to the coffee bar.

“Good morning, sis,” he greeted her.

“Good morning to you, too,” she returned her brother’s greeting with a smile. “What-cha like?”

“Coffee o’ the day and a white chocolate-raspberry scone…”

Sandra rang up the scone—his coffee was free with the purchase of another item. The owner allowed that as a benefit for employees and their families.

“Sean sent me a text just a few minutes ago,” she told her brother. “Kelly awoke from her coma.”

“That’s good news!” David exclaimed. “Mister Cassini will be happy to hear that.”

“What interest does Paolo have in Kelly?”

“He wants to sign her with Cassini and Sons.”

“Sign?” Sandra asked. “For what?”

“For modeling,” he clarified. “He sent her a letter of intent, but she had her accident before she got it.”

“I didn’t know she was into modeling.”

“Paolo Cassini noticed Kelly’s pictures in my project binder for class. He asked to meet her, so I introduced them. The firm brought in a photographer for a test shoot and she got really great feedback, so he sent out the letter of intent. I think he was afraid another agency might get her first.”

“I’m not surprised,” remarked Sandra. “She’s quite easy to work with. She’s very photogenic and follows directions well.”

“That’s what Mister Cassini—er, Paul—says,” confirmed David. “He asked me to call him ‘Paul’, but I’m not comfortable with calling him by a nickname.”

“Well, get used to it, Little Brother, ’coz that’s what your workplace culture requires.”

* * *

A tiny icon at the top left corner of the screen indicated that Sean had missed a telephone call. Although he considered returning it right away, just before leaving St. Bonnie’s, he needed to go immediately. So he jogged over to the bicycle rack at the near edge of the parking lot.

His bicycle was still there in the rack, undisturbed, just as he had left it before visiting his cousin. Very quickly, Sean unlocked the bicycle. He straddled it and was about to don his helmet but took the smartphone from his pocket and looked at the call log. The number of the missed call in the log was not one that he recognized. He’d keep thinking about it if he didn’t take care of it right then.

He touched an icon beside the record of the call to dial the number. Although the number was unfamiliar to him, Sean recognized the voice of the person taking the call immediately.

“Hello! Paul Cassini here,” answered the voice. “How can I help you?…”

“Well, your number appears in my telephone log from earlier,” replied Sean. “I’m just returning your call…”

“First, I’m sorry about Kelly’s accident,” the attorney and agent offered. “How’s she doing now?…”

“She’s awakened from her coma,” reported Sean. “But she’s lost about two or three years of her memory…”

“Lost memory?…” Paolo Cassini wondered aloud.

“Yeah,” affirmed Sean. “She thinks she’s in high school again…”

“Omigosh! That can’t be good. Will she get her memories back?…”

“Her neurologist says that her memories should return, but he couldn’t say how long it might take…”

“That’s too bad,” said Paolo. “She can’t sign that letter of intent with us, then. Could you help me get in touch with her cousin Sína?…”

“What do you want with Sína?…”

“For now, I’m hoping to convince Sína to try modeling,” said the agent. “She’s got the look and I think that I can get her work right away. It would’ve been Kelly’s if she hadn’t been injured. After she recovers, I can book them as twin models and that could be very lucrative…”

“Except they’re not twins, they’re cousins…”

“But still, they look like twins, and in this business, how they look is more important than who they really are…”

Sean wondered what to say next. Should he just tell Mr. Cassini that he himself was actually Sína and had served him coffee and scones at Café Tír na n-Óg yesterday? Yes, to do so would be embarrassing, but it might avoid an even worse embarrassment in the future.

