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  BAREFOOT GIRLS

  By Tara McTiernan

  When her hometown newspaper reviews Hannah O’Brien’s newly released novel, the nature of her book is called into question when the reviewer suggests it is a memoir depicting her neglectful alcoholic mother – Keeley O’Brien Cohen, the most beloved of the Barefoot Girls - a little too accurately for fiction, citing rumors rather than sources.

  Deeply hurt and betrayed, Keeley cuts Hannah out of her life. Desperate, Hannah does everything she can to apologize and explain, but her pleas fall on deaf ears. Meanwhile, the rest of Hannah’s life starts to unravel, pushing her to risk her engagement to Daniel, the one man who had been able to scale the high walls around her heart. At the eleventh hour, the Barefoot Girls are able to convince Keeley to send Hannah the keys to the Barefooter house, the home and heart of their friendship. Barred from their clubhouse since she was twelve, Hannah grabs the chance to visit the little shack filled with memories and perched at the tip of Captain’s Island in the Great South Bay on Long Island, New York.

  As Hannah battles to come to terms with her equally blessed and troubled childhood and understand her mother and her sister-close friends, she’s confronted with the power of forgiveness and the dangers of holding on to the past.

  Barefoot Girls is for anyone who ever drank margaritas on the beach with their toes in the sand or fell in love with island-life. More than an unearthing of one family’s dark secrets, it’s the story of the last of a generation of women who grew up before child car seat laws and required bicycle helmets, where the world still held that last glow of innocence and a devil-take-the-hindmost freedom. It’s about the special bone-deep bond between mothers and daughters. It’s about life-long friendships and the essential pacts and promises that hold them together…and the world that tries to tear them apart. Barefoot Girls is a story that will make you laugh and cry and then laugh again…one you’ll want to pass on to the women you love most.

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  Barefoot Girls

  A Novel

  TARA MCTIERNAN

  Bramblevine Press

  Raleigh

  Copyright 2011 by Tara McTiernan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or eletronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.

  Bramblevine Press

  Raleigh, North Carolina

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover design by Mimi Bark

  The author is grateful for permission to reprint lyrics from the following:

  Dont' Worry, Be Happy

  Words and Music by Bobby McFerrin

  Copyright 1988 by Probnoblem Music

  All Rights in the United States and Canada Administered by Universal Music - Careers

  International Copyright Secured All Rights Reserved

  Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard Corporation

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  For the four wonderful women who raised me:

  Kathleen, Hilda, Irene and Patricia

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Description

  Title and Copyright

  Start Reading

  Bonus Material and About the Author

  Prologue

  Hannah woke with a jolt. What was that? Opening her eyes hurt, they were so swollen from crying they stung.

  The air had changed; the electricity that pinged through it when her mother was around was back. Dark blue light flooded around the drawn shades on her open bedroom windows and the oven-blast heat of the day before had left finally, leaving the cooling air settling like dust. Night insects chorused outside in the trees and a car passed the house slowly, headlights briefly piercing in wedges past the curtains and shades.

  She listened for the sounds of her mother. Could her mommy-sense be right – had she come back? Was Hannah finally forgiven? If only she knew what she had done wrong. She slid her blue-pajamaed legs out over the edge of the bed and leapt to the floor, careful to land quietly in case her mother was home and had gone to sleep.

  She picked up and pulled on her pajama top that she had torn off earlier and tiptoed to her door to open it and peer down the hall towards her mother’s room.

  The door was shut!

  Mommy was home!

  Hannah started to do her happy dance and then stopped. Don’t wake her, whatever you do. She looked back at the bed and then down the hall. She couldn’t go back to bed. She was too excited - it was singing through her.

  She thought of all the quiet activities she usually turned to when her mother was sleeping or just locked up in her room. Reading, coloring, Barbies: these were good. TV, games that made noises or played songs: these were bad.

  But the good quiet things weren’t going to release this building pressure, this need to run around and jump for joy. Her mother hadn’t been home for two days. Hannah had eaten all the bread and peanut butter and raisins and applesauce and had even found a bag of stale Mint Milano’s on her mother’s bedside table which she had finally eaten in desperation, knowing her mother would be mad at her for eating her favorite treat.

  Then there was no more food except things like bags of flour and boxes of baking soda. What was worse, the house’s shifting quiet had started to scare her. When she went to sleep the night before, she felt such a deep hopelessness it was a like a black tarry thing living in her chest, eating her insides and hollowing her out.

  But Mommy was home! Hannah was forgiven! No, she needed to do something special to celebrate. Hannah squeezed past through the cracked-open door to her room, knowing that the door squeaked loudly when opened all the way, and tiptoed down the carpeted hall and then down the stairs, picking her way carefully through the downhill squeak-minefield that was the stairs of the old house.

  She walked through the dark house and out the back door, stepping onto the cool flagstone patio and then gently shutting the screen door behind her. The patio was just as Mommy and the Barefooters left it two days ago – metal chairs pulled away from the table as if those sitting in them had to jump up and run, four loungers all lined up from when they had been sunbathing earlier in the day, the card table they used as their cocktail buffet still set up between the two groupings of chairs and covered with crumpled cocktail napkins, dried-up lemon wedges, half-filled tumblers, and a pitcher holding the remains of their margaritas and a lot of black bugs that had found manna before floating lifeless on top of the pale green liquid.

