Danica, David explained to her now, was playing in a soccer tournament and her father was on transportation duty. David figured he would rather go on a road trip with his mom than stay at home alone.
“Is your sister a good player?” Alexis asked.
David shrugged. “She’s won a few trophies. Hey, want to practice with me?”
Alexis eyed the soccer ball under David’s arm with trepidation.
“I have to warn you,” she said. “I stink at sports. I just can’t do them. Something about my coordination, I guess.”
“Don’t use bad coordination as an excuse.”
Alexis blushed. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Anyway, it’s just for fun. I kind of stink too. My feet are, like, totally turned in. They weren’t always that way.”
“All right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
They kicked around the ball for about twenty minutes before Alexis called it quits. “I’m sorry, David,” she said, dropping back onto the little step outside the cottage. “I didn’t realize how out of shape I am.”
With some difficulty, David joined her. Alexis resisted the impulse to help him without being asked to. She had learned so much about being with someone with a physical challenge since knowing David. For example, when she had first met him she had trouble understanding his speech. She had felt terribly embarrassed asking him to repeat himself, though David had been patient with her. And then one day it occurred to her that understanding David was simply a matter of learning to listen in a new way. It was a lot like becoming accustomed to a foreigner’s accent. The foreigner’s pronunciation wasn’t the problem. The problem was that you were listening for your own pronunciation and rhythms instead of listening for his. Once Alexis had figured that out, understanding David’s speech was simple.
“What brought you and your mom down to Oliver’s Well today?” she asked.
“Mom’s checking up on Grandma,” David told her. “But we don’t tell Grandma that’s why we visit a lot lately.”
“Oh. Is she sick?”
“No. But Mom and Dad think that since Grandma and Grandpa are, like, almost eighty, they should make sure they’re okay, you know, not getting senile or anything.”
Alexis wondered why Megan and Pat hadn’t just asked her or PJ to keep an eye on the grandparents. Then again, the last thing she wanted was to become Mary Bernadette’s secret caretaker! “Your grandmother is an interesting person,” she said carefully.
“Yeah. I know.”
“Sometimes I feel kind of, I don’t know, insignificant when I’m around her.”
David looked at Alexis and laughed. “Of course you do,” he said. “That’s what you’re supposed to feel.”
Alexis was taken aback. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“Grandma’s the queen of the family. Everyone knows that. She likes it that way. Anyway, like my mom says, there’s no point in pretending that she’s not in charge or that she’s going to change. It’ll only make you unhappy.”
“Oh.”
David gave her a distinctly conspiratorial smile. “Don’t tell anyone I told you this, okay?”
“Okay.”
“My dad says Grandma is a pain in the butt.”
Alexis put her hand to her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle a shout of laughter.
“I don’t let her get to me like she gets to my parents,” he said. “Grandma’s just the way she is.”
Well, Alexis thought, it was easy for David to be so nonchalant. He didn’t live in Mary Bernadette’s backyard! Still, he had a point.
“You’re pretty smart, you know,” she told him.
“Some people think I’m stupid because of the way I talk, but I know that I’m not.”
“That’s awful. Doesn’t it make you angry when people make ridiculous assumptions based on appearances?”
“Mostly I ignore it, but it makes my sister furious. She’s the one with the ‘famous Irish temper.’ That’s what Grandma calls it.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen your sister angry,” Alexis said.
“Just wait. She puffs up like a cat about to attack. Well, not really, but it feels that way. It’s like, you feel the air around you crackling.”
Alexis pretended to shudder. “Yikes. I’d better stay on her good side.”
“Well, mostly she gets angry when someone does something bad to someone else. She doesn’t blow up just for nothing. She’s like an avenger or something.”
“That’s a relief, that she doesn’t just go around kicking butt for no reason!”
“Does my brother have a temper?” David asked.
Alexis laughed. “PJ’s one of the most laid-back, easygoing people I’ve ever met.”
“Sometimes I can hardly remember what it was like when he lived with us.”
