The Parting Glass (41 page)

And into this life—or what passed for one—he had invited a woman. Not just any woman, of course, but one with a child who, even under the best of circumstances, would require constant supervision and extra doses of love and initiative. Peggy needed a man with both to spare, as well as a proven ability to stay the course.

Peggy did not need him.

He, of course, did not need the complications of any relationship or the added burden of an autistic child. He made it through each day, put food on the table and made certain his daughter had clothes to wear. He avoided the pubs, and when he couldn’t, he found the strength somewhere to refuse all drinks. He cared for Irene, but no one knew how badly he doubted his ability to do so.

What did a man like Finn O’Malley have to offer a woman like Peggy Donaghue?

The question had haunted him all day. The answer was deceptively simple. He needed to tell her goodbye. They had made no promises, exchanged no vows. Peggy knew how limited was his potential as a long-term lover. He had made no secret of his battles or his losses. She might be sad, but she would not be surprised.

The problem was that he didn’t want to end what had barely begun. Since the start of their affair, he’d had moments of painfully intense pleasure. Making love with Peggy was like blood pouring back into a sleeping limb. He was afraid he could not go back to existing as he had without her. By withdrawing from the world he had cushioned himself, but now that he had been drawn into it again, he was afraid that cushion was gone forever.

He drove to Irene’s, no closer to a decision than he had been all day. The closer he got to her house, the more his problems seemed to melt away. He wondered what they would find to talk about, if she would tell him the small details of her day, if they would find a moment or two alone. Before he could stop himself, he wondered what it would be like to go home to her each night.

He’d half expected Bridie to be waiting for him outside, but no one except Banjax was about. The foolish old dog lay in the meager shade of a wind-sculpted ash, and when Finn approached he wagged his tail briefly but didn’t even lift his head.

Finn stooped to rub his ears. “If you look a wee bit more pitiful, she’ll bring you inside.”

Banjax thumped his tail again, perhaps in appreciation of the advice.

Finn rapped on the door, then let himself in. He heard laughter from the kitchen, and, despite everything, his spirits lifted. He remembered a party for Bridie’s fourth birthday and a cluster of helium-filled balloons presented by Sheila’s mother. They had nearly swept the little girl away. Now his feelings were like balloons soaring above him, and all the weight he could muster would not bring them back to earth.

“Finn, hello.” Peggy poked her head into the kitchen doorway. “Have we got a surprise for you. Two actually.”

His heart sped up at the sight of her. She wore green shorts that exposed slender, shapely legs and a paler green top that exposed a band of skin at her midriff. Her hair was pulled back in a knot, and he longed to loosen it and send it tumbling around her shoulders. She would like that. Peggy might look like a fresh-faced country girl just now, but she was a sophisticated and surprisingly sensual young woman. He had a terrible suspicion that he had only just begun to discover the depths of her sexuality.

“Is Bridie part of it?” He didn’t dare to get closer. He wasn’t sure who was around or what they might see if he did.

“Part of one surprise. I’ll give you a hint. You’re staying for dinner.”

It wasn’t a question. He frowned. He had intended to check Irene, then take his daughter home. She had already been here most of the day, and although Peggy claimed Bridie was a help with Kieran, as her father, he knew that, like any child, she could be wearing, too.

“Don’t look like that,” Peggy warned. “You’ll be glad you did.” She turned around and motioned for someone to join her in the doorway.

Another woman, shorter and more compact than Peggy, joined her. Her hair was a mass of short red curls and her face a practical square. On the surface there seemed to be little of Peggy in her, but he knew somehow that this was one of Peggy’s sisters.

“Meet Megan,” she said. “My wonderful sister Megan.”

There was nothing for him to do except move forward as Megan extended her hand.

“I’m happy to meet you at last, Finn.”

For one crazy moment he wondered if Megan had come all the way from America to persuade her little sister not to take up with an Irishman. He grasped her hand and murmured greetings. Her eyes never left his face. He was certain he had been judged and pronounced, although the verdict was a mystery.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Finn said.

“Neither did I,” Megan said. “Whimsy overtook me.”