  On the table, among the dirty dishes and empty wine glasses, was a narrow box. “Hannah’s Magic Wands” was written on the paper that had been wrapped around the original packaging of the box, and glitter had been sprinkled liberally on the paper. The front featured Aunt Amy’s perfectly-drawn cartoon of Tinker Bell.

  Hannah had asked Santa for a magic wand last Christmas on her handwritten up-the-chimney list and had given it to her mother to prepare it for their annual ceremony with the Barefooters that involved a big fire in the fireplace, lots of toasted marshmallows, Aunt Pam’s funny rendition of “The Night Before Christmas” read entirely in the voice of Sesame Street’s Grover, and the grand finale of placing Hannah’s wish list in the fire to send it to Santa.

  Her mother would rub Hannah’s list with all of her lucky charms for good luck, especially the soft blue artificial rabbit’s foot Hannah coveted, and say a prayer for what she called a “windfall” – something about money. The afternoon her mother had taken the list for Santa from Hannah to work her magic on it,
she found Hannah playing with marbles on the kitchen floor and making up stories about their marble-lives. Her mother hunkered down on the floor next to where Hannah sat, her beautiful fairy-princess face inches away from Hannah’s and said, “Hey, ladybug. Watcha doin’?”

  Hannah looked up from her game. Her mommy, Keeley Morgan O’Brien, was the most wonderful person ever. Full of magic and excitement and what she called “high hilarity”, Mommy had the ability to make anything fun. To top it off, when Keeley focused her morning-glory-blue eyes on her daughter, asking questions and listening seriously to her answers, she made Hannah feel important, deeply loved and remarkable. Hannah was her special wonderful, a gift from God. Her mother always had time for Hannah, that is, unless she was sick in her room and didn’t want to talk to anyone, not even the Barefooters.

  Not wanting to talk to the Barefooters was the bottom of the barrel and when that happened Hannah’s world became black and brown for days. The Barefooters would babysit Hannah in turns, pretending the closed door at the top of the stairs wasn’t there and sleeping on the pull-out sofa, trying to make things okay. This would go on until one morning when Keeley would open her bedroom door, call for Hannah, and sweep her daughter up into her arms to hug her and kiss every inch of her face. Then life would be wonderful again.

  Hannah answered her mother’s question honestly, knowing her mother loved to hear all about the stories that her daughter told herself. “Well, the blues have taken over the world and live in this castle over here, see? And the browns are the bad guys and they’re going to get the blues and they’re making a plot.”

  Keeley widened her eyes, “Ooooh, what’s the plot?”

  “They’re planning it now! It’s going to be terrible!” Hannah felt her pulse quicken.

  “What are the blues going to do?” Keeley asked, her eyes even bigger.

  Now Hannah was blissfully terrified. “I don’t know!”

  Keeley pouted her lips thoughtfully for a moment, considering. “Wait, I know!” Keeley said, lowering her voice to a gravelly low pitch, “They will invoke the magical spell of Ooboo Dooboo and create an invisible force-field around their castle. Only the blues know the spell of Ooboo Dooboo!”

  “That’s it!” Hannah shrieked. She put her hand on top of the blue marbles and started rolling them in a circle wildly. “Ooboo! Dooboo! Ooboo Dooboo!”

  “Ooboo Dooboo!” Keeley yelped at the ceiling.

  “Done!” Hannah said, and threw her arms over her head, palms of her hands outward.

  Keeley lifted Hannah up and they marched around the house in victory, Hannah’s arms over her head, grinning. Keeley sang the victory song “We Are the Champions” that talked about no time for losers. After a full circuit of the house, Keeley walked them over to their favorite talking-place, the yellow mushy pillow-strewn sofa in the kitchen next to the window that looked out on the garden, where they collapsed in satisfaction.

  “So, kiddo, I got a question for ya,” Keeley said, wiggling Hannah’s folded Christmas wish list out of her jeans pocket.

  “Did you rub it with the blue foot yet, Mom?”

  “Of course I did, and my four-leaf-clover and the piece of the pyramid, and your baby-Boo,” Keeley said, referring to Hannah’s favorite stuffed animal that once was a white fluffy lamb and now looked like a rolled-up nubby brown sweater with no sign of facial features, ears, or even legs.

  “Good, ‘cause I have to get everything this year, Mommy. I’ve been so good!”

  Keeley reached over and ran her hand over her daughter’s silky chocolate-brown waves that were so rich in color compared to her own pale blond hair. “You have been the best girl in the entire universe, there is no doubt. Santa just might have a question about one of the things on the list and I wanted to be able to answer his questions in case he asks me.”

  “What?”

  “This magic wand you wanted-“

  “Oh, yes, that’s the most important! A real one!”

  “Hannah, he might not be able to get you a magic wand, even if you are the best girl in the world, even in the entire universe.”

  Hannah blinked. “But Santa can do anything.”

