by Webb, Peggy
“They say if a firefly lights on you, it’s good luck.”
It soared away, blinking its light once more in the darkness.
“I always did believe in luck.” She still held the cigar in her hand. With a flick of her wrist she tossed it onto the ground. “But not the Mick Flannigan kind of luck.”
She left the bench and went to find Jim and Lovey.
o0o
From his hiding place behind a nearby tree an old man watched her go. He’d been watching and listening for some time, long enough to know exactly what was going on between Tess and Flannigan.
As soon as she was out of hearing range, he started singing softly to himself, “In the sweet by and by, we will meet on that beautiful shore.”
When Tess was out of sight, his voice trailed off and he chuckled.
“Well, now,” he announced to the trees, “I hope that lightning bug brings her some luck.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Flannigan was in charge of the fireworks.
Tess sat on the blanket with Lovey and Jim, watching him and thinking how appropriate that he was the one lighting Roman candles and sending them blazing into the sky, streaming bright trails of red and yellow and green. Flannigan had always been in charge of fireworks—of all kinds, she thought wryly.
She tried to keep her mind off the most recent fireworks on the park bench and heaved a big sigh. She had almost let things get out of control.
“What’s the matter, Tess?” Lovey turned to her.
“I guess I’m just feeling blue.”
“Me too. Even if we did say this was going to be a going-away party for Babs, I can’t help but feel sad and lonesome. I miss her.”
“So do I.”
Tess felt guilty. Her sadness wasn’t so much for Babs as for herself. It seemed that she was losing Mick all over again.
That didn’t make any sense, of course. But she’d forgive herself if she appeared a little foolish. A woman wasn’t supposed to be sane and rational when her best friend was ashes and her first husband was a lion, the great savage kind that kept stalking her, coming out of the bushes at unexpected times and circling her until he was ready to come in for the kill.
She shivered.
“I know.” Lovey reached over and squeezed Tess’s hand. “That’s how I feel too. Sort of chilled down to the soul.”
Tess let herself be consoled. After all, the touch of a friend wasn’t a gift to be taken lightly.
After the fireworks they gathered their picnic items and headed home, more somber than when they’d arrived. Flannigan drove again. Tess somehow ended up on the front seat, squashed so tightly between Mick and John that she couldn’t tell where she left off and they began. Johnny’s legs, she didn’t mind. They were just legs. But Flannigan’s! They weren’t legs, they were more fireworks, more Roman candles—these going off under her skin.
Flannigan didn’t seem to notice. His hands were loose and relaxed on the wheel, and he turned his head from time to time, leaning a bit so he could see around her, talking to Johnny. She had no idea what they were talking about. It didn’t concern her. Nothing concerned her except getting out of the car.
They finally got back to Johnny’s house. After they had unloaded, they all went their separate ways to wash the day’s grime and dust away before getting back together for dinner.
Johnny had ordered Chinese food. It was set up on trays around the den. So was the movie projector. He was quite a camera buff, and had never gone anywhere without a good camera in his hand.
Perched on the piano bench across the room from Tess, Flannigan watched reel after reel of captured memories of their college days. There was Tess, running barefoot across the campus, waving a test paper and shouting. When she got close enough, they all heard what she was shouting.
“That old fogy! Why do they call it creative writing if you’re not supposed to be creative?”
Everybody in the den laughed, just as they had laughed that day. Tess had written a jazzy story about picking locks.
“Well, he said he wanted a how-to story,” the young Tess on the film said. “How did I know he wanted something stuffy, like how to sew on a button.”
Johnny paused the film and called across the room to Tess. She was sitting on a pile of red cushions, her legs tucked under.
“Hey, Tess. Who’s sewing on your buttons now?”
“I’m looking, Johnny. I haven’t found him yet, but I will.”
She didn’t even glance Flannigan’s way. He reached for a cigar and crammed it into his mouth unlit. He needed something to bite, preferably something that wouldn’t scream.
