The Parting Glass (15 page)

“Hey, we were lucky to have any time at all. Between renovations here and Nick’s work at Brick, it might be years before we can get away again.”

“Don’t even say that. You have to make time for each other.”

Megan started toward the kitchen door. The old maple tree was gone now, and so was Niccolo’s Honda Civic. The first brand-new car he had ever owned was a shiny silver cube in a Cleveland junkyard. Even the shifty-eyed insurance adjustor, who had clearly wanted to issue a modest check for repairs, had gasped when he saw it and declared it a total loss.

“I don’t suppose the contractor’s spent much time here,” Megan said. She had come to terms on the renovations with a man from Westlake before she left. Casey had volunteered to supervise whatever visits the contractor wanted to make before Megan came back. “With all the rain you’ve had and everything else, I bet he’s hardly been here.”

They entered through the kitchen. It, like the rest of the saloon, had been picked clean. Before the brief Michigan honeymoon, Megan had hired a moving company to take everything that wasn’t nailed down to a storage facility while the repairs commenced. The front facade of the building was shored up just enough for them to begin clearing the rubble, but security would be an issue until the walls were restored and doors could be installed again and locked.

“Megan, about the contractor.” Casey followed her sister into the saloon proper, although there was nothing very proper about it now. “That’s part of why I came looking for you.”

Megan waved a hand as if she were wafting away the scent of boiling cabbage. “Look, I know he’s no peach to deal with. He’s got the manners of a bulldog, but his references are good. And his was the only estimate that even came close to the amount the insurance company is willing to reimburse us for. We’re still going to have to come up with thousands of dollars ourselves. Expanding and improving went out the window fast.”

“He never gave you the estimate in writing, did he?”

Megan frowned, turning to search Casey’s face. “He said he’d send it to Nick’s—
our
house. It’s probably there. Why?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Casey, what are you trying to say?”

“He called me the day before yesterday. He reworked his figures before he put it all in writing. He was way off, Megan. Now he says he can’t do it for what he promised. His new estimate’s in line with the others. It’s a lot more.”

“He can’t do that!” Megan felt a surge of anger starting at her toes. “He already gave me a figure!”

“Not one you can hold him to. He had the square footage wrong, and the price of lumber’s gone up in the last week. He says the only way he could do it at what he originally thought was to do a really shoddy job of it. And you don’t want that.”

Megan felt as if she’d been punched. She should have known the estimate was too good to be true. “We should have had more insurance. I knew it. I just didn’t get around to doing anything about it.”

“Jon and I will help, Megan. You know we will. And the others are going to pitch in—”

“What others?”

“The family. The offers are pouring in. Everybody’s going to help get the saloon up and running again. Maybe it’s ours on paper, but it belongs to all the Donaghues. All the memories and the connections to the past.”

Megan rarely cried. Now her throat felt tight. She didn’t want to accept help. Sure, the Whiskey Island Saloon was a family icon, and the Donaghue clan were her family. But none of them profited from it. For years she had run it, and they had enjoyed it. The system had worked perfectly, with no grumbling. Relatives played at tending bar and helping in the kitchen; then they went home at night to their other lives. The saloon was a hobby, a welcome family link. She didn’t want the system to change.

“Uncle Frank and Aunt Deirdre will foot the whole bill,” Casey said. “He already gave me a check.”

“Tear it up.” Megan swallowed tears. She couldn’t cry. There was too much to do.

“He did it gladly, you know he did.”

“He’s a gem. I love him. I love them all. But we can’t make this a family enterprise, Casey. It’s too dangerous. Too many hotheads and firm opinions, and rambling lectures on tradition vs. modernization.”

Casey didn’t argue. Megan knew she agreed.

“So the other options?” Casey said at last.

The kitchen door slammed, and the two women looked at each other.

“Megan?”

Megan couldn’t believe it. “Nick?”

He came through the kitchen door into the saloon. “Surprise.”

“Nick!” She was so thrilled to see him that she forgot her dignity. She ran to him, falling into his arms as if she hadn’t seen him for weeks. “What happened? Why are you back so soon?”

