The Parting Glass (18 page)

“Gone through? As if it’s over?”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. I was just trying to let you know I’ve seen this up close and personal from another angle, and I admire anybody who fights it. I know it’s a daily struggle.”

“There’s nothing admirable about it.” He bit off the words. “I’m a drunk, and you’ve seen what drunks can do to the people who care about them. I should think you’d know better than even to offer sympathy. You should run as far and fast as you’re able. Unless you see knowing me as a challenge of some sort?”

She knew she hadn’t handled the conversation well. But she had thought by sharing a little of her past, she could let him know she understood. Now any compassion she’d felt died away, replaced by a slowly burning anger. She supposed he was intentionally being rude to keep her at bay. But what had she offered besides understanding? Was trying to understand Finn O’Malley a crime of such magnitude?

“You know,” she said at last, as he turned on to the boreen leading to Tierney Cottage, “I haven’t known you long. Maybe the people of Shanmullin have such good memories of you that they’re willing to accept your rudeness in hopes the Finn they once knew will come back to them. But that man’s only a story to me. So don’t worry that I’m going to try to knock down the barriers between us or reach into your miserly little heart. I’m not. You may have suffered, but all of us have or will. And not all of us feel it’s our right to be so unkind in retaliation.”

“You
do
have the temper to go with the hair.”

“No, as a matter of fact I don’t. I’m the easygoing Donaghue sister. By now Megan and Casey would have had a knife to your throat.”

He pulled to a stop, and she opened her door into the pouring rain. “I’ll get the bike. Don’t get out.”

He got out anyway, but she’d already unfastened the bicycle and was in the process of lifting it down when he arrived.

“Thanks for the ride, if not for the conversation.” She rolled the bike away from him, then thought better of leaving him that way.

“I have problems of my own, Finn. Don’t worry that I’m planning to borrow yours.” She turned her back. Behind her, she heard the car engine start again. She didn’t look as he pulled away.

chapter 12

W
ork at the saloon was progressing. Marco and Niccolo had hired a seasoned crew to clear away the debris and shore up the building until safety and security were no longer major issues. A new roof was underway, and soon work on the interior could begin in earnest.

Niccolo was using the opportunity to teach the Brick kids about blueprints and design. Each youth had been asked to submit a plan for the renovations, and some of them had been surprisingly creative. Megan liked Winston’s idea for inexpensive kitchen shelving so much that she asked Niccolo to incorporate it. Winston’s sister Elisha, whose flair for interior decoration had been in evidence at their first meeting, suggested a hand-painted mural of Ireland in one corner of the bar area, and smaller tables to create a quiet area.
Relatively
quiet, of course, but Megan liked that, as well.

She knew she should be happy. She knew how fortunate they’d been, and how inconsequential the renovations were in the scheme of things. But something just wasn’t right, and she tried to explain her feelings to Casey, who was taking an early lunch hour from her job at the Albaugh Center.

“I don’t feel like I have a purpose anymore.” In the shell of what had once been a bustling kitchen, Megan heated a kettle of water to go with the sandwiches Casey had brought with her. She didn’t have a stove anymore, which was the lowest possible blow for someone whose self-esteem had revolved around one. She heated the kettle on a hot plate, which sat on a sheet of plywood resting on two battered sawhorses. That, the old sink and two plastic patio chairs were the sum total of their kitchen furniture. Even the ancient linoleum floor was gone, exposing rough planks coated in tar.

Casey twisted in her chair as if trying, in vain, to make herself comfortable. “Isn’t your purpose to see that things get done right?”

“At least you’re not pretending I have some greater mission, like inspiring others to greatness or making the world a brighter place with my smile.” Megan grimaced to show there was no chance of the latter.

“I know it has to be frustrating, but can’t you just use the time to get some of the other things done you never had time for before?”

“Like?”

“Haunting the antique stores on Lorain. Planting a perennial garden in your new backyard. Having tea parties on your front porch. You used to dream of that, remember? And now you have one. I could come over on my day off. We could be ladies of leisure in Edwardian white. We could learn to play croquet.”

Megan didn’t feel even a twinge of longing. She figured that indulging her interests might be good for two days tops. Those were spare time activities, not a focus, a reason for being.