“Right. You and your sister were, what, six or so when he went away to college?”
“Yeah. Here comes Mom.”
Alexis noted, not for the first time, that her mother-in-law really was an attractive woman. It didn’t hit you over the head like it did with some people. Still, she made an impression. Alexis hoped that when she was her mother-in-law’s age she would have attained at least a bit of her easy poise.
“Has David been behaving?” Megan asked, with the ghost of a smile.
“No,” Alexis replied promptly, causing David to guffaw. “He’s been awful and rotten.”
Megan laughed. “Come on, kiddo. Time to head back home.”
Alexis stood with a little groan.
“Give me your hand?” David asked.
Alexis did, and David rose from the little step.
“Can’t you stay for dinner?” Alexis’s reason for asking was almost entirely selfish. It was so much easier to be with Mary Bernadette when Megan and her family were around.
But her mother-in-law shook her head. “Sorry, but no. We’re going to an event at David and Danica’s school this evening. In fact, if we don’t leave now we’re going to be late.”
“Okay. Well, tell everyone I said hi.”
“And give my love to PJ.”
“Sure,” Alexis promised. “And David? Thanks.”
“For what?” he asked.
Alexis smiled at the boy. “Just, thanks.”
She watched as David and his mother walked to her car, parked behind Mary Bernadette’s in the driveway. David was right; his legs and feet were turned in so that the toes were almost facing each other. It had to be painful, let alone annoying for him. But there was no point in Alexis worrying about it, not with Megan and Pat in charge. They were fantastic parents.
Alexis watched Megan and David drive off and vowed to keep in mind David’s advice about how to handle Mary Bernadette. Out of the mouths of babes, she thought, turning back to the cottage.
CHAPTER 36
“Good morning,” Grace said. “Well, good afternoon to you.”
“Greetings and salutations,” Megan replied with a smile. She and her sister-in-law communicated with some frequency—thank God, Megan thought, for the convenience of texting—but not even Skype was as good as being in the same room with a person you cared for, face-to-face. Besides, when you used Skype or FaceTime there was the huge downside of having to see yourself on screen. Megan said as much to Grace.
“You know,” Grace pointed out, “if you raise the computer to just the right height on the table—use a stack of books—you can avoid having to see the always unflattering view of your neck. Mostly.”
Megan laughed. “I’ve yet to find that right height.”
“And I know I’m not supposed to care about what my neck looks like,” Grace said, “but I am my mother’s daughter! Not that she would ever admit to being the least bit vain.”
“God forbid! So, have you heard anything about the famous—or, infamous—Wynston Meadows moving to Oliver’s Well?”
“Believe it or not, yes. I try to keep up on hometown news. Gives me something to chat about when I’m on t
he phone with Mom.”
“Then you know he’s joined the board of the OWHA. There was a big party in his honor, complete with reporters and a camera crew to advertise his pledge of twenty-five million dollars to the OWHA.”
“Twenty-five million? Whoa.”
“The Gazette ran a big piece about just how important that kind of financing is to the future of the town. And it paid its usual obeisance to the OWHA itself, of course. Needless to say the online news sources got hold of the story, too. I daresay Mr. Meadows has a hotline to the press.”
“Let me guess,” Grace said. “Mom has high hopes for taking him under her wing.”
“She’d never admit as much, but I suspect that’s her plan.”
“And a man like this Meadows is rumored to be is not going to take kindly to the whims—that’s what he’ll call them—to the whims of a quirky old lady.”
“I did try to warn her he might be too—big—to handle.”
Grace laughed. “How’d that go?”
“Not well, I’m afraid. And I know she’s encouraging PJ—not that he needs much encouraging—to make a bid for Meadows’s business. He’s bought a home in town, of course. Lots of acreage.”
“Well, good luck to him. PJ has pluck. I just hope he also knows how to tread carefully.”