“Anxiety attack,” Nick said. “And not mine. Mama’s. Mama wasn’t dealing with our wedding quite as well as we all thought.” He held her away and grinned. “We’ve had a little talk, Mama and me. She’s on the road to recovery.”

“You’re kidding!”

“It was real. She’s not given to hysterics. Just too much change in her orderly life. But she’ll cope. She’s humiliated. Next time she’ll die of a heart attack before she tells anybody she has pains in her chest. And she’s going to take up yoga. My mother in the lotus position. I’ve demanded photographs.”

“Poor woman,” Casey said. “I actually liked your mother, Nick, even if she spent most of our time together telling me about the day you were ordained.”

“You’re okay?” Niccolo asked Megan. “The drive back went okay?”

“It was lonely.” She smiled up at him; then she sobered. “Nick, Casey has bad news.”

“Jon already told him,” Casey said. “He thought Nick should be warned.”

“Why? So he’d be prepared to come home to a basket case?” She tempered the words with all the smile she could manage. “Listen, you two, I’ll cope. Maybe I’ll take up yoga, too. I’m going to find a way around this, even if I have to do the damned repairs myself. And I could, you know. If I had to.”

“You don’t,” Niccolo said.

“You know, I should leave,” Casey said. “You’re invited for dinner tonight. I’ll see you two then. You can fill me—”

“No, I want you to hear this, too,” Niccolo said.

Casey waited.

“Megan, since Mama was fine, I used the trip to Pittsburgh to spend some time with Marco.”

Clearly Niccolo was on his way to being accepted back into the heart of the family, and that pleased Megan very much. She wanted Niccolo to be happy.

“I’m delighted.” She didn’t know what else was called for.

“It was like old times. But that’s not my whole point. We talked about the saloon.”

She wondered if Marco disapproved of Niccolo’s new wife working as a saloon keeper. He was a traditional male. His wife, Carrie, stayed home with their two children and cooked. And cooked. Megan wished she could hire her.

“Marco has the contracting skills that I don’t,” Niccolo continued. “I could never tackle the repairs here alone, particularly if we expand the project and make the changes we need to.”

Megan felt her mind slowing. She was afraid to let it move forward, afraid she might be wrong.

“But Marco could do this job with his hands tied behind his back. Problem is, he has to pay a crew, and even if he could bring them here and house them for free, with union wages and building supplies, we’d be out of our range again.”

“And he couldn’t get his crew over here, anyway,” Megan said. “Why would they want to come to Cleveland?”

“No, but with Marco and me doing the work with the Brick kids and occasionally a temporary crew, we can do it for the insurance settlement, Megan. We went over and over the figures last night. I had Jon fax me all the estimates we’d already gotten, the plans I drew up for the changes you want. It’s doable.”

“But why would Marco come and do this? He has a business to run. Can he be away that long?”

“He’ll go home as often as he can. In the meantime—and get this—Carrie’s going to run his business.”

Megan stared at him. “Carrie? Of the fabulous parsley pesto sauce? Of the sun-dried tomato ravioli?”

“She’s been answering his telephones, printing up his bills, making calls to the lumberyard and supply houses for years. She’s even bossed the crew a time or two when he was sick. Marco says she can do it. He’ll go back and forth. It’s not that long a drive. A couple of days here, several days there.”

“Why?”

Niccolo smiled. “Because he’s my brother.”

Megan couldn’t believe her good luck. Casey could, though. She came over to hug them both. “This is so great! Now you can get everything you want, Megan. Expanded kitchen, a redesigned space behind the bar. And if you have to take money from the family, it will only be a little.”

“I might borrow,” Megan said. “And pay them back with interest.” With her current rush of goodwill, depleting their bank accounts seemed like the least she could do.

“Then it’s a deal?” he said.

“Of course it’s a deal!” She hugged him. She hugged Casey. “Thank you so much for coming up with this. I can’t believe it!”

“We’ll be slower than professionals,” Niccolo warned her. “It won’t get done overnight.”

“I don’t care. Just get it done. I’ll help. I’m good at this stuff.”

“You are.” He touched her hair. “Good at everything you do.”

Casey broke away. “That’s too much sweetness and light for me. Ever since you saw the Virgin in the tunnel, folks, it’s been like an episode of ‘Touched By An Angel’ around here. Gag me.”

