One Year

by Mary McDonough

  “You’ll be the busiest woman in town,” Paddy said with a smile.

  “About that, Grandpa. What with a baby on the way, and grad school, and the Players, and the OWHA, I was wondering—we were wondering—if Fitzgibbon Landscaping might not hire someone part time to help Alexis run the office.”

  Paddy frowned. “We’ve never had anyone other than family behind the desk. What do you think, Mary?”

  All eyes turned to her. Mary Bernadette schooled her expression to reveal none of the discomfort she felt with this latest suggestion of change. I cannot continue to control it all, she told herself. I must allow for the happiness of my family.

  “I think, Paddy,” she said finally, “that we can find someone suitable.”

  “Thank you, Mary Bernadette,” Alexis said. “Thank you.”

  PJ got up from the couch, came over to Mary Bernadette, and hugged her. “You’re the best,” he said. “You, too, Grandpa.”

  “I hear the others on the front path,” Mary Bernadette replied, releasing herself from her grandson’s grasp. “Alexis, would you put the kettle on?”

  CHAPTER 140

  Pat, Megan, Grace, and the twins joined the others in the living room for tea and a delicious peach pie that Bonnie had dropped off earlier that day. That woman is going to make me fat, Grace thought, helping herself to a second slice. And I don’t care.

  PJ and Alexis filled the others in on their latest news. Megan said she had heard of a charming little house on Vine Street that had just gone on the market. Pat admitted that he had had no idea Alexis was interested in theatre. Grace offered to help interview candidates for part-time office work at Fitzgibbon Landscaping. The twins fought over the last piece of pie.

  “And if it’s all right with you, Mom and Dad,” Grace said, “once Alexis and PJ move out, I think I’ll stay at the cottage rather than in my old bedroom here. Unless you decide you want to rent it out.”

  “There’ll be no strangers living in my backyard,” Mary Bernadette said.

  Grace smiled. “And I guess I’m not allowed to throw any wild parties?”

  “Our rebel,” Paddy said fondly.

  The others continued to discuss the impending changes to the lives of the Fitzgibbons. Grace, half-listening, reflected on her decision to move back to Virginia. There was some truth to that old adage: Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Living several thousands of miles away from her mother had helped Grace to exorcise unpleasant memories and to focus on the positive aspects of their relationship. Still, there was something to be said for living in the presence of a difficult loved one, for the challenges it presented and for the joys it might unexpectedly bring.

  Anyway, now she and Megan could be friends in the flesh. And Grace felt that she owed her sister-in-law. Megan had been on the front lines for too many years. It was all well and good to go off and save the world, but it was also important to help the ones at home. In other words, as Voltaire had opined, it was important to cultivate one’s own garden. Of course, Voltaire probably hadn’t been considering the likes of Mary Bernadette Fitzgibbon. . . .

  “Grace?”

  “Yes, Mom?”

  “I was thinking that you might want to refresh your wardrobe now that you’ll be living in Oliver’s Well. I hear California is terribly casual, but things are different here. My dear friend Anne owns a wonderful dress shop on Main Street. I’ll let her know you’ll be coming by.”

  Alexis hid her face in her napkin. Megan bit her lip. Grace forced a smile and said a silent prayer for patience. “Thanks, Mom,” she said. “That’s very nice of you.”

  CHAPTER 141

  “I’m perfectly capable of making the tea,” Mary Bernadette protested. “I’ve already made dinner for my family.”

  Jeannette and Mary Bernadette were in the Fitzgibbon kitchen. Jeannette was boiling the water and putting out the plate of cookies.

  “I know, Mary. You told me several times. But the doctors said to take things slowly. There’s no good in taxing your energy.” Jeannette brought the tea things to the table and sat. “Now,” she said, “a nice hot cup of tea will do you wonders.”

  “I’m not sick, Jeannette. Just—”

  “Impatient.”

  “Yes.” Mary Bernadette took a small sip of her tea and sighed. “We were so young once, Jeannette. When we first met.”

  “Mere girls.”

  “And now . . .”

  “Everyone grows old, Mary. If she’s lucky.”