Johnny started the film again, and there they were, at the graduation dance. Lovey and Jim, gazing fondly into each other’s eyes. Babs blowing a kiss into the camera. Tess and Flannigan, dancing cheek to cheek.
He bit into his cold cigar again. Lord, he remembered how it had felt to dance with her. Like floating. Her body pressed so close to his, he could feel her heart pounding against his chest. Her arms wrapped around his neck, one hand making circles on his skin and the other laced in his hair.
The film had captured it all. He wanted to look across the room. He wanted to see her face, but he dared not. Instead he clamped the cigar between his teeth and stared at the screen.
The dance went on and on, until Flannigan thought he’d bite his cigar in half.
The next reel wasn’t any better for his peace of mind. Johnny had filmed the group at Lake Tiak-O’khata with the girls cavorting in the sunshine, eating snow cones with juice dripping down their chins and making purple trails into the tops of their bikinis. Tess filled his senses just as she filled the screen. He could see no one but Tess.
If he could have left the room without hurting Johnny’s feeling, he would have. But he couldn’t let his old friend down, even if it was killing him to sit there and watch Tess and remember how it had been between them.
Dear Lord, the way they had loved in the back of his old hearse. And laughed. He could close his eyes and still hear the sound of her laughter, sometimes low and throaty and other times high and trilling, like silver bells ringing on a Sunday morning.
He closed his eyes, blessedly blocking out her image. Still he could hear her laughter, echoing back from their past. Tomorrow they would all fly into the sky and scatter Babs’s ashes, and then they’d go their separate ways. Tess would go back to her career in Chicago, and he’d go... the saints only knew where.
It was after midnight when the home movies ended and the group said good night.
Tess was the first to go. Flannigan figured she couldn’t wait to be rid of him. He felt the same way about her. But probably not for the same reasons. He wanted to get on his hands and knees at her feet and beg her forgiveness. He wanted to call back time, and undo everything he had done to the woman he’d loved most in the world. The only woman he’d ever love. If he could call back time, he would start making amends by undoing their marriage. It had been selfish of him to pledge vows when he didn’t even know who he was and what he wanted from life.
It was too bad that wisdom didn’t come with youth but arrived when it was much too late, like a Christmas package lost in the mail until June. Flannigan sat in his chair, smoking his cigar, thinking his wise thoughts, and watching his friends leave the room.
In deference to Lovey’s condition Jim carried his wife up the stairs, struggling a little under her weight.
Johnny picked up the urn, then turned to Flannigan.
“Coming, Mick?”
“Not yet.”
“It got to you, didn’t it?”
“What?”
“Seeing the way it used it to be with you and Tess.”
Mick couldn’t lie to an old friend. “Some,” he said. “But I’ll get over it.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t try.” Johnny hugged the urn to his chest. “I know this is trite, but life is short, too short to waste time alone if you love somebody.” His smile was sad. “Do you still love her
, Mick?”
“I never stopped.”
“Then go to her. Nothing would please me more than to know that Babs’s last gift to you and Tess was getting you two back together.”
“It’s not that simple, Johnny.”
“Hell, I know that.” Johnny sighed. “I guess I’m just feeling sentimental and sad... sad for myself and Babs, even sad for you and Tess.” He caught Mick’s shoulder and squeezed. “Good night, Mick.”
Johnny didn’t stop by the hall table but went up the staircase, holding Babs over his heart.
Mick’s eyes suddenly felt hot, and he blinked away the tears. Then he slipped through the house and out the back door into the garden, fragrant with summer flowers.
He leaned against the trunk of a huge magnolia tree and lit his cigar. Then he gazed up at Tess’s window. He could see her silhouette against the drawn shade. It appeared briefly, then vanished, then reappeared. The pattern repeated itself over and over. She was pacing.
He wondered if he were the cause of her restlessness, just as she was the cause of his.
