They carried on eating their dinner in silence as a light rain began to fall outside.
‘So, why don’t you call that professor friend of yours and talk to him. See if you can get enrolled again for the fall semester and see if that feature opening might be resurrected? You’ve some story to go to them with now, hey?’
Grace had been thinking about this for the last week. After searching so hard for an original angle for a feature two years ago, one had now landed right in her hands.
‘Yeah. Maybe. I’m not sure I want to write Maggie’s story though mom. I’m afraid I won’t be able to do justice to her and to the memory of all those people. I’m not sure I’m a good enough writer for a story as gigantic as Titanic.’
‘Nonsense,’ her mother replied, looking at her seriously. ‘Now you look here Grace Butler. All your father ever dreamed of for you and Art was to do something you loved in life. He didn’t care about fancy qualifications or fancy clothes or cars, just that you were both happy and fulfilled. He was so excited about your dreams for a career as a journalist and he would be so proud to see his daughter’s name in print. You’re a great writer Grace. If you want my opinion, which I realise as my daughter you probably don’t, you should use this opportunity which has fallen into your lap and use it to write Maggie’s story. Nobody will ever be able to bring those poor people back, but we can certainly remember them through your wonderful words.’ She paused for a moment, re-filling both their glasses before adding, ‘You would make her incredibly proud you know.’
Grace was quiet. She hadn’t heard her mother talk so forcefully or passionately about anything for years, another sign, perhaps, that it really was OK for her to move on now.
‘So?’
Grace smiled at her and wiped away a tear. ‘Yes mom. You’re right. I will. I’ll call Professor Andrews tomorrow and I’ll think about contacting Jimmy, I really will.’ She placed her hand on her mother’s and squeezed it. ‘Thanks mom. For everything.’
‘No Grace. It should be me who is thanking you. I know you’ve made a huge sacrifice being here with me these last few years and I want you to know how much I love you and appreciate what you’ve done for me. You deserve some time to yourself now.’ Gathering the dishes from the table she walked over to her daughter and gave her tender kiss on the top of her head. Grace remembered her doing this when she was a small child. It was a comforting, reassuring gesture. ‘Oh and there’s something else,’ her mom added. ‘I want to turn your bedroom into a guest room – it’s about time those awful posters came down and that dreadful wallpaper was taken off, don’t ya think?’
The rain continued to fall outside, bringing a fresh scent of flowers and cut grass through the open door. The sound of the neighbour’s lawnmower stopped. A plane flew across overhead. The cat ran inside, shaking itself to remove the raindrops from its fur. The timer on the oven rang to signal that the apple crumble for dessert was ready. Everything’s good here, Grace thought, everything’s as it should be.
*
For the rest of the evening, Grace sat in her bedroom surrounded by Maggie’s journal and the bundle of old newspaper clippings, listening to the rain falling on the decking outside. She looked around her room. Her mom was right. Her bedroom hadn’t changed much in recent years; the Bryan Adams and Bon Jovi posters were still on the back of the door where she’d left them as an eighteen-year-old heading off to college. She still had the same, faded snoopy duvet cover she’d loved as a kid and a cabbage patch doll sat on the end of the bed. It was kind of comforting in a way to have these familiar things from her childhood around her and neither she, nor her mother, had been in a rush to modernise things. Maybe if she’d been hoping to bring boys back to the room she might have attempted to make it look a bit cooler, more grown up. But she hadn’t been interested in boys and maybe there was a part of both her and her mom which subconsciously wanted to leave things as they were before her dad died. Her mom’s suggestion that she start reorganising and decorating must surely be a sign that she had really turned a corner.
With a notebook by her side, Grace pored over every detail of the press reports. ‘The Titanic sank at 2.20 this afternoon. No lives were lost’ stated the headline of one newspaper from April 16th and in another ‘Carpathia Refuses to Give Any Details of Titanic’s Loss and as Fruitless Hours Go By, Suspense Grows More Maddening.’ She wondered how the Irish travellers’ relatives must have felt, waiting for news of the disaster, reading these mistaken headlines and having hope only to see them replaced in the following hours and days by the terrible truth. ‘1,302 are Drowned or Missing in Titanic Disaster, Latest Report,’ and the final details ‘Titanic’s Death List, 1,601; Only 739 Lives Are Saved.’ Other pages reporting odd details like one paper reporting, ‘As vessel plunges to her fate, band plays ‘Nearer My God to Thee’ and a shocking headline of, ‘Foreigners Who Refused to Obey Orders Are Shot Down.’