“Mister Cassini—…”

“Please! Call me Paul!…”

“Alright, Paul! There’s something you need to know about Sína,” asserted Sean, his tone suddenly more serious. “She doesn’t exist…”

“What?…”

“She’s not another person…”

“I don’t follow…”

“Sína’s not a distinct person herself,” Sean told the agent. “I’m Sína. Or Sína’s the name that everyone calls me when I’m dressed like a girl. When Kelly ’n’ me were kids, our moms would dress us alike so we’d look like twin sisters…”

“You still look like twin sisters,” remarked Paolo. “And you two could work together and be very successful. Do you have any idea how much you and your cousin could make as a team?…”

“But I’m a guy, or don’t you get that?…”

“So what? Like I said, in this business how you look is more important than who you are,” reiterated the agent. “Even though you’re cousins instead of siblings, you’re a boy and she’s a girl, I could easily sell your image with hers as twin sisters…”

“I don’ believe for a minute that a guy could get away with modelin’ as a girl…”

“Well, you may not believe it, but it’s even been done already,” Paolo told Sean. “And you could do it, too. You have the look…”

“Except that I don’ wanna,” Sean replied. “’Twould be too embarrassin’…”

“Sean, how can I convince you? What can I offer you so you’d at least try modeling for your cousin or with her?…”

“Nothing. I just don’ wanna do anything like that…”

“But you’ve got the look, a million-dollar look! Not to use it would be such a waste!…”

“I’m sorry if maybe you were counting on me to do this, but I’m just not interested…”

Sean heard Paolo sigh heavily.

“I can’t believe that you wouldn’t be interested in millions of dollars…”

“Mister Cassini—sorry—Paul, I know it’s a cliché, but what part of no do you not understand?…”

Mr. Cassini was silent for a moment.

I’m sorry to have bothered you, Sean,” the agent apologized. “I won’t call you again…”

“Look, you’re welcome to call for news about Kelly or to get a message to her,” promised Sean. “But no more talk of me modeling as a girl, okay? Else, I will block your number…”

“Alright,” conceded Paolo. “I know when I’ve lost…”

“Now, I need to go somewhere, so I bid you a good day, sir!…”

“Good-bye, Sean!…”

So with that, Sean put his smartphone in his breast pocket and began pedaling home. As he rode, he heard Mr. Cassini’s words, “Not to use it would be such a waste!” Yet Sean wasn’t thinking about his girlish looks, but of his violin.

* * *

Alternating between theta- and alpha-waves the Sleeper felt restless, even agitated, as the mindscape came into view.

A very despondent boy with long dark hair sits on the edge of a bed. Three other children enter, two girls and a boy, although they all wear feis dresses, styled for Irish dancing. The boy and the taller girl have flaming red hair and wear matching green dresses; the shorter girl’s hair is long and dark but she wears a blue dress in the same style as the other two. The red-haired boy is lugging a garment bag alongside himself, but it’s almost too big for him to carry.

The three gather at the bed where the sad boy sits. The red-haired boy lays the garment bag across the bed before hugging the dark-haired boy. The two girls kiss him on opposite cheeks and also hug him. Then the red-haired boy unzips the garment bag and the two girls cooperate to bring out of it a blue feis dress identical in style and color to the one worn by the dark-haired girl; it differs only in size. The face of the hitherto morose boy brightens as he examines the dress.

Next, the girls take from the garment bag a camisole, panties, black bloomers, white bubble socks, and soft, black dancing shoes. They give these to the boy who hides behind the closet door to change his boy’s undergarments for a girl’s. When he steps back into the bedroom, he’s all too eager to don the pretty blue feis dress, which the girls help him do. After he pulls on his socks and ties his dancing shoes, the redhaired girl plaits a thick braid in his hair and the other girl ties two large matching blue bows at the top and bottom to secure it.

The dark-haired boy, now smiling light-heartedly, and the others file out of the room, join hands and skip down the hallway to where adults await them. They all enter family vehicles and are soon on their way.

The Sleeper grows more restless, thrashing about in anxiety. Then suddenly, theta-waves yield to alpha, then to beta and joyously, the Sleeper awakens.

* * *

“I’m sorry I been away from you an’ Kelly an’ your Mom so long ’coz o’ this damn war,” apologized Maj FitzPatrick. “I signed up for Reserve Officer’s Trainin’ wi’ your Uncle Colm mos’ly to pay for college. We ne’er thought we’d even see any action. But then we had to be jus’ too good at what we do so Uncle Sam wouldn’ let either of us go home for very long.”

“I really missed you, Dad,” admitted Michael curtly, as he was trying to keep his attention on the road. “We all did. An’ Sean an’ Morgan missed Uncle Colm just as much. I think that’s why we all spent so much time together.”

