The Parting Glass (37 page)

“Are things going any better, Megan?”

Megan looked up from her extraordinarily clean sink. “What things?”

“You and Nick.”

“He’s still too busy.”

“Will things ease up when he’s finished here?”

Megan seriously doubted it. Last night, on the way home, Niccolo had driven by a house for sale in their neighborhood. It was exactly the kind of house he liked to renovate. Structurally sound, a poor job of remodeling that he could dispense with quickly, enough room that an addition wasn’t necessary. He’d called the Realtor that evening and signed a contract this morning. It would be Brick’s next project.

“Things are never going to ease up for Nick,” Megan said. “The busier he is, the happier.”

“He has a high energy level.”

“He has no desire for intimacy.” Megan stopped scrubbing and turned to lean against the sink. “He’s absolutely driven, and I’m beginning to think he just wants me hanging around the edges of his life for those rare moments when he has time to do something that’s not connected to Brick.”

“You don’t think that will change when funding’s secured?”

“Truthfully? I think once he gets the money, he’ll work even harder. He’ll be determined to show the funding organization that their money was well spent. He’ll come up with new projects he’ll need funding for.” She shrugged. “Sometimes I wonder if he doesn’t keep himself this busy just so he won’t have to think about his life.”

“What doesn’t he want to think about?”

“His decision to leave the priesthood. His decision to marry.”

“Oh, come on, he’s crazy about you.”

“Casey, I could leave him and it might take days for him to notice.”

“That’s insane.”

“He was supposed to be back here an hour ago. We were going to run out and get some lunch together. I finally ate some soup just before you arrived.”

“Maybe something happened.”

“I’m sure something happened. He and Marco thought of something else they needed clear across town. He’ll walk in here in a little while with McDonald’s wrappers to toss in the garbage. He’ll see me, and he’ll remember, and then he’ll feel bad and ask me to forgive him, and like a dope I’ll do it.”

As if she had the gift of prophecy, the front door slammed and Niccolo came striding in, followed closely by his brother.

The two men were similar in appearance, although Niccolo’s features were a shade more refined, and he was thinner than the overweight Marco. Marco looked like a linebacker going to seed. Niccolo was a quarterback in prime condition.

“Megan, I’m sorry. The time got away from me. Did you eat?”

“Uh-huh.” She caught the wadded up white bag as he tossed it in the kitchen garbage. She held it up for Casey’s inspection. “Burger King, but I was close.”

“That’s Marco’s. I thought I’d better make sure you weren’t waiting for me,” Niccolo said.

She knew a better woman would have offered him some of the soup she’d eaten herself. She just shrugged, then turned to her brother-in-law. “What kind of wild-goose chase did he lead you on?”

“Some call from Catholic Charities.” Marco’s eyes twinkled. “This guy of yours is sure popular. Good thing he has a cell phone.”

“Catholic Charities?” Megan turned to Niccolo. “Are they still after you?”

He held up his hands as if warding off a horde of bees. “I told them I couldn’t be on their board.”

She felt a moment of sheer unadulterated pleasure. He had listened to her, and he had refused the position, even though it would have meant valuable contacts.

“It’s a conflict of interest,” Niccolo continued. “I’m applying for funding from them, and it looks like I’ve got a good chance of getting it.”

The pleasure died. He hadn’t done it to please her or even as an admission of how overextended he was. He must have realized what she was thinking, because he put his hand on her shoulder.

“I would have said no anyway.”

“Sure you would have. It’s just a difficult word to pronounce.”

“Near as I can tell, every organization in the Midwest wants a piece of Brick.” Marco went into the refrigerator and came out with two soft drinks, tossing one to his brother. “Anybody else?”

“I’m fine,” Megan said. “What do you mean?”

“The way that phone rings. All that publicity stuff didn’t hurt.”

“I’ve been through this funding thing.” Casey got up to wash out her cup. “When I was trying to put Albaugh back on its feet. Our problem was that every bit of money I applied for came with a million strings attached. We had to make so many changes in staff and services that every time a check came in it was almost as bad as starting over.”

“That’s a problem for us, too.” Niccolo flipped the tab on his can and took a big swallow, as if he hadn’t had anything to drink all day.