  Unlike William, Mary Bernadette thought. My poor unlucky child. “I’m not who I used to be,” she said. “All those years ago . . . I made the wrong decisions.”

  “Now, Mary. You did what you had to do.”

  “But I was wrong, Jeannette. Why deny it now?”

  “Have a cookie, Mary. They’re the shortbread ones you like.”

  “I still can’t help but wonder . . .”

  Jeannette sighed softly. “Wonder about what?”

  “If I’m somehow to blame.” Mary Bernadette looked directly into her friend’s eyes.

  Jeannette reached over and put her hand on Mary Bernadette’s. “Mary, after all these years you can’t still be worrying over that.”

  “Can’t I?”

  Jeannette sighed and sat back. “Of course. If I were the one who had lost a child I would be mourning until the day I, too, died. And wondering. No, Mary, I can’t blame you. But that doesn’t mean I’m not sorry it has to be this way for you.”

  “Don’t listen to me,” Mary Bernadette said briskly, waving her hand in dismissal. “I’m being morbid. And I do still have Pat. And Grace. And my dear Paddy.”

  “And the grandchildren. And Megan and Alexis. And a great-grandchild before long. You’re blessed, Mary. Don’t ever forget that.”

  “No. I won’t forget it. Do you know, Jeannette, I was thinking that maybe Wynston Meadows was right.”

  Jeannette looked horrified. “Lord, Mary, what can you mean?”

  “Right about it being time for a change. Maybe it is time for younger people to lead the way.”

  “And what will you do, sit back quietly and watch? I don’t think that’s likely, Mary. Besides, you have more to give, I know you do. And the OWHA has never gone wrong since you’ve been our guiding spirit.”

  “Well, that is true,” Mary Bernadette admitted. There was never any point in false modesty. “But I’m tired, Jeannette. It might be nice to share the burden of responsibility.”

  “With Megan? She’s done such a fine job of putting things right.”

  “Yes. She has. But once I’m fully recovered she’ll be relinquishing her position on the board. And there are others who are also worthy of a larger role. Neal makes a fine appearance. He might do very well giving interviews to the press.”

  “Yes. But let’s not think about that now. More changes. Let’s just enjoy our tea.”

  Banshee appeared at Mary Bernadette’s feet and let out a horrible wail. “Would you like a wee bit of milk?” Mary Bernadette asked the cat.

  Jeannette shook her head. “You spoil the creature, Mary.”

  “I know that I do.”

  CHAPTER 142

  “Heads up!”

  Megan ducked as a Frisbee sailed by her left ear.

  “Sorry, Mom!” Danica called.

  “Play with that thing behind the cottage,” she called back. Her daughter dashed by and retrieved the Frisbee. Megan shook her head. Danica was fantastic with her feet—she was the best all-around player on her soccer team—but lousy with her hands.

  The Fitzgibbon family had gathered on the lawn before Mary Bernadette and Paddy’s house for a Fourth of July barbeque. Pat and PJ manned the grill while David and Danica (when they weren’t chasing a wayward Frisbee) carried plates of burgers and hot dogs to the three picnic tables that had been set end to end. Jeannette, Danny, and Maureen were there too, as were Katie and Bonnie. Even Mike and Lucy Burrows were in attendance, at the invitation of the elder Fitzgibbons. Mike brought two
six-packs of beer and his wife brought a vat of potato salad. Megan had noted that Mary Bernadette had eyed it with suspicion, no doubt wondering since when potato salad was made with red potatoes and green olives. Still, she had graciously accepted a helping and then, Megan noted, another. Alexis had made a pasta salad full of vegetables and herbs. Bonnie had brought a corn and avocado salad, and Jeannette and Maureen had made three trays of red velvet cupcakes, decorated with white frosting and red, white, and blue sprinkles. Megan had contributed the new red-and-white-checked tablecloths, as well as the paper plates and napkins and the plastic utensils and cups. Grace had stocked and set up the drinks table. A real group effort, Megan thought, surveying the feast. A gift from us all, to us all.

