One Mom Too Many

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  His voice was strained. “Who would what?”

  “Who would agree to give me a child without any strings attached.”

  “And you imagined I would?” The look in his eyes tore her to pieces.

  “I...before I really knew you, I thought... But not after I found out what kind of man you are, Daniel. Being with you made me rethink everything! I would never consider such a thing now. Never.”

  He grew very quiet. “When did you change your mind about this? Be specific.”

  “Sometime...sometime yesterday,” she said.

  “Before we gave St. Paddy a bath? Or after?”

  She looked away. “After.”

  “How convenient. After you’d gotten what you wanted, you mean. No wonder you called me an Irish stud this morning. That’s all I’ve been to you, isn’t it?”

  “No!” Her face flamed. “Daniel, not in front of our mothers, please!”

  “A modern thinker like you shouldn’t mind,” he said, his tone icy.

  Rose knew she was lost, totally lost.

  “We’re here to demand that you two marry and give our grandchild a proper home,” Bridget said.

  “In spite of the inconvenient matter of us two having to be related as a result,” Maureen said with a shudder.

  “Well, I hate to disappoint two such upstanding Catholic ladies, and I realize how much pleasure the union of our two families would give you, but I’m afraid it’s out of the question,” Daniel said. “The prospective groom is too sick to his stomach to propose.”

  “Daniel,” Rose said. “Please. Don’t do this.”

  “Oh, I think it’s already done.” He flicked her a glance. “And you got exactly what you wanted. No strings attached. I won’t even charge you a stud fee.”

  FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Daniel left with his mother in the Pontiac. Rose agreed to drive her mother back in Daniel’s car, then park it in his apartment garage and take a cab home. He didn’t suggest she come up for a visit. He hadn’t suggested that they ever see each other again, Rose noticed. Consequently, she had to postpone the drive back to the city until she could stop crying, which took a long time.

  Eventually her mother started sniffling right along with her as they sat at the kitchen table. St. Paddy sat between them, his expression worried as his head swiveled from one tragic face to the other. Occasionally he’d whine and walk over to shove his muzzle against Rose’s leg.

  “I have to stop crying,” Rose said, blowing her red nose. “I’m upsetting St. Paddy.”

  “St. Paddy? What about your poor mother? I’m a wreck!”

  Rose glanced across the table at her mother’s puffy eyes and red nose. “Yeah, you are.”

  “Thank you so much for agreeing with me on that. So you really love him, then?”

  Rose nodded and choked back another sob.

  “And if Maureen and I hadn’t arrived and spilled the beans, you’d be setting the date?”

  “I...I can’t say that for sure. But we seemed to be...moving in that direction.” Rose buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Mom. He’s just what I want. I never thought I’d find a man who would make me change my mind about getting married, but Daniel did. And now...”

  “It’s all my fault.” Her mother sounded completely miserable. “If I’d kept my nose out of it, everything would have been fine. Except, of course, for having to be related to that Maureen person.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. I should have told Daniel the minute I gave up my original plan. He might have been upset then, too, but maybe I could have made him understand. Or maybe not. A man like Daniel would hate something like that. And that’s exactly why I love him! It’s so confusing.”

  Bridget reached over and placed her hand over Rose’s. “The idea of being a single mother was never right for you, Rose. Motherhood is right for you, but so is having a husband. You only had to find the right man. Just because I didn’t doesn’t mean you can’t. I was so young when I married your father. Too young to realize we had nothing in common but my good looks and his money.”

  Rose sighed. “Well, it looks like I’ve ruined my chances with this particular man, and I can’t imagine there are many out there like Daniel O’Malley.”

  Bridget squeezed her hand. “Does he love you?”

  “He was beginning to, I’m sure, but new love can be squashed so quickly. And I—well, I was having fun pretending to be a little wilder than I actually am. No telling how he’s put all that together now, or what sort of picture he has of me.”

  “Rose, I have to ask you—” Bridget hesitated. “Considering what was said out in the front yard, could you be carrying Daniel’s child?”