  “Well, he can do most anything. But he can’t do everything.” Keeley took one of Hannah’s small hands in her own. “He would if he could, though.”

  “But,” Hannah said, her voice growing very small, “How did Tinker Bell get hers?”

  “Well, as you know, Tinker Bell is a fairy and she was born with hers in the heart of a pure-white rose. It’s all part of being a fairy.”

  Hannah’s brow knitted as she thought about this.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “What if Santa could get Tinker Bell just to lended it to me for Christmas?”

  Keeley’s eyebrows went up. “Well, I hadn’t thought about that. That might be a tall order. Maybe Tinker Bell might do that.”

  Keeley was quiet then, looking out the window at the birds clinging to the bird-feeder and making it sway. She turned back to Hannah. “How about this: we don’t know when Tinker Bell has a vacation and can lend us her wand, so Christmas may be out. So let’s take it off of the list. But I’ll talk personally with Santa to see if he can talk to Tinker Bell.”

  Hannah clapped her hands together. “Yay!”

  “Now, no promises.”

  But, of course, her mother had come through. Not on Christmas but six months later on a balmy Sunday evening in June with the Barefooters.

  There had been the wands – they reminded Hannah of the sparklers from Fourth of July. There had been dancing around the yard in the softening twilight with all of the Barefooters waving their sparkling wands in circles and figure-eights and leaving miniature white starbursts in their wake. There had been a big ice-cream cake with Tinker Bell on it and extra “crunchies” in the middle from Carvel. There had even been presents from each of the Barefooters. There was a beautiful pink fairy dress from Aunt Amy, sparkly wings from Aunt Pam, and fairy dust - a bag of gold glitter that Hannah could only use outside - from Aunt Zo.

  It had been a golden evening – pure magic glimmering in the gentle June air and laughter bubbling out of the beautiful mouths of her mother and her mother’s best friends. The drinks flowed, as usual, and the Barefooters had talked for hours while Hannah danced around the patio and yard in her fairy dress and wings. Then it was late and each of the Barefooters had to go home finally. Each had a very big day the next day.

  Aunt Amy had her first day at a new job as an office manager at a local insurance company. She said looked like it might be a decent job this time, with good pay and benefits and everything. Aunt Pam had an appointment at the bank to get a business loan to start her own public relations company. Hannah had never seen her down-to-earth Aunt Pam so childishly giddy as she was that night, thrilled to finally be her own boss. Aunt Zo had an appointment at a very high-end wedding dress store in New York City where you had to book six months in advance to even look at the dresses. Zo had said to the others that afternoon, “It’s a good thing Phillip is willing to wait or I’d be wearing off-the-rack!”

  So finally it was just Hannah and Keeley lying on their backs on a blanket in the yard counting shooting stars when the phone rang inside the house. Keeley had gotten up unsteadily, stumbled a bit and giggled before running for the house. The screen door slammed behind her and Hannah heard the distant “Heyah!” Keeley called out, assuming it was one of the Barefooters calling to talk some more.

  The yard was quiet except for the peepers that lived in the small marshy area at the bottom of the yard and the occasional swoosh of a passing car from the street. Hannah’s eyes were growing heavy. They kept closing even though she wanted them to stay open. She reached up and held them open with her fingers.

  Another shooting star flew across the deep blue sky. “Twelve!” Hannah yelled in the direction of the house, proud she could count that high.

  The house was quiet. Too quiet. She couldn’t hear her mother at
all. When one of the Barefooters called, her mother’s voice always lifted higher and louder, their conversation broken by intermittent bursts of laughter.

  Whoever had called was not one of the Barefooters.

  Hannah’s eyes were getting even heavier, too heavy for even her fingers. She let them shut. A single early cricket starting singing nearby in the grass. The back screen door opened with a squeak and then slammed shut. Hannah rolled over and sat up, rubbing her pesky sleepy eyes hard to make them wake up. “Momma?”

  Her mothers’ shuffling feet grew closer. Hannah finally got her eyes to open. Sitting up helped. When she looked up at her mother who was approaching the blanket, she was completely different.

  Before her mother had been jubilant, nearly dancing on her toes all day, a wide grin never far from her lips. She had those she loved most, her best friends and her beautiful baby girl, and she had been able to answer a magical wish, one involving Tinker Bell’s help. Add to that wine and margaritas and the Amaretto Sours she and the Barefooters drank after dessert, and she was feeling more than fine.

  This new mother’s hair stood up in chunks, as if she’d been pulling it. Even in the dark, Hannah could see something was different about her mother’s beautiful face, something askew. Keeley was walking like one of those zombies in the movie on television Aunt Pam let Hannah watch one time when she was babysitting while Keeley was out on a date with another maybe-father.

  “Baby?” Keeley’s voice wobbled.

  Who had been on the phone? What happened?

  “What, Mommy?” Keeley asked, and then heard the wiggly fear in her own voice.

  “Baby, honey baby…, I have to go out for a little while. I’ll be back real quick, I promise. I just need to try to talk to your grandma and…oh, God. I just need to try to – I’ll try. And if she sees you, that’ll be it. Game over. I lose. Again. Can you…, can you take care of yourself for a little bit? Oh!”