She wasn’t comfortable analyzing herself, but unfortunately, she had all the time in the world to do it now. “I’ve been working since I was a kid. How did you stand it when you quit your job and came back from Chicago?”

“I tended bar for you.” Casey inclined her head toward the saloon. “Remember?”

“I can’t even do that. No bar to tend. No tables to wait on. No meals to cook.” She realized her lower lip was nearly as low as her spirits. She forced a pleasant expression. “I sound ridiculous, don’t I? After all, it’s just a matter of weeks.”

Casey licked her lips, something she did when she was about to launch into an offensive. “It’s not just the saloon, is it?”

“What else could go wrong? Isn’t that enough?”

“You’re not seeing much of Nick, are you?”

There were days when Megan wished she’d had brothers instead of Casey and Peggy. Brothers who couldn’t care less about what she was feeling and couldn’t figure it out if they did.

“He’s busy,” Megan said, trying a shrug and realizing the result was more like a nervous tic. “Of course he’s busy. He’s doing everything he can to help here. And he and Marco are doing a great job.”

“And you don’t see much of him.”

“Do you know how many people have called Nick and asked for a private tour of the tunnel?” Megan was surprised at the censure in her own voice. Was she that unhappy?

“I have no idea. A lot?”

“I’m trying not to keep track. I really am. But the phone’s been ringing off the hook, Casey. Family. Friends. Friends of family. People who know friends of friends.” Her shoulders spasmed again.

“And Nick’s taking them all through?”

“Ask him. Here he comes.”

Casey turned just as Niccolo walked through the door. “Not a very cheery place for a reunion.” He bent down and kissed the top of Megan’s head. “Maybe we ought to get a picnic table for the parking lot. We could all use a better place for breaks.”

That kind of thoughtfulness was typical of Niccolo. Nuances never eluded him. The kitchen was gloomy, and Megan knew she looked gloomy, too. Niccolo wanted to move her outside and into the light. Hell, he’d been moving people toward the light most of his adult life. She was annoyed by his good will.

Casey lifted her cheek for a kiss. “Nick, Megan tells me people are bugging you for tours of the tunnel.”

“Just a few.”

“Few dozen!” Megan wondered if he was really that oblivious.

“It’s not a big deal, is it? Are you worried?”

Megan couldn’t very well say yes. It seemed to her that once she began itemizing all the peeves in her life, the list would grow like Josh’s long legs. “You’re going to wear yourself out. That’s all. You’re already busy enough with the renovation and Brick.”

He leaned against the sink. “I guess I’m more worried about what could happen if I didn’t show it to people.”

“What could?” Casey said.

“I’m almost certain it’s a water stain. From what I can tell, there was a small leak seeping into the wall behind it. Maybe there still is. When we redo the pipes in the saloon, it’s probably going to dry up and go away. But in the meantime, people are talking about it. And the best way to stop the talk is to show people exactly what it is.”

Casey looked interested now. “What kind of talk?”

“Casey, in your line of work you must see this, too. People are always hoping for miracles. Somebody digs a potato and sees the crucifixion etched on its surface. Somebody notices rust on an old abandoned car and sees the ascension. I woke up from the explosion and saw the Virgin in a water stain.”

Megan liked Niccolo’s shrug a lot better than the ones
she’d
managed so far. “It’s no wonder people are looking for miracles. The church promotes miracles. You probably preached about them.”

“The church is very careful now. We live in an age of scientific explanation. Nobody wants to sanction a miracle that turns out to be a perfectly natural phenomenon. The church has enough problems. It doesn’t want to look foolish.”

“So you’re showing this to people and explaining the science of it,” Casey said. “That makes sense to me.”

He grinned. “Just as long as nobody else experiences what I did down there.”

“You mean the explosion?” Megan said.

“No, I mean
surviving
the explosion. That’s part of the mythology now. Word is getting out that the Virgin saved me.”

Megan wondered why they hadn’t had time for this conversation before. At home, Rooney and Josh were often around, but she and Niccolo could still make time for each other if they tried harder. Why hadn’t they?

