One Year (23 page)

M
ary Bernadette was putting the final touches on the gravy. She was tired. It had been a trying day. She had felt on edge since the moment she had opened her eyes that morning. So when Paddy had finished breakfast and gone upstairs to dress for church, Mary Bernadette had turned to the family Bible for spiritual support. She opened it at random to Psalm 139 and read the words carefully, with the sure knowledge that they were meant specifically for her comfort at that particular moment.

“Deliver me, O Lord, from the evil man; rescue me from the unjust man . . . Keep me, O Lord, from the hand of the wicked . . . Who have proposed to supplant my steps . . . Hear, O Lord, the voice of my supplication.”

After mass, while driving home with Paddy at the wheel and PJ and Alexis in the back seat, Mary Bernadette had spotted Wynston Meadows strolling along Main Street in jeans and a T-shirt. Clearly, he was not coming from church. Resolutely she had turned her face away from the window. If the others had also seen the Fitzgibbons' enemy, the unjust man pursuing them, the deceitful man with the lying tongue, they hadn't said.

Now Mary Bernadette, with PJ's help, brought the large serving platter and bowls to the dining room. She was glad when everyone was finally seated at the table; it was that much closer to when she could close the door on the members of her family. Paddy said grace and the plates were passed around. She felt irritable throughout the meal. She found her husband's attempts to draw her into conversation annoying and condescending. She noted that PJ and Alexis were barely speaking to each other and that Megan was more than usually cheerful in an oddly determined sort of way. Pat had been in a bad mood all day, almost surly, and now he was shoveling food into his mouth as if it were his last meal on earth. At least the twins were acting decently, though once or twice Mary Bernadette had caught Danica giving her an odd look, almost as if the girl had something she wanted to say but couldn't. Indigestion, that's what it was, Mary Bernadette decided. The girl had probably eaten too much too quickly, a bad habit she had picked up from her father.

As soon as it was not rude to do so, Mary Bernadette rose from her seat. “If everyone is finished,” she said, “I'll clear the table.” If anyone wanted another helping of lamb or potatoes, they weren't saying. Good. She would hurry along dessert. For once Mary Bernadette was glad that her son and his family were driving back to Annapolis that evening. And if Megan tried to insist that she and the twins clean up after the meal, Mary Bernadette would simply not allow it.

A
lexis had made her decision. She would go to the gallery in Somerstown with Morgan Shelby. She had been unsure of her answer to his invitation for days, but the disaster that was Easter Sunday had made her decision. Not even the delightful presence of the twins had helped to cheer her after that stupid encounter with PJ.

The very next day she had taken off the Cross of St. Brigid and put it into her jewelry box next to the claddagh necklace and the cross Mary Bernadette and Paddy had given her. And then she had put on a beach glass pendant her friend Diane had given her for her twentieth birthday. If PJ chose to comment on it, she would . . . well, she wasn't sure what she would say, and she didn't care. Not really.

Alexis tried to take a sip of her morning coffee, but her stomach was whirring with nerves and she put the cup back on the counter. “I'm going to need to take a day off work to see an art show in Smithstown,” she said. “It's only there for another week.” She hadn't meant to lie about the location of the show. But she had.

PJ took a sip of his coffee before saying, “Did you ask Grandmother for permission?”

Alexis bristled. “She's not my boss.”

PJ laughed and put his empty cup in the sink. “Actually, she kind of is, Alexis. She and Grandpa do own the company. They do sign our paychecks.”

“Fine,” Alexis said. “I'll ask her permission. But I'm going no matter what she says. The office can do without me for a day. Besides, she's always checking up on me there. I'm sure she'd love an entire day alone to poke around looking for my mistakes.”

“Ali, come on!”

“I have a life, too, PJ! I can't spend every moment of my day concentrating on Fitzgibbon Landscaping and the OWHA.”

“I didn't say that you had to! Ali, don't put words into my mouth, okay? I'm on your side.”

It certainly didn't feel like her husband was on her side. But all she said was, “Sorry.”

“I've got to go or I'll be late to the Petretti job. And I've got a new guy starting today.” He kissed her on the cheek and left the cottage.