“I hope so, too,” Megan said. “He’s determined to make a name for himself as his grandfather’s heir. He wants to do everything in absolutely the right way, but he can be impatient. He gets that from his father.”
“I remember the time Pat grabbed a baking sheet barehanded right out of the oven because he couldn’t waste time in finding a dishtowel. There were cookies on the baking sheet, of course. I hope he’s learned his lesson.”
Megan laughed. “Not really! But forget about the Oliver’s Well Fitzgibbons for a moment. I haven’t asked about your life, Grace.”
“No worries. I’m fit as a fiddle and busy as a bee.”
“Which tells me next to nothing.”
“Well, there isn’t much to tell really, not about me, anyway. I could go on for days about the important stuff, like the interesting people I meet, but I won’t.”
“I’ve got time,” Megan said. “And I’m genuinely interested.”
“Thanks. I know you are. Unfortunately, I’m needed at the Angela House in fifteen minutes.”
“What’s the Angela House?”
“It’s a sort of halfway home for women who’ve hit rock bottom for one reason or another.” Grace raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry to say there’s often a man involved. Anyway, the women and their children can live there for a maximum of two years while they’re taught basic life skills like balancing a budget and choosing healthy food at the supermarket. I’m one of a staff of volunteers who come in twice a month to give special workshops. Today it’s Culinary Skills 101.”
“I didn’t know you liked to cook.”
“I don’t,” Grace admitted. “Can’t stand it. But I know the basics.”
“I’m curious,” Megan said. “Do the women know you’re a nun?”
Grace laughed. “I don’t mention it. It could turn some of the women off, make them suspect I’m out to save their souls or something equally as intrusive.”
“I suppose it might,” Megan agreed. “But other women might be impressed to learn that being a nun in today’s world has nothing to do with wearing hair shirts under long black habits and beating schoolchildren with rulers.”
“Oh, absolutely. And who knows, someone seeing me in action might even decide to take the veil! I suppose I’ll have to make a judgment call at some point. If I suspect one of the women might benefit from knowing about my calling, then I’ll tell her. Then again, I couldn’t ask her to keep a secret from her fellow residents. That would be setting a bad example.” Grace laughed. “Maybe silence is the best policy after all!”
“Maybe,” Megan agreed. “Cheerio until next time.”
“Au revoir. Until we meet again over the airwaves or whatever this stuff is.” Grace laughed. “Sheesh! I sound like my mother!”
CHAPTER 37
The board of the OWHA was in session. Mary Bernadette had opened the meeting, and Leonard had given his report. Neal read the minutes of the last meeting. This was followed by a discussion of old business, including the vexing issue of the missing reams of printer paper from Leonard’s office. A discussion of new business followed. Neal suggested that they reconsider their fire insurance. “There was a story out of Connecticut yesterday,” he said, “about a dreadful fire that broke out in the headquarters of a town’s historical society. The loss to the museum was enormous, and there just isn’t enough money to go about finding new items of interest. Not that anything can be replaced, of course.” Leonard promised he would take another look at their policy. Thus far, Wynston Meadows had not contributed to the discussions, though he had been taking notes.
Mary Bernadette looked around the table. “Does anyone else have anything to add?”
“I do.” Wynston Meadows smiled at his fellow board members. “I’d like to revisit the awarding of the contract for the Joseph J. Stoker House to Fitzgibbon Landscaping.”
“Revisit?” Leonard said. “I don’t understand.”
“Well, let’s put it this way. I was thoroughly surprised to learn that a small, family-run landscaping business beat out a large and very well-regarded outfit like Blue Sound. I know their work well. It’s quite impressive. In fact, I’ve hired them myself in the past. And I’m on the board of trustees of East Coast Investments with the owner, Mark Summers. Nice guy. Very smart.”
Mary Bernadette wasn’t at all sure that she had heard correctly. She felt an unpleasant tingling in her stomach.
“And to be frank,” Meadows continued, “I have to say that I’m slightly troubled by the whiff of favoritism surrounding the selection.”