  Rose’s initial rush of joy at the thought was followed by great sadness. “I doubt it. I would love to be, but we—” She blushed furiously, but decided that if her mother had the courage to ask, she’d have the courage to tell. “We only had unprotected sex once. That would be quite a long shot.”

  “Ah, but he’s an Irishman.”

  Rose laughed through her tears. “That’s what he said.”

  “I think you should get in touch with him when we go back to the city. Convince him that you just weren’t thinking straight about this other business.”

  Rose shook her head. “No. I did the pursuing in the beginning, and if I continue, he’ll probably just think I’m after the same thing, because the first dose didn’t take. I can’t call him.”

  “That’s your stubborn Irish pride talking.”

  Rose smiled at her. “I know I’m only half Irish, but it sure seems like the biggest half.”

  “Of course it is, lass.”

  Lass. She remembered Daniel calling her that, and how sweet the word had sounded coming from his lips. More such memories were undoubtedly on the way, and she was in for the kind of heartache she’d only imagined in the past. As they said in California, this was the big one. She blinked back fresh tears.

  “I could call him,” Bridget said.

  Rose gasped. “No! Don’t even think such a thing, Mom! You have to promise to stay out of this.”

  “But—”

  “Promise me!”

  “All right.” Bridget slipped one hand into her lap. “I promise.”

  THE SILENCE in the Pontiac was oppressive, broken only when Daniel stopped for gas and asked his mother if she needed to go inside the station and freshen up. She declined. Daniel pumped the gas and swore softly to himself. On top of everything else, his mother had been driving on fumes. It was a wonder she’d made it to Rose’s cottage without getting stranded.

  They left the gas station and continued down the highway. Daniel flipped on the radio, but no matter how many times he switched channels he kept coming up with love songs. He didn’t need love songs. What he needed, at least until the pain eased, was oblivion. But he had to take his mother home, and navigating a New York highway required his attention. Thinking of his mother driving this road froze the blood in his veins. She’d imagined she was doing it for him, so he’d decided not to say anything more about the stupidity of her actions. Next week, however, he was selling the car, fresh dents and all.

  “You should be glad to know the truth, Daniel,” Maureen said at last

  “Right.”

  “I couldn’t let you go through with such a thing.”

  “I understand that.”

  “Daniel, what was it you meant when you said something about her getting what she wanted?”

  Pain knifed through him. “Nothing.”

  “Could she be...carrying your child?”

  Oh, God If only—“Probably not.”

  “But there’s a chance?”

  “Not really.”

  “Don’t be beating around the bush with me, Daniel. There’s either a chance or there isn’t. I keep up with these things. After all, products are sold out in the open now, you know, right next to my multivitamin tablets. You didn’t use the sheepskin kind, did you? I read that those aren’t as effective as latex.”

&
nbsp; Daniel blew out a breath. First he’d discovered that Rose was really after a sperm donor instead of a lover, and now his mother wanted to discuss his condom habits. He was so far past the end of his rope he couldn’t even see it dangling there anymore.

  “Well, Daniel?”

  “You know what, Mom? We aren’t going to have this conversation. Not now, and not in the future. Whatever did or didn’t happen is between Rose and me. I once asked you to stay out of it.”

  “But when Bridget—”

  “I can understand why you felt the need to warn me. Now I want the subject dropped. Permanently.”

  “Daniel, you’re gripping that wheel as if you’re likely to bend it clean in half. Are you in love with that girl, then?”

  “Drop it, Mom. Now.”

  “All right. Mercy. I’ve never seen you like this. A body would think you’d tumbled head over heels.”

  14

  Inside the Statue of Liberty Museum, next to the big foot Noon, Tuesday. Be there.

  B.H.K.