The moment PJ was gone, Alexis reached for her cell phone. She had seen Mary Bernadette drive off about twenty minutes before; she was an early riser and often out and about on her chores before PJ and Alexis left for work. Paddy, too, had gone off that morning; he and Danny had volunteered to help Father Robert tend to the church grounds. The Fitzgibbon house was empty.

“Mary Bernadette,” Alexis said to the voice mail. “This is Alexis. I'm going to be taking next Thursday off to attend to some personal business. I wanted to give you plenty of notice. Thanks.”

Alexis hated herself for being so cowardly, but the thought of lying to Mary Bernadette's face—or, rather, the thought of telling her another half truth—was just too intimidating. Anyway, there was nothing
wrong
in leaving someone a message.

Just as there was nothing
wrong
in spending a few hours in broad daylight with a man who wasn't your husband.

E
very Thursday morning of her married life without fail, Mary Bernadette changed the sheets on all the beds in the house. Every Friday morning she did the laundry and vacuuming. On Saturdays, she dusted and polished. Routine and order were the keys to keeping a clean and comfortable home.

So it was that on this Thursday morning, Mary Bernadette carried a set of fresh sheets and pillowcases into the bedroom she shared with her husband. Banshee watched intently from the top of the dresser as she pulled the dirty sheets off the mattress and piled them against the wall, to be taken down to the washing machine in the basement.

The fresh sheets were on the mattress and neatly tucked beneath it when Mary Bernadette became aware of a dull pain in her lower back. It happened often lately, especially when she bent to retrieve something that Paddy had dropped or to clean Banshee's litter box. She sat on the edge of the bed to rest.

Easter baskets
. Suddenly, Mary Bernadette realized that she had forgotten to make Easter baskets for the twins. She put her hand to her face. She was appalled by her forgetfulness. She was embarrassed by her display of carelessness. How could she not have remembered something so obvious, something so ubiquitous as Easter baskets?

No one had mentioned the missing baskets, but they must all have noticed their absence. Her family's silence was worse, she thought, than if they had teased her about her forgetfulness. It was probably Megan who had made sure that no one spoke. She was always so sensitive to other people's feelings. It annoyed Mary Bernadette sometimes, that scrupulous concern. She believed that it was better to be made to face one's faults than to be shielded from them. It was better to be made to correct one's mistakes and to atone for one's sins than to be coddled and kept in a state of ignorance.

Sensing her agitation, Banshee jumped from the top of the dresser and onto the bed by her side. Mary Bernadette stroked her sleek back. The cat began to purr.

What is becoming of me,
she asked herself. She had faced bigger threats than Wynston Meadows in the course of her long life. She had met and conquered tougher challenges. Was it that she was simply too old for this battle? Or could it be that God was punishing her for having committed the sin of overweening pride, assuming a degree of importance in Oliver's Well she had never actually achieved?

The world was fickle. Mary Bernadette realized that she might have been permanently plucked from her place in the sun, condemned now to live out her days in a place of shadow and shame. And if that were the case, well, then so be it.

“Banshee, my love,” she said to her feline companion, “I must finish making this bed.”

Banshee leaped to the floor. Mary Bernadette got up more slowly and, resolutely banishing her troubles from her mind, she got back to her Thursday morning chores.

A
lexis was dressed in her best pair of dark skinny jeans, a new white T-shirt, and a fitted black blazer, an appropriate outfit she thought for an afternoon visit to an art gallery—and not an outfit she had bought at Anne's shop. She had taken extra care with her hair and makeup, not for the intention of attracting male attention—no, not even Morgan Shelby's—but for her own pleasure. It had been ages since she had been anywhere outside of Oliver's Well other than to a garden supply center in Waterville with PJ and his grandfather. Try as she might, she just couldn't get excited about backhoes and garden gnomes.

At 9:15 she got behind the wheel of her car and set off on her adventure. She couldn't remember when she had last experienced that delicious mix of guilt and excitement that accompanied doing something you knew that you shouldn't be doing. But why
shouldn't
she be going on a little excursion with a friend? There was nothing whatsoever wrong in that.

At exactly ten o'clock Alexis arrived at the