“I know Peggy must be thrilled. Have you ever been to Ireland before?”

“I’ve hardly been outside Cleveland.”

“Then you’ll have lots to see.” He had run out of things to say. Once he’d had an endless supply of conversation guaranteed to make anyone feel comfortable. Now he thought in monosyllables and only muttered them when absolutely necessary.

“I’ll be content just to stay here in Shanmullin and get to know the village and Peggy’s friends.”

He understood that with no trouble. He didn’t know the whole story of why Megan had come, but at least part of the reason was to check on her sister.

“Daddy.” Bridie squeezed in between the sisters, and Peggy rested a hand on her shoulder. “Will you stay for dinner?”

He looked down at his daughter’s bright little face and knew he had no choice. “Is dinner the surprise?”

“I made it!” She covered her mouth with her hand. “Uh-oh.”

Peggy laughed. “It’s okay, Bridie. He had to find out sooner or later. Now he can sit in the living room and think about what a lucky man he is.”

Finn knew something was expected of him. “You cooked it yourself?”

“Uh-huh. Trout and potatoes and all kinds of stuff.”

She was beginning to sound like an American. Too much television or too much Peggy, he wasn’t sure which, but her enthusiasm was universal.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said.

“I used Mommy’s recipe for dessert.”

In the seconds while she waited for an answer, he thought of a hundred things. How proud Sheila would be of Bridie. How pleased she would be that Bridie wanted to cook her favorites. How unfair it was that Sheila would never know how the daughter who looked so much like her was growing up to be a beautiful, generous girl.

Words stuck in his throat. Peggy saw his dilemma and spoke for him. “Your mother would be thrilled her recipes are being used so well,” Peggy said. “Let’s go make sure everything’s cooked to perfection.” They left for the inner sanctum.

Megan stayed in the doorway. “She’s a great little girl.”

“I know.”

“Peggy’s very fond of her.”

He waited for the punch line, but she didn’t deliver it. “Make yourself at home,” she said. “I’ll send Kieran out if you get bored. Irene’s entertaining him with wooden spoons and an upside down kettle. Our very own percussion section.”

He wanted to reassure Megan that he hadn’t set out to hurt her sister. But what could he say? Of all people, he knew that good intentions could backfire dramatically.

“I’ll be glad to take Kieran for a walk if there’s enough time,” he said instead.

“He’s happy. You look like you’ve had a hard day. Why don’t you rest?” Megan disappeared into the kitchen.

He knew he was not invited to follow. He took the most comfortable armchair in the living room and immediately fell sound asleep.

He awoke when Peggy came in and put one of Irene’s old ’78s on a gramophone that, until that moment, he had thought was purely for show. The scratchy sound of a ’40s dance band filled the air. “I found a stack of records in the closet last week. Isn’t this neat?”

He expected to see young ladies with pageboys and flowered rayon dresses fox trot their way into the living room. “Brilliant.”

“We’re ready for you.”

He followed her to the tiny kitchen and the sight of a table set with china, flowers and candles in silver candle holders. Bridie had folded the napkins into swans, and she could hardly stand still for the excitement of it. The pots and pans she had used—a considerable number, from what he could tell—were hidden under another tablecloth draped over the counter.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Bridie asked.

“Beautiful,” he confirmed. He remembered other evenings like this one, when Bridie had been nearly beside herself with joy, but he hadn’t seen her this way since Sheila’s death. He hadn’t realized how subdued she had grown. Now he wondered how much of that had been for his benefit.

“Will you sit at the head of the table?” Peggy asked. “Irene will be at the other end.”

He did not want the prime seat. Night after night, he had sat at the head of his own family table, watching his children squabble and laugh. He and Sheila had exchanged looks that only parents understand. Meals had been among their happiest times.

He took the seat because what he wanted tonight wasn’t important. He reminded himself that he was doing this for his daughter, and to some degree for Peggy.

Bridie arrived at his side and held his napkin high, flipping it open. The swan became a parachute straight into his lap.

Even Kieran looked interested in the proceedings.