“A couple more people want to see the Virgin,” Niccolo said. “Marco, for one. How would you feel if I took him through the tunnel, Megan?”

She was feeling much too fabulous to worry about anything so inconsequential. In fact, she was feeling so kindly toward Marco that she would scrape the image off the wall and give it to him for Christmas if he asked for it.

“The more the merrier.” Her smile was so broad it threatened to permanently stretch her cheeks. “I’m becoming a believer in miracles myself. Light candles, burn incense, make novenas. I don’t care.”

“I’m heading home before you start the Gregorian chants,” Casey said. “The invitation stands. You two come for dinner tonight.”

Niccolo looked at Megan. Megan looked at Niccolo. Casey looked at both of them.

“Another time,” Casey countered. “I know that look when I see it.”

“Thanks. And you can look after Rooney another night?”

“Not a problem. And Josh will hold the fort at your house. What hotel are you going to?”

“That would be none of your business.”

chapter 11

B
ridie had an insatiable need to connect with people, and Kieran had as strong a need to keep them at bay. Yet the two children were fascinated by each other. She was an intelligent girl, with problem-solving abilities far advanced for her age. She saw Kieran’s desires and needs as puzzles to assemble so that, in the end, the picture that emerged would please everyone. She didn’t gush, and she didn’t ask for more than he would give. She seemed to have no need for hugs or kisses. When he shouted “hi” in her direction, she took it as her due. When he threw himself on the floor in an exhausted temper tantrum, she raised her slight shoulders as if to say “I warned you he was reaching his limit.”

Bridie was almost a daily visitor now, and Peggy had quickly grown dependent on the eleven-year-old’s common sense and insight, as well as her help.

“Red.” Bridie picked up a red sweater and dropped it on the small table where Kieran was sitting in the “classroom” Peggy had made for him. She picked up a red slipper she’d brought from home and put that on the table, too. “Red.” A third item, a lovely polished apple, followed the other two. “Red.”

Kieran showed as little interest as usual, standing, then wandering around the table. Peggy gently guided him back to his little chair, and when he sat at her instruction, she gave him a tiny fish-shaped cracker.

Bridie had cleared the table in the interim. This time she set out a giant red crayon. “Point to red,” she said. “Where’s red, Kieran?”

Peggy didn’t correct her. Bridie should have used fewer and simpler words, and not repeated the command in different terms, but Kieran seemed to be paying attention anyway. And he was sitting, just as Peggy had instructed him to. This was the biggest success of a day in which there had been few others.

He frowned, but not as if he was going to throw himself to the floor. He squinted at the crayon, looked up at Bridie, then swept it off the table. Peggy watched Bridie pick it up and put it back. “Point to red.” Bridie demonstrated. “Point to red.”

He got up and toddled off to stare at the lampshade in the corner. Peggy put her hand on Bridie’s arm when the girl got up to follow him. “He’s been working hard. Let’s give him a few minutes on his own.”

Bridie settled back into her chair. “He knows red.”

Peggy wondered how she’d come to that conclusion, but wisely didn’t question her. Bridie felt a connection to her son, and Peggy wasn’t going to do anything to lessen it.

“You didn’t tell me about school,” Peggy said. “How was it?”

“Boring.” Except for the lilt in her voice, Bridie sounded like any Cleveland child answering the same question.

“Did you have to give your book report?”

“I did, and no one liked it. Sarah McElroy said I went on and on, and it was the silliest book she’d ever heard of.”

Peggy was indignant. “
Anne of Green Gables
was one of my favorite books. Sarah’s the one who’s out of step.”

“
She
reported on a book I read three years ago. It was silly then, and sillier now.”

“You like to read, don’t you?”

“Our flat is quiet at night.”

She said it as if that was a good thing, but Peggy knew better. In her own ingenuous way, Bridie had dropped a number of hints about life with Finn. After the death of her mother and brothers, Finn had sold their home and moved his daughter to a narrow flat in the village over the one and only craft gallery. He worked long hours, and the proprietor kept track of Bridie after school for him, but the girl was alone too much. Peggy suspected that even when Finn was home, the girl was still alone.