“You remember what I said real courage is?” Maj FitzPatrick asked his son.

“Though you be afraid, you do it anyway.”

“That’s right, son,” he agreed. “Courage is not the absence o’ fear, but facin’ it an’ movin’ beyond it.”

“So, why are ya bringin’ this up jus’ now?”

“I got a couple o’ reasons.”

“First, I’ve been deployed in Iraq or Afghanistan way too long,” complained the Marine Corps reservist. “Yet I’m no career officer, or at least I don’t think o’ meself as one. But me biggest fear’s always been that you or even Kelly’d think so an’ that you’d hafta follow me into the Marine Corps, the Navy or whate’er. An’ ya don’t! Not ’less ya wanna, that is. Yeah, I served me country o’erseas, but-cha can serve, too, by bein’ the bes’ person an’ the bes’ citizen you can be right here at home. In so many ways, that’s the mos’ fundamental service. Don’t ever forget that!”

“No, then,” answered Michael. “I won’t forget it. But I did wonder if you might’ve expected me to go into the Marine Corps?”

“Not ’t all,” Seamus answered his son. “’Tis not for everyone. Besides, I think your temp’rament be perhaps too broodin’, too introverted for the Corps. Don’ think you’d really fit in too well with ’em. ’Coz I’m wondrin’ if ya be so afraid to answer a question as I am t’ ask it?”

“An’ wha’ be that?”

“Pull off t’ the side o’ the road here,” he told him. His son complied and the father continued, “Now answer me direct an’ honest, Michael. Are ya transgender?”

Michael turned the engine off.

* * *

Sean called up another telephone number from his database. Sending a text to Sandra was enough, but he thought that he owed the Daughters of Danaan a call, so he chose Mórag. Her he could trust, so he dialed her number.

“Hello! Mórag speaking…”

“Mórag, this is Sean…”

“Hey there, Sean! You still coming tonight?…”

“Yeah, I promised I would an’ I still plan to be there, but I prefer talkin’ t’ you ’stead o’ Fiona. But ’tis not why I called…”

“What is it, then?…”

“Kelly ’woke from ’er coma, but ’er doc said she’s got this retrograde amnesia an’ kinda bad, too. When she ’woke, she thought I were Sína an’ forgot about your band an’ that I quit playin’ violin. Thought she were still on the cheerleadin’ squad in high school…”

“How important is that?…”

“Well, I told Doctor Belknap a few things about Kelly an’ me, like what we’d done together in school an’ all. Then he guessed from ’er responses that she’s regressed a couple or three years. Now, she talks like she still be fifteen or sixteen years ol’…”

“You said she doesn’t remember the band?…”

“No, she doesn’t. But that’d go along wi’ regressin’ two or three years. She doesn’ recall ’er job nor even bein’ in college…”

“That’s really bad, isn’t it?…”

“Well, Doctor Belknap said that retrograde amnesia be common in ’er kind of injury, but ’er degree o’ regression be more serious than usual. He said mos’ patients recover their memories, ’cep’ for the time jus’ before th’ injury. But the greater the regression, the longer it need. So, she should recall mos’ things sooner or later, but she needs time…”

“That’s so—so sad!” Mórag lamented. “Did the doctor say how long it might take?…”

“Jus’ that it varies from patient to patient. Could be days, weeks, or months. Some might come back in bits an’ pieces, just a little at a time, or ’er memories jus’ might come floodin’ back all ’t once…”

* * *

Michael FitzPatrick sighed and leaned back against the headrest. “I—I think—I’m afraid—that I might be,” he admitted. “But I don’ really know. To be honest, I don’t even know how to know.”

The major remained silent for a moment, stroking his chin by thumb and forefinger. “You need to see a counselor or therapist an’ start to find out,” he told his son. “’Coz if y’are transgender, you need to decide what to do ’bout it. Else if you’re not, I’d imagine it be relief to know that, too. But not knowin’s to be hell for ya! ’Am I right?”

“Yeah,” sighed Michael wistfully. “But I’m so afraid o’ bein’ wrong about this.”