  MAUREEN CHECKED the note again after boarding the excursion boat on Tuesday morning. She’d promised Daniel to stay out of his business with Rose. But she hadn’t promised not to visit the Statue of Liberty, had she, now? And if she happened to run into Bridget there, and Bridget happened to mention the subject, was she supposed to clamp her mouth shut and not answer at all? ’Twould be rude of her.

  She used to love this trip when Patrick was alive. There was something wonderful about having a woman so huge and magnificent at the entrance to one of the great harbors of the world. Maureen had always thought the National Organization for Women had missed a bet, not using that statue as a symbol of female power.

  And female power was just what was called for in this mess surrounding Daniel and Rose. As the boat approached the giant copper figure, her torch raised to the sky, Maureen moved to the front of the crowd and let the wind blow against her face. Barbra Streisand had probably felt like this in Funny Girl when she was singing “Nobody’s Gonna Rain on My Parade,” while riding that tugboat out into New York Harbor. Maureen’s heart swelled with pride and purpose, and another emotion that surprised the devil out of her—sisterhood.

  After the boat docked Maureen hurried to the museum. She knew the exact spot Bridget was talking about in her note. Inside the building was a huge left foot, reproduced the same size as the one on the actual statue, only ’twas polished copper instead of the weathered green of the statue outside. Maureen found Bridget standing by the big toe.

  “So you came,” Bridget said.

  “Of course I came. Something must be done.”

  “Exactly. For our children and our grandchild-to-be.” Maureen laid a hand on her heart. “You really think Rose is in the family way, then?”

  Bridget beckoned Maureen closer and leaned over to whisper in her ear. “They had sex once without a condom.”

  “Without a condom at all?” Maureen said in a normal voice.

  Bridget clapped a hand over Maureen’s mouth. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph. What am I to do with you, Maureen Fiona, shouting about condoms at the top of your blessed lungs?”

  Maureen pulled Bridget’s hand away from her mouth. “Did not.”

  “Did too.”

  “Did—” Belatedly Maureen heard the funny little tremble in Bridget’s voice, and she looked her square in the face. ’Twas the moment she realized that Bridget was doing her best not to laugh, which set Maureen to giggling.

  Once she started, Bridget joined in. Soon they were both gasping and holding their sides as tears streamed down their cheeks.

  “No one could ever make me laugh like you, Maureen,” Bridget said at last, wiping her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve had a really good laugh since I left Ireland.”

  “We had some grand times, we did.”

  “I think...maybe we should forget about that Rose of Tralee business.”

  Maureen nodded. “I think that would be a grand idea.”

  “We have other fish to fry, like getting Rose and Daniel back together.”

  “’Tis not going to be easy. Daniel’s a stubborn Irishman.”

  “And Rose is a stubborn Irishwoman, but I’ve figured out a plan. Rose will be riding in the back of a convertible during the St. Patrick’s Day Parade. One of the beer companies hired her because she looks so Irish.”

  Maureen saw where the plan was headed. “Daniel will either be in it or patrolling a part of it, I’m not sure which.”

  “It would be best for my plan if he’s patrolling a stretch of the route. If you’ll tell me who his commanding officer is I’ll have Cecil make a few calls and arrange it.”

  “Cecil? Your husband?”

  “Ex-husband. But he knows a lot of people in high places here in the city. And even if he is a Brit, he wouldn’t want his daughter to have a baby out of wedlock any more than I would. I’m sure I can convince him to help us set the trap for these two.”

  “You know, Rose and Daniel may well kill us for interfering again,” Maureen said.

  “I realize that. Are you ready to take that risk, Maureen?”

  “I’m ready if you are.”

  “Then we must seal it with the secret handshake.”

  Maureen put her hand up, palm out, the memory as fresh as if she’d done it yesterday, instead of thirty-seven years ago. Bridget placed her palm against Maureen’s, and they laced their fingers together.

  “All for one,” Bridget said.

  “And one for all,” Maureen finished. Then she squeezed Bridget’s hand tight. When she got an answering squeeze, she had the dumbest reaction. Tears filled her eyes.