  Now that the OWHA was no longer in thrall to the bullying Wynston Meadows, it was free to play its traditional role in the town’s Independence Day celebrations and the parade was most definitely on. For the first time in her long tenure, Mary Bernadette had declined to march; she simply didn’t feel up to the strain as yet. So the other board members had arranged for the parade to be rerouted onto Honeysuckle Lane on its way to the finale celebrations at Oliver’s Grove. In that way, Mary Bernadette Fitzgibbon could still be involved.

  “How are you feeling, Mary?” Jeannette asked.

  “Just fine,” Mary Bernadette replied. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Megan bit back a smile. “Would anyone like more corn and avocado salad?”

  “Yes, please,” Katie replied. “I can never get enough of that dish.”

  Bonnie laughed. “It’s how I’ve kept her happy all these years.”

  “I keep Mike happy by scratching his back every night.”

  Lucy’s remark was met with silence until Grace cleared her throat and asked for someone to pass her another hot dog.

  “I can’t wait to see the library’s new float,” Maureen said to Alexis. “I hear the staff has been working on it since last summer.”

  “You know, I’ve never marched in a parade.”

  Grace raised her eyebrows. “Really? Not even as a kid?”

  Alexis shook her head. “Nope.”

  “You can march with the OWHA, now that you’re once again the Contemporary Archivist,” Mary Bernadette told her.

  “Thanks, Mary Bernadette,” Alexis said. “I’ll definitely participate next year.”

  “I hear the marching band!” David called out. Mercy began to bark and chase her tail.

  Mary Bernadette sighed. “Someone put a leash on that mutt before she gets herself run over by a float!”

  “Here they come!” PJ called.

  Three of Oliver’s Well’s best high school athletes—one girl, flanked by two boys—came into view carrying a horizontal banner across which was printed the town’s name and the date of its incorporation. They were followed by a group of Oliver’s Well’s more civic-minded residents waving small American flags. The town’s two surviving WWII veterans saluted as they drove slowly by in the backseat of a convertible driven by Sheila Rogers, the mayor’s wife. The library’s new float met Maureen’s expectations, boasting a huge papier-mâché replica of an early printing press.

  Next was the high school’s marching band. As they came abreast of the Fitzgibbon house, they broke into a rendition of “It’s a Grand Old Flag,” a song everyone knew to be one of Mary Bernadette’s favorites. A troop of Boy Scouts followed the band; a troop of Girl Scouts followed them. The members of the board of the Oliver’s Well Historical Association who were not seated in the Fitzgibbon front yard rode by on a float depicting a replica of the Kelleher House, the town’s oldest surviving structure. They nodded and waved to Mary Bernadette as the float rolled by.

  When the last of the parade had vanished in the distance, Mary Bernadette, in her well-known commanding tone and with her famously dazzling smile, called for a toast. “To the Fitzgibbons,” she said, when everyone at the tables had raised a plastic cup. “And to our dear friends gathered here today. Long life and may God bless us all!”

  The applause—even from Pat—was thunderous.

  EPILOGUE

  On a Saturday in the middle of the following January, the Fitzgibbon family was gathered at PJ and Alexis’s new house on Vine Street. The house was small—the living room doubled as a dining room when guests came for meals, and there was only one bathroom—but it suited them perfectly. The furniture was an eclectic mix of new pieces and things Alexis and PJ had found at secondhand shops. They had bought their dishes, flatware, mugs, and glassware at Goodwill.

  At the moment the men of the Fitzgibbon family were in the backyard and the women were in the kitchen with Alexis as she put the final touches on the dinner. Baby Maeve Olivia, barely a month old, was asleep in her car seat in the corner of the kitchen.

  Alexis turned from the oven. “Danica, would you mind setting the table? The plates and silverware are stacked on it already.”

  “Sure,” Danica replied, dashing into the living room.

  Mary Bernadette followed her. “The knives go on the right, Danica,” she said.

  Danica frowned at the place she had just set. “Oh.”

  “No harm done,” her grandmother assured her. “Everyone makes mistakes. Just the other day I forgot to replace the hand towels in the powder room.”