“When is it going to end?” The question was pointed, but she didn’t care. “When are the rumors going to die down so you don’t have to tramp through the tunnel at all hours?”

He seemed to misinterpret. “I don’t mind doing it. I show and I explain, but people still seem to take something important away with them. It’s been kind of nice. The best part of being a priest was sharing other people’s spiritual journeys.”

“Sounds like you’re handling it well.” Casey got to her feet. “And I’d better go run some errands.”

Her words were punctuated by a pounding at the kitchen door. Megan looked up to see an unfamiliar woman with her nose pressed to the window beside it. “Anybody we know?” she asked Casey.

Casey squinted into the sunlight. “Isn’t that Beatrice Stowell? You know, the old lady who lives next door to Uncle Den? She’s a good ten years older than he is, but she’s been trying to get him in the sack for years.”

“And I’m supposed to answer the door with that sentence ringing in my ears?” Megan did, though. By the time she opened it, she recognized Beatrice, too. The woman was somewhere in her eighties and the victim of a sadistic hairdresser who had clipped her fuzzy white hair like a poodle’s. There were longer tufts over the ears and forehead, but the rest was short enough to highlight her pink scalp. Megan thought the rhinestone spangled house slippers adorning her feet might be an attempt to divert attention until the hair could grow.

“Your uncle Den told me to come,” Beatrice said without preamble. “He said I should see the tunnel.”

Megan stepped back, and Beatrice marched inside. She nodded primly to Niccolo and Casey. “Which of you wants to take me down? I’m ready.”

Megan imagined her next conversation with her uncle. She might even suggest that the two neighbors deserved each other. “We’re a little busy,” she began.

“I’ll take you.” Niccolo pushed away from the sink. “But just a short visit. It’s not that pleasant.” He gazed down at her feet. “We have to climb some stairs. Can you, ummm, climb in those?”

“I said I was ready.” Beatrice was eager, if not particularly polite.

“I’ll come, too,” Megan said, catching and holding Niccolo’s glance. “I’d better learn to do the tour, huh? Just in case you get too busy.” She paused. “You know, with the…renovations.”

He grinned at her, and her heart did its usual flutter. She hated that he could still do that to her. Marriage had not been the magic cure.

Casey elected to come, as well. They sandwiched Beatrice between them for protection, and, armed with flashlights they slowly made their way down and through the storeroom. Halfway there and too late to turn back, Beatrice announced that she had arthritis and every step was like a knife stabbing her.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Niccolo told Megan when they’d finished the stairs and moved slowly into the tunnel. He snapped on his light. “There are a couple of side passages. They’re so narrow that at first I just thought they were experiments before somebody finished the main tunnel. One’s a dead end, but one of them leads to another storeroom. You’re going to want to explore. It’s filled with memorabilia.”

“What, bats? Mice? Spiders? That last would be my favorite, by the way.”

“It needs cleaning,” he admitted.

Beatrice cut through the small talk. “I think you should be more reverent. If Our Lady is here, she won’t want to hear all the blather.”

Megan, who was behind Beatrice, began to plot retribution scenarios for good old Uncle Den.

They made the rest of the trip in coerced silence. Niccolo stopped where he’d landed after the explosion. He shined his flashlight on the wall and illuminated the water stain. Megan hadn’t been sure what to expect, since she hadn’t been down here since rescuing her husband, but the image had remained exactly the same, except that today no water seeped from the region of the Virgin’s eyes.

Beatrice fell to her knees and crossed herself, confirming Megan’s guess that she was a Catholic, if not a member of St. Brigid’s.

“We’re certain there’s a leak somewhere above it,” Niccolo said gently. “Probably has been for years. There’s a perfectly natural explanation. But it’s a nice reminder of more important things—”

“Shhh…” Beatrice opened her eyes and glared at him. “For heaven’s sake, be quiet.”

Megan saw her sister’s eyes widen. Niccolo only smiled sympathetically and fell silent. Megan waited. Minutes passed, and she was anxious to see the second storeroom. Her patience wore out at last. “Look, Beatrice, we didn’t mind bringing you down here, but Nick explained that we couldn’t stay long, and we can’t. We have to go now. Let me help you up.” She extended her hand.