“But we’ve hired Fitzgibbon Landscaping many times,” Richard said, with a quick glance at Mary Bernadette. “Their work is good enough for our needs.”
Wynston Meadows raised his eyebrows. “Really?” he said. “Well, then, maybe the OWHA has been setting its standards too low. Anyway, what I propose is that we start over from the beginning. We’ll send out another call for bids, choose the most promising candidates, and let them make their presentations. And this time, let’s look with fresh eyes. Let’s cast the net wider, try to draw in some new blood. If Fitzgibbon is indeed the best, no doubt it will be obvious.”
A weighty silence descended on the room. Mary Bernadette felt it bearing down on her. She was deeply shocked by Wynston Meadows’s suggestion and just as determined not to show it. It took her great effort to speak evenly.
“Mr. Meadows,” she said, folding her hands on the table before her. “I assure you that Fitzgibbon Landscaping won the job fair and square.”
Meadows smiled ever so slightly. “I wasn’t implying otherwise, was I? Anyway, if Fitzgibbon Landscaping did win fair and square, as you insist that it did, its owners won’t mind the board revisiting their decision, will they?”
The unpleasant tingling in Mary Bernadette’s stomach rose rapidly to her head. Revisiting? Investigating, more like. As if she and her family were criminals! Before she could respond, Neal spoke up.
“Wynston—if I may call you that?—Wynston, as Richard pointed out, Fitzgibbon Landscaping has done many, many jobs for the OWHA over the years. Their reputation is impeccable, and the board had no doubt whatsoever—has no doubt whatsoever—that in this case as well, they are the right people to handle the landscape restoration of the Joseph J. Stoker House.”
Leonard added, “Hear, hear,” and Mary Bernadette gave both men a slight nod of thanks.
Joyce spoke now in her trademark thin and high-pitched voice. “I think what Mr. Meadows—Wynston—is suggesting can cause no harm.”
Traitor, Mary Bernadette thought. Joyce was a jealous woman, prone to enjoying the discomfiture of anyone she suspected had life too easy. Mary Bernadette had seen it time and a
gain, like when Lydia Daly, wife of Oliver’s Well’s most illustrious retired plastic surgeon, had been robbed of a good deal of jewelry while on a trip to D.C. How Joyce had gloated over the woman’s misfortune ! It was plain that Joyce’s being married to a minister hadn’t had much good effect on her character.
No one else voiced an opinion. Jeannette looked very pale. Anne was fiddling with her pen. Norma was gazing at the ceiling as if she were alone in the room. Wallace’s eyes were darting around the table, as if, Mary Bernadette thought, he was looking for a clue as to what his opinion should be.
“Then it’s settled,” Wynston Meadows pronounced. “I’ll send out a call for bids, and Mrs. Fitzgibbon, why don’t you inform your grandson—it is your grandson who now runs things, isn’t it?—that if he wants another chance at the job he’ll have to prepare another bid. And maybe, if he makes it through the first stage of the competition, another presentation.”
What was settled, Mary Bernadette wondered? Who had settled it? They hadn’t voted to reopen the competition. Wynston Meadows had simply commandeered the decision. And Leonard, as CEO, was responsible for issuing a call for bids.
Meadows stood. “If there’s nothing else to discuss,” he said, “I say we adjourn this meeting.”
“Mary Bernadette?” It was Leonard, his voice low.
“Oh,” she said, shaking her head. “Yes. That will be fine.”
“All right,” Leonard said tightly. “Meeting adjourned.”
Mary Bernadette retreated to her office and closed the door behind her. She couldn’t bear to talk to anyone right then. Her self-control was enormous, but it, like everything else in the world, had its limits. God forbid a kind word from a fellow sympathetic board member—or a critical word from an unsympathetic one—might damage her defenses and force her to exhibit a regrettable show of emotion. Mary Bernadette break down in tears or lash out in anger? She would never be able to hold her head up in Oliver’s Well again.
One Year Page 13