Megan sighed and went to the fridge, nudging Marco out of the way so she could take out the soup. “Do you want some of this?” She held it aloft so that Niccolo could see it.

“For sure.” He turned back to Casey. “I’ve already turned down offers that looked good on the surface. My favorite was the one that insisted that none of the kids use power tools. Another one insisted that each participant be born again.”

“You’ll find the right money and the right source.” Casey glanced at her watch. “I have a doctor’s appointment. I’ll see you later.” She saw the look on Megan’s face and smiled. “Just a routine check.”

Marco tossed his can in the garbage. “I’ve got to get going if I’m going to make it back to Pittsburgh in time for dinner. Carrie’s promised pasta fazul. I’ll see you next Wednesday, Nick.” He grabbed Megan for a goodbye kiss. “See you then.”

Megan heated up the soup in the new microwave while Niccolo walked them to the door. It was ready when he returned, and she set it on the counter. He pulled up a stool. “Looks great.”

“Good day for it.”

“I’m sorry about lunch. I used my phone so much that the battery went dead and I couldn’t call you to let you know we weren’t going to make it. I looked for a telephone booth, but no luck.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve been stood up, and it won’t be the last, I’m sure.”

“The rest of the week’s a bear. I don’t have a single afternoon free.”

There were a hundred clichés coined for moments like this.
So what else is new? I’ve heard that song before. Tell me another one.
The possibilities were an embarrassment of riches and too hard to narrow down. She simply nodded, tight-lipped and resigned.

“But I don’t have a single thing planned for the weekend,” Niccolo said when she didn’t answer. “I’m free Friday and Saturday night. Let’s plan something fun for one of them. Just you and me. Somewhere nice.”

A warning seemed prudent. “But cheap.”

He rested his hands on her shoulders. “Nice and not too cheap. Just us, a bottle of wine and fresh seafood. How about it?”

She rotated her head as he began to massage her shoulders. “You’re sure you can find the time?”

“I’ll make the time, Megan. We need an evening out. We’ll get dressed up for once, maybe go dancing afterwards.”

She liked the sound of that, although she could do without the dressing up. “It’s a done deal, then.”

“Great.” He pulled her close and nuzzled her ear with his lips. “Do you want to make the arrangements? Or do you want me to act like an old-fashioned man and try to figure out what would please you the most?”

“I’ll make them.” She turned so she could look up at him. “Maybe you should miss lunch with me more often.”

“I never want to make you unhappy. You know that, don’t you? I want to give you everything you ever wished for.”

“Right now I’ll just settle for you, Nick.”

When he kissed her, she thought maybe she’d asked for something he really could give her, after all.

Niccolo had suggested dinner and dancing. Megan decided on something a little more romantic. There was a resort about an hour and half south of Cleveland in the heart of Ohio’s Amish country. She had heard that rooms at the Inn at Honey Run were lovely, that there were woods to walk in and nearby shops to explore. Better yet, it was far enough away that Niccolo couldn’t easily return to Cleveland if somebody needed him. The resort wasn’t expensive, and there probably wasn’t a place to go dancing or buy a bottle of wine for fifty miles or more. But she would willingly settle for two nights of glorious sex.

She called, discovered they’d had a last-minute cancellation and booked a suite with her own credit card.

Her good mood lasted until four, when Niccolo called home to tell her he had a dinner meeting. Just came up, couldn’t refuse, and he’d be home just in time to turn off all the lights and lock up for the night.

Josh had gone to Niagara Falls for one final summer fling with his Explorer Post, and Rooney, who was supposed to be at Deirdre and Frank’s house for dinner, hadn’t yet returned. Megan ate leftover salad and a microwaved potato at the kitchen table with
Newsweek
for company, then labored over the letters of Maura McSweeney with an Irish dictionary on the table in front of her and her Irish textbooks open beside it. So far the letters she’d managed to translate hadn’t mentioned Liam again, but she found them interesting anyway. She was sorry she’d never met Maura McSweeney.

One frustrating hour later, she was trying to drum up enough interest to watch Humphrey Bogart seduce Lauren Bacall when Rooney came in the front door.