“’Tis why ya need a counselor,” his father said. “Not findin’ out what’s in your heart is to be wrong about it!”

“There are times, Dad, I think I be a girl on th’ inside already,” admitted Michael. “But other times, I know that could never be. Besides, look at me now. I’d be too big an’ ugly to be a woman.”

“But I’m sure ’tis about more than jus’ that,” his father said.

“Yeah, but in our society women are judged so much by how pretty they are,” Michael reminded his father despondently. “I wouldn’t be ‘eye candy’ for anyone.”

“But is that what you’d want to aspire to?”

“No, but you can end up real lonely if you don’ qualify.”

* * *

Back at his apartment, Sean picked up his violin and tried knowingly and consciously to play for the first time in a year. But he couldn’t. The best he could do was to scrape out a few notes with his bow on the strings. He couldn’t hear in his mind the music that he wanted to play.

Was it all gone?

Then Sean recalled what his boss, Sandra, had said:

“…I don’t think so. I don’t know much about music, except for what I like to hear. But your music, your gift is sleeping inside you, waiting for you to wake it up again—for you yourself to wake up!”

Music had been his entire life until he’d lost the audition at Curtis. He looked over at the quarto of Bach’s Sonatas and Partitas for the Violin on his music stand. He’d been able to play every note of that quarto a year ago, but now he could just barely squeak out his scales for practice. Yet a night ago, he’d apparently played the Chaconne in D minor well enough to captivate a neighbor’s attention, although he couldn’t remember doing it. So, he could play the violin in his sleep, but not awake?

He regretted that he couldn’t play anything for his cousin. Would she understand again what had happened in the past year? She had helped him grieve when he’d given up his music. But If she’d regressed as far back as Dr. Belknap thought, it was to a time when music was all he cared about—and family. But now, even the family was going in different ways. Kelly had a band and apparently a modeling contract if she can remember it all. Mike couldn’t figure out where his life were going either. Morgan would be graduating high school soon enough and come under pressure to choose her life’s path.

Sean stretched himself out on his bed and for some reason thought back to a recital when he played the violin dressed as a girl while his sister and cousins danced. He smiled at the memory, a happy one. He had liked wearing a dress at the recital, although he never knew why. Mikey was a little jealous of him because he wanted to wear a dress, too, but he had to wear a doublet and tights, since he danced the role of a prince. What Sean remembered best was that his sister and cousins were cool with it, as were his parents. So he’d been cool with it because everyone else was. But whose idea had it been? Oh! It was their dance teacher’s idea. How old had he been? He couldn’t remember his age then, but he had played Bach’s Partita for Violin, No. 3. He played the Præludium as his solo, then played each of the other movements for his sister and cousins to dance. He tried to recall the Præludium, to hear it in his mind.

Why was reminiscing so difficult for Sean right then? But he began to recall the delicately muted sounds of « La Fille aux cheveux de lin » by Claude Debussy.

* * *

Adele had stopped by Café Tír na n-Óg to get herself a mint-loaded caffè mocha before continuing on to her apartment. As she walked back to her building, sipping her minty mocha, the strains of Bach’s Chaconne in D Minor ran through her mind. She really needed to find out who was playing it at two o’clock in the morning. She’d fallen asleep on a sofa in the commons area listening to it.

On entering the building, Adele checked her mailbox, but it was empty. So she climbed the stairs to her floor as she did every day, but then stopped at the door behind which she’d heard the violin was playing in the wee hours of that morning and under which she’d slipped a note before going to her morning classes. She sipped more of her mocha, then knocked on the door.

* * *

The Daughters of Danaan were all seated in their van. And Mórag had news to tell.

“Everyone, Sean called with a couple of very important items,” she began. “First, for any of you who were unsure about him, he’s confirmed his audition for tonight.” Molly and Móira nodded but Fiona rolled her eyes. “Next, I have mixed news about Kelly,” continued Mórag. Everyone in the van was suddenly silent. “Kelly awoke from her coma, but—”

Molly and Móira squealed in joy while Fiona smiled and yelled, “Yes!”