Everyone was seated, and Bridie brought the food from the counter by herself. She set each platter and bowl as close to her father as she could. Steaming trout, creamy potatoes, roasted vegetables sprinkled with herbs and what might be almonds. The aroma was mouth-watering. His fingers itched to pick up his fork.

“Bridie, you’ve outdone yourself.” He smiled at her. “This looks delicious.”

Bridie beamed proudly.

“She’s a natural cook,” Megan said. “That’s not something you can teach. You can teach someone technique and how to follow a recipe, and they’ll be pretty good, but Bridie understands food and flavor and texture.”

Finn took a fillet and passed the platter of trout. The next moments were taken up with the happy silence of diners filling their plates. When everyone had finished, Irene looked up at him. “Finn, will you please say the blessing?”

He had not said the blessing before a meal since the accident. Bridie said it sometimes, and he sat there as she did, pretending to pray. But Irene had never before asked this of him. He wondered what had possessed her to do so now.

“I’d say we have particular reason to give thanks this evening,” she elaborated, as if she was answering his unspoken question.

Like sitting at the head of the table, this was not an option. He waited as everyone bowed their heads; then he made the sign of the cross, and the rest of the table followed suit.

He remembered two graces. He began, without giving himself time to think, on the one he had least often used.

“We give Thee thanks, Almighty God, for all Thy benefits. Who livest and reignest, world without end, Amen. May the souls of the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace. Amen.”

The words seemed to ring long after he had said them. He had as much as brought his wife and sons into the room with the words, then laid them to rest. He wondered if anyone else had noticed. He glanced at Peggy, who was seated on his left, and saw that she certainly had. She gave a slight nod. He felt as if she’d squeezed his hand in comfort, even though she hadn’t touched him.

He noticed the others were eating and beginning to chat. Peggy turned to put bits of fish and vegetables on Kieran’s plate. Bridie and Megan were discussing the pros and cons of rosemary, and Irene, in her favorite blue housedress, was listening intently, putting in a good word for parsley whenever she could.

The fragrance arising from his plate was mouth-watering; the friendly buzz of conversation was like that in millions of homes throughout the world as families sat down together to review their days and engage in this most basic of communions.

He lifted his fork, and hunger turned to bile. He was physically ill, and for a moment he doubted he could leave the table in time.

He shoved his chair back and strode out of the room, his head spinning, then throbbing, and his stomach twisting in a terrible knot. Outside, in the cooling air of evening, he rested his cheek against a porch pillar and took deep breaths. The nausea dissipated a shade, but his knees grew weaker. He circled the pillar with an arm and sagged against it. “Da?”

He closed his eyes. “Go back inside, Bridie.”

“Are you all right?”

“Go on.”

“No.” She came up beside him. “Are you ill?”

“I said go back inside.”

“And I said no!”

His eyes flew open, and he stared at her. She had never in his memory addressed him in that tone.

“My dinner made you sick.” Bridie crossed her arms. “I worked all day on it, and you didn’t eat it. So I want to know why. Is it because
I’m
the one who cooked it?”

He realized he was breathing too fast. He understood hyperventilation and its effects. He wondered how long he had been gulping air to quell his panic. His skin was cold, and his hands tingled in warning.

There was a bench under the same tree where he’d last seen Banjax. He made his way there and fell onto it, putting his head in his hands and cupping them over his mouth and nose. He breathed in his own exhalations, and in a minute the worst of the sensation abated.

Bridie came to stand in front of him. “It’s my fault they’re dead. I know it is, and that’s why you hate me.”

As the roaring in his head eased, her words replaced it. For a moment he was confused. “Your fault?”

“Don’t you think I’m old enough to understand? You blame Mommy’s death on me, and Mark’s and Brian’s. If I’d been with you that day, I could have helped save them. I’m a strong swimmer. I could have taken one of the boys, and you could have taken the other. And Mommy could have hung on to the side until she was rescued! But I wasn’t there. I was selfish. I wanted to play with my friends. I wanted to ride Sally’s pony. So I stayed here, and everybody died but you! And that’s why you hate me and have ever since.”