He stayed in the darkness, gazing up at her window until she extinguished the light and went to bed.
“Think of me, Tess... Think of me with kindness.”
He left the dark night shade of the lush magnolia and sat in a willow glider, swinging gently back and forth. The cigar burned down to the tips of his fingers, and still he sat in the swing.
Suddenly lights began to spring on all over the house. Good Lord. Something was wrong. Flannigan tossed the butt of his cigar onto the ground and began to run. What if something had happened to Tess? It had to be Tess, for she was the only one who’d be up prowling around in the middle of the night. And she was never careful about anything. Always headlong and high-strung.
His mind raced as fast as his feet. What if Tess had tripped and fallen down the stairs? She was always trailing things behind her. All those damned feathers.
He flung open the back door, but the kitchen was still dark, and he couldn’t see a thing. He could hear footsteps and people calling back and forth upstairs.
“Tess,” he roared. “Tess!”
She appeared at the head of the staircase, dragging her purple peignoir behind her. Relief surged through him, and on its heels, anger.
“Put that damned thing on before you step on it and kill yourself,” he yelled, taking the steps two at a time.
“What is the matter with you?” She rammed one arm into the sleeve just as he reached the top of the staircase. “Have you gone mad?”
He didn’t answer, but jerked the peignoir around her shoulders and crammed in her other arm.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking care of you.”
“I’ve been taking of myself for ten years. I don’t need any help now.”
“It seems to me that you do, tromping around the house at the damndest hours, drinking champagne, wearing all these feathers.” He drew her peignoir high around her neck and held her that way, glaring down at her. “If you don’t smother to death in all these feathers, you’re going to get tangled up and trip down the stairs and kill yourself.”
“Turn my feathers loose.”
He suddenly realized how ridiculous he was
being. With Tess around, things always got magnified.
“Hell.” He released her and stepped back.
“Tess!” Johnny yelled, sticking his head around Lovey’s bedroom door. “Hurry up. I need you.” Then he vanished.
“What’s going on?” Flannigan asked.
“Lovey’s having her baby. Don’t just stand there with your mouth open. Make yourself useful.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“For one thing, you can keep Jim out of the way so Johnny and I can deliver that baby. He’s driving us all crazy.”
Tess disappeared into Lovey’s bedroom, and Jim came out. His hair and eyes were wild, and he was feeling the walls like a blind man.
Mick took his arm and led him to the staircase.
“Everything’s going to be all right, Jim.”
Jim sank onto the top step. “It’s too early, Mick. The baby’s not due for at least two weeks.”
“Johnny’s a doctor. He’ll take care of Lovey.”
“It all happened so quickly. There wasn’t even time to get her to a hospital. What if something happens to Lovey and the baby?”
“Relax, Jim. They’ll be fine.”
Jim sat rigid on the staircase, and Mick wasn’t much better. A baby, he thought. Saints be praised. A baby being born right here in this house. And Tess in there helping to deliver it. He got misty-eyed thinking about Tess bringing a baby into the world.
Time stretched out while they waited; thirty minutes seemed like three hours. Then Johnny appeared in Lovey’s bedroom doorway.
“You can go in now, Jim. You have a beautiful, healthy baby girl. Lovey’s fine.” Johnny held the door wide. “Why don’t you come, too, Mick?”
Mick trailed along behind, not certain he wanted
to be a part of this intimate family gathering. He changed his mind the minute he entered the bedroom.
Tess was standing beside the bed, holding the baby. She was bending close so her hair made a bright curtain behind the baby’s head. One tiny hand was wrapped around Tess’s finger, and her smile was so tender and shining, Mick decided the angels had touched her face with glory.
Tess and the baby were the most beautiful picture Mick had ever seen. He didn’t even bother to wipe the tears from his eyes as he leaned against the doorframe, watching her.
Tess looked up, directly at Mick. Although she was still smiling, her own eyes were bright, and Mick thought he saw a glimmer of tears on her cheeks.