  Mary Bernadette went back to the kitchen and took a seat at the tiny table. Eight months had passed since the stroke that had temporarily felled her, and she was feeling almost her old self again. In spite of an initial reservation, she had decided to retain her role as the chairman and official spokesperson of the Oliver’s Well Historical Association. Really, she had told her family, there was no good reason to abdicate the position she had held for so long, and indeed Leonard, on behalf of the entire board, had pressed her to continue in her duties. Some things had changed, however. She was now using e-mail—though not regularly—and had managed to receive a few calls on her cell phone. She had Skyped once with David and Danica and had decided that it was not for her. Grace had acceded this point. Unwelcome but accepted was the presence of the Life Alert system. “It’s an ugly thing,” Mary Bernadette had said when she had first laid eyes on it. “It doesn’t go with any of my clothing.” Grace had sighed. “Vanity, Mom.”

  A much more welcome change was that Mary Bernadette and Paddy were closer than they had been in many years, and in spite of the traumatic way this had come about, she was deeply pleased by it. And she was very happy about the fact that Paddy had fallen into the habit of taking her hand as they sat on the couch of an evening to watch a bit of television before bed. It was like the old days—the very old days—but somehow more poignant, being tinged with old sorrows. As for her relationship to William, her private grief would never entirely lose its power over her, but now, as she had promised God that she would, she made it a point to focus on the care of those still living.

  “Should I drizzle some olive oil on the hummus?” Megan asked.

  Alexis nodded. “Sure. Use that bottle by the toaster. It’s the good stuff.”

  “Hummus?” Mary Bernadette asked her daughter in a low voice.

  Grace patted her mother’s hand. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

  Megan had overheard her mother-in-law’s question and allowed herself a smile. Sometimes on her own and sometimes accompanied by Pat and the twins, she continued to visit Oliver’s Well regularly, and though she was no longer officially involved with the OWHA, she was available to offer advice regarding the funding for the acquisition (just completed) and the restoration (soon to begin) of the Branley Estate. Wynston Meadows was now just an unhappy memory. He had sold his house in Oliver’s Well and gone back to D.C. where he belonged. As for life within the bounds of the family Fitzgibbon, it seemed to have settled into a new pattern, one in which Mary Bernadette asked her daughter-in-law’s opinion on matters ranging from the best way to get red wine stains out of a tablecloth to the fastest way to bake a potato. Of course, Mary Bernadette already knew the answers to these questions, but
Megan saw the act of asking as an offering of peace, if not exactly one of friendship. And there had been no more comments about the pagan lifestyle of the Annapolis branch of the family.

  “The meat is done,” Alexis announced. “Dinner in about fifteen minutes.”

  Alexis Fitzgibbon was happier than she had ever been in her life. She adored being a mother, and she was thrilled to be living in her own home with her husband. She was enrolled in a graduate program at the local campus of the state university (her classes were in the evening, allowing PJ to be home with the baby), and what with her membership in Oliver’s Well Players, her photography work for the OWHA, her part-time day job at Fitzgibbon Landscaping, and her weekly drinks date with Maureen (who was dating someone she had met through her swim class), Alexis was always on the move. And, as if she wasn’t already busy enough, she had undertaken an informal study of the history of the Catholic Church. There was so much to learn, much of it inspiring, some of it horrifying, all of it fascinating. PJ had joked that before long she would “out–Mary Bernadette Mary Bernadette.” Alexis wasn’t sure that was possible.

  Now that they had a granddaughter to spoil, Olivia and Lester Trenouth had promised to visit Oliver’s Well once a month. And Alexis no longer accepted checks from her parents. She had told them that if they wanted to help her new family they might instead contribute to Maeve’s education fund, and they were happy to oblige.

  “Everything smells wonderful,” Grace said.

  Alexis, face flushed from the heat of the oven, smiled. “Thanks. I hope it tastes as good as it smells.”

  Grace, who had eaten many a meal at Alexis and PJ’s home, knew that it would. She was enjoying her job at the hospital and found that living in her parents’ backyard had its benefits. One was that it allowed her to see her brother’s family more often, and of course to keep an eye on her ageing parents. Another was that she had access to her mother’s cooking, too, and as she tended to eat pretzels and peanut butter for dinner when left to her own devices, this was a real treat.