  ON ST. PATRICK’S DAY Rose wore a lined green suit with a white fake fur collar, which helped a little to keep her warm in the open convertible as it eased down the parade route. She rode on the boot covering the folded convertible top, which meant she was fully exposed to the chill wind that whipped down Fifth Avenue. There had been a long wait at the staging area, too. Although she’d thought the O’Hannigan’s entry was near the middle of the parade, she’d discovered that morning that she’d been moved almost to the end. She’d been half-frozen before her part of the procession even got under way.

  She’d tried to plan for the cold. Beneath her suit jacket she wore a thermal shirt, but there wasn’t anything she could do about her legs. The suit skirt barely reached to mid-thigh, which had been exactly what the O’Hannigan’s representative had wanted. He’d said something to the effect that a pantsuit would have defeated the purpose of hiring a woman with great legs. Rose had never liked being treated like a commodity, but after years of it she had become stoic about men like the O’Hannigan’s rep. A set of earmuffs to cut the wind would also have been welcome this morning, instead of the perky green derby she wore securely pinned to her red curls, but O’Hannigan’s Beer was paying a lot for her appearance in this parade, so she was expected to put up with a little discomfort in exchange.

  Not long ago she would have been happy about the hefty fee offered by the brewery. She’d have rejoiced in her healthy financial situation, because it meant she’d be able to pursue her master plan more easily. Now her master plan was in tatters. She no longer cared about her little cottage, and drawing the comic strip was increasingly difficult these days.

  Years of training were all that carried her through this morning as she smiled and waved at the crowd gathered along the parade route. She envied them their heavy coats and mufflers. March seventeenth had turned out to be a bitterly cold day in New York City this year. But as cold as it was outside, Rose was even colder inside. She’d hoped, prayed, even dreamed that Daniel would call. He hadn’t.

  Today, as if to mock her, she seemed to be surrounded by mounted patrollers. The contingent picked to lead the parade had been in the staging area, but Daniel hadn’t been among them. More mounted officers were stationed along the route for crowd control. She’d studied each of them as the convertible inched down the street, but she hadn’t seen Daniel. If she ever d
id spot him, she fully expected him to ignore her. How she’d keep smiling when that happened, she had no idea.

  As the tail end of the parade approached St. Patrick’s Cathedral, she glanced to her right and thought she recognized the man on the horse stationed in that block. Oh, God, it was him. She knew the set of those shoulders, the cant of those hips. Her heart began to pound.

  Then, from her left, she heard a sickeningly familiar cry.

  “I might have known you’d be here hogging the view, Maureen Fiona!”

  She turned with a sense of inevitability to see her mother on the steps of St. Patrick’s, trying to push Daniel’s mother out of the way. Rose closed her eyes and prayed that the stress and the cold morning were causing her to hallucinate.

  “Don’t be shoving me, Bridget Hogan. ’Tis my corner you’re standing on.”

  Laughter rippled through the crowd and Rose groaned. Maureen sounded like a streetwalker protecting her turf. Rose glanced toward Daniel to see how he was reacting. No help there. Daniel looked like a man chiseled in stone—his mirrored sunglasses concealing his eyes, a blue helmet over his dark hair, and his jaw set in uncompromising lines as he focused on the parade route and ignored the two women on the cathedral steps.

  Rose leaned forward, as if that would make the motorcade move faster. But Murphy’s Law was working overtime on this holiday, and the parade stopped altogether.

  “Did you drive here, Maureen?” Bridget said, loud enough to carry a good half block. “I guess not, since I don’t see your car parked on the cathedral steps.”

  “You know what I have to say to that? Take a look. The Tweety-bird is flying!”

  “Oh, God,” Rose muttered, her cheeks flaming as she imagined the private hell Daniel must be going through at the moment.

  The driver of Rose’s convertible chuckled. “Great show, huh? Nothing like a couple of Irish ladies going at it. Probably been drinking some of that green beer. If we’re lucky, maybe they’ll even throw a few punches.”