“Come and see her,” Tess said softly. “She’s beautiful.”
Mick tiptoed across the room. At that moment Tess loved him all over again. He looked so heartbreakingly innocent, a large, rowdy man trying to be as quiet as possible. When he reached her and put his big hand on the baby’s tiny cheek, Tess thought she would cry. Really cry. Not the quiet sniffling that ladies did, but the loud, red-nosed, red-eyed, lusty bawling of true heartbreak.
“She’s so small,” Mick whispered.
Jim, who was sitting on the edge of the bed holding Lovey’s hand, looked up and laughed. “They grow.”
Johnny came back into the room with the urn and stood at the foot of Lovey’s bed.
“We have something we want to tell all of you,” said Lovey, squeezing her husband’s hand. “Will you hand me the baby, Tess?”
Tess bent over the bed and placed the small bundle in Lovey’s arms. The baby opened her rosebud mouth in a yawn and batted the air with one tiny fist.
“Through the years,” Lovey said, “this circle of friends has been more important to us than wealth or possessions or prestige. Friendship is a gift of the heart. It’s a spontaneous caring and sharing that grows more precious as the years go by.” Lovey paused, smiling down at her new baby; then she lifted her head and smiled at her friends. “One of our circle has begun a journey that has to be made alone. In honor and memory of her, we want to name this baby Babs.”
Mick caught Tess’s hand and she caught Johnny’s and he caught Jim’s and Jim squeezed Lovey’s. The circle was complete.
“I’m overwhelmed,” said Johnny, fighting back tears. “I can’t think of anything that would have pleased Babs more.”
Johnny and Tess and Mick admired the baby, then stole quietly from the room. Johnny disappeared into his bedroom, carrying the urn. Mick and Tess stood facing each other in the hallway.
“I don’t think I can sleep after this,” she whispered.
“I wasn’t sleeping anyway.” Mick took her elbow and led her downstairs to the kitchen. Then he pulled out a chair for Tess and began to rummage in the cabinets. “Scotch,” he said, holding the bottle and turning so Tess could see. “A man’s drink. Do you want some?”
“Why not?”
Mick poured two
drinks and sat down beside her. They drank in silence for a while, watching each other over the rims of their glasses.
“I can’t get my mind off that baby,” Tess said.
“Neither can I.”
“She is so perfect.”
“As fair as the first flowers of spring.”
“That’s beautiful, Mick.”
They lapsed into silence once more, this time careful to keep from looking at each other. When their glasses were empty, Mick refilled them.
“We were going to have children, Tess. You and I.”
“It’s not my fault we didn’t. You’re the one who left.”
“Back to that again, are we?”
“And why not? I’ll have you know, Mick Flannigan, that there are some things a woman can’t do alone.”
“That’s quite an admission coming from you, Tess Flannigan.”
“That’s not my name.”
“Pardon me. Tess Jones Flannigan Carson OToole. Did I leave anybody out?”
Their tempers had flared as quickly as their passion always did. Their chairs were scooted closer together now, and they glared at each other, nose to nose.
Tess set her glass on the table without ever breaking eye contact with Flannigan.
“Flannigan, sometimes you’re a bastard.”
“Correct.” His glass rattled as he set it on the table. “I never knew my mother, God rest her soul, and I don’t even know if I had a daddy. I was probably spawned by the devil. That would be quite a heritage for a kid, wouldn’t it?”
“Oh God, Mick.” She could have wept. Instead she reached out and tenderly touched his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
He covered her hand with his own. “How many times are we going to say that before this weekend is over?”
“I don’t know. It seems that you and I always create the need to say it. Why is that, Mick?”
“Ahhh... Tess.” He pressed their joined hands closer against her cheek and held them there while crickets serenaded the night and the moon tracked across the sky.
Flannigan and Tess searched each other’s eyes for the truth, but it kept darting out of their sight. Finally he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss on her forehead.
