The Mulrooney's - Part Six

After dinner, Jay and Sarah Clark sat back on the sofa and opened the Mulrooney Family album.

“Oh, my gosh!” said Sarah, “It’s a picture of our house! Holy crow! How about that!"

“You mean all these faded relics used to live right here?” said Jay.

“I guess so,” said Sarah. “Let’s see what the caption says.”

The Mulrooney House Est. 1872.
10 Kenilworth Road
Garrison, New York

Rupert Winston Mulrooney, born 18th April 1845
Regina Anne Mulrooney nee McCurry, born 7th May 1850

Married 21st June 1871
Born unto this house:
Megan Amber Mulrooney, 14th May 1872
Richard Chadwick Paul Mulrooney, 3rd June 1878

“Hey,” said Sarah. “Maybe your secret admirer is in here.”

“Okay, wiseguy,” said Jay, “If you stop the cracks, I’ll stop talking about seeing, hearing and, yes, feeling things.”

“No, no,” said Sarah. “If you say these things are happening, I shouldn’t doubt you. Maybe I’m just jealous that I don’t have a secret admirer, even a dead one, to speak of. Or maybe I’m just jealous that you’re more sensitive to these things than I am.”

“Secret admirer or no,” said Jay. “Her kiss wasn’t hearly as sweet as yours.”

“Yeah?” said Sarah.

“Yeah.”

“C’mere, you,” said Sarah.

“Oh, for the love of all that’s holy!” said Mr. Mulrooney. “They’re at it once more!”

“My kiss was not as sweet?” said Megan. “I’ve been practicing that kiss for one whole year! I practically wore tho lips off that old porcelain soldier! Of all the nerve!”

”My porcelain soldier!” said Dickie. ”I thought you said you didn‘t know where it was?”

“Will you three calm down!” said Regina Mulrooney. “Has anyone but me forgotten that we’re not amongst the living anymore? Like infantile ghosts we haunt this dear old dwelling and rattle our chains like the world is supposed to get out of our way and give us back that which was taken. That is not going to happen. It all belongs to the living. We roam these rooms, but we find no true comfort in any of them. I know I haven’t. Have you? They are just filled with memories we can never get back. We need to move on. I don’t know how, but I’m damn sure going to find out! And I think the answer is in the attic with that wicked, lovesick maid.”

“Temper, dear! Temper!” said Mr. Mulrooney.

“Oh, boo to you, sir,” said Regina. “You’re the head of this household. You of all people should know I’m right. So, either you come to the attic with me, or you can stay here and obsess and seethe over people who are doing nothing more than living their lives.”

As Sarah poured out some more wine, Jay felt a familiar kiss. Then another and another and another.

I think I’ll be keeping this to myself, thought Jay.

“Careful with that album, dear,” said Sarah. “You dropped it on the floor.”

“Sorry,” said Jay. “Must be the wine talking.”

“What’s this?” said Sarah.

“What’s what?”

“It must have fallen from the album,” said Sarah. “It’s a garland of dried flowers. Hard to tell which kind, though. There’s a tag attached. Megan Mulrooney, born 14th May 1872, died 14th June 1890. Graduation garland. Lilacs.”

"Lilacs?" said Jay.

“Ah, that’s so sad,” said Sarah. “She must have just graduated high school and died soon after. I wonder what happened. The poor thing.”

“Lilacs?” said Jay.