She heaved the usual sigh of relief that once again her father had come home. His hair was windblown and his cheeks red from too much sun, because once again he’d left the cap she’d bought him at home, but he looked as if his day had been a good one. He came into the living room and settled himself in the old armchair he’d claimed as his own.

She was never quite sure what kind of answer she would get if she asked her father a question, but lately Rooney had been on target more often than not. Better medications, a healthy diet and no worries about where to sleep at night seemed to be doing their part to improve his life. Love that assisted but didn’t smother seemed to be helping, as well.

She gave conversation a try. “Still raining?”

“Not so bad.”

“I hope you had a good dinner.”

“Steak.”

“I had wilted lettuce and a potato with more eyes than Mississippi.”

He chuckled, and she was encouraged. The Rooney of her childhood had been a man with a wonderful sense of humor and the ability to share it.

“Dee says hello,” Rooney said. “Frank, too.”

Rooney was having a good day. Not only was he oriented to reality, but he seemed happy to be with her. She was always grateful for these moments that other people simply took for granted.

She took advantage of his good mood. “I had a nice talk with Aunt Dee a couple of weeks ago about your father.”

“What’d she tell you?”

“Well, we were talking about the days when he was a Prohibition agent. Did you know he fell in love with the daughter of Tim McNulty the bootlegger?”

“Course I do.”

“We didn’t get to finish our conversation. That’s about all I know.” Deirdre and Frank had gone off on a cruise two days later, and Megan hadn’t had a chance to corner her aunt again to see what else Deirdre could tell her.

“I know a lot more than that. More than Dee.”

Megan was intrigued. “Do you?”

“He talked to me.” Rooney smiled. “Thought I was falling in love with the wrong woman.”

“Not Mama!”

“Not Kathleen. Shame on you.”

She put a hand over her heart. “Well, you had me worried.”

“She moved away.” Rooney frowned. “Don’t remember her name. Just as well.”

“I’ll say. You wouldn’t have
me.
Or Casey and Peggy.”

Rooney shot her a fatherly smile, and Megan smiled back at him. “Do you remember the stories your father told you about Clare McNulty?”

He was silent so long that she wondered if he was drifting off into the world that no one else could enter with him. Then he nodded. “You’re old enough to know. Sad, though.”

She was touched, because the last part was an obvious warning. He was worried about her feelings.

“That’s okay,” she promised. “Life can be like that.”

“Good woman, wrong one to love,” Rooney said. “I’ll tell you what I remember.”

She wasn’t sure which to be more grateful for. That her father remembered the story or that he could articulate it now.

1925

Castlebar, County Mayo

My dearest Patrick,

I’ve had quite a fright here, and I hesitate to write you about it. Yet what news do I ever have to make you sit up and take notice? So tell it, I shall. Be assured before I begin that I am fine now and wiser than I was a week ago.

Perhaps you remember the Fitzgerald family far down the Ballinrobe road? Sean Fitzgerald and his wife, Rose, had twelve children, each of whom settled in the area, some on the family land itself. The land has never produced well, and each child has gone out to work from time to time. They are an admirable bunch. They will do anything, these Fitzgeralds, to feed their families, even the lowliest jobs. The eldest son, Hugh, had two sons of his own. On the youngest, Jack, hangs this tale.

I listen, as old women are apt to do, to news of my neighbors. It’s a harmless enough pastime most days. It was not harmless the day I heard that Jack was determined to marry Fiona O’Shea. You could not know the O’Sheas. They are Church of Ireland and newly come to Castlebar. I’ve yet to determine how Jack met Fiona or spent the necessary time in her company to fall in love. But suffice it to say both things happened. And the two decided to be married.

Jack does work for me at times. He is a charming lad, determined to make his way in the world. He has some education and a desire for more. He has read every book that I own and absorbed every tidbit of knowledge I possess. I know less of Fiona, only that she seems both kind and spirited. When Jack confessed that they were going to run away to be married, I tried to dissuade him. Perhaps someday in the future our people will remember that we worship the same God and have more in common than centuries of disagreement. But that time has not arrived, and I feared for them both.