“But,” Mórag raised her voice, “Sean also says that she’s suffered serious loss of memory. She can’t remember being in college, having a job, or being in our band. She seems to have regressed two or three years and thinks she’s still a high school cheerleader.”

The four women remained silent, all reading the disappointment in one anothers’ faces.

Molly spoke up, “Still, I think that we should visit her as soon as we can.”

“Yes,” agreed Fiona. “I’ve heard that seeing familiar faces can help patients recover memories faster.”

“Then there’s no time like the present,” said Molly as she started the engine. A moment later, the Daughters of Danaan were on their way to St. Bonaventure’s Hospital.

* * *

Sean heard a knock at the door. He went to it and peered through the security peephole to see who was there. There stood a pretty young woman whom he recognized from around the building. So he unlocked the deadbolt and slid the chain off its track to open the door.

“Yeah?” Sean asked.

“I’m Adele Bancroft,” she introduced herself. “I live across the floor from you. I heard you playing when I came in from work this morning. Bach’s Chaconne was beautiful.”

He recalled the message that he had found under the door. “So ’twas you who lef’ th’ note?”

“Yes, it was,” she confirmed. “I curled up on the sofa outside your door instead of going to my apartment. You kinda, like, serenaded me to sleep.”

That surprised Sean, but it also worried him. He hoped she hadn’t come back for an encore—there was just no way he could do it. He’d been fumbling around trying to play scales since he came home. He couldn’t have been playing Bach in the wee hours of the morning. He hadn’t played for a year and all the technique learned and practiced since childhood had fled from his command. Somehow, he’d have to avoid Adele asking to hear him play.

“Well, that wasn’ me!” Sean denied. “That woulda been me cousin Sína. She uses me apartment sometimes. Sína’s the violinis’ now—not me! I quit playin’ a long time ago.”

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Adele apologized. “I just assumed it was you. But you used to play?”

“Yeah, but not anymore.”

“Too bad!” she commiserated. “Maybe you could take it up again?”

“Nah! Don’ think me heart’d ever be ’n it again.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Well, don’ be! Look, ’tis nice to meet-cha, but I gotta get back to me homework, Adele.”

“What’s your major?”

“Computer and information science,” replied Sean. “How ’bout yours?”

“Music—I play piano.”

“Well, gotta go!” He began to close the door, although smiling nonetheless.

“Oh, wait!” Adele stopped him. “I didn’t get your name?”

“Sean,” he replied. “Sean O’Donnelly.”

* * *

Nurse Heather looked up from her desk to see four red-haired young women looking at her. The one with long, flowing hair and wearing a short, daring miniskirt, stepped forward to address the nurse.

“We’re here to see Kelly FitzPatrick,” said Fiona. “She’s our friend and bandmate.”

“There’s too many of you,” replied the nurse. “I can’t let all of you in to see her at one time.”

“But I can!” remarked Dr. Belknap walking up to the nurse’s desk. “Heather, since the patient knows and interacts with these young ladies as a group, she may be more likely to respond to them as a group.”

The neurologist faced the band. “Ladies, come with me, please!”

“Doctor, this is highly irregular,” objected Nurse Heather following the group down the corridor to Kelly FitzPatrick’s room.

* * *

Sean sat on the sofa moping over the visit that Adele Bancroft had just paid him. He’d hoped to meet her ever since he’d moved into the building. Then she comes to introduce herself and he fibs and tells her that “his cousin Sína” was the violinist that she must’ve heard. After all, he couldn’t remember playing Bach’s Chaconne in D minor late at night. Yet he’d found his quarto of Bach’s violin sonatas open to it on his music stand.

But that was not all. Perhaps the strangest evidence that he might have serenaded his neighbor was Kelly’s blue chiffon dress that he was wearing when he had awakened that morning. He began to doubt that what he told Adele were indeed a fib. Maybe Sína had played Bach late at night?

No! He couldn’t have. He was lucky to reprise his scales without screwing up! How could he possibly be performing complex works like anything from Bach’s violin partitas unconsciously?

Perhaps, he thought, he could try to play something else? Yes! A few of Arcangelo Corelli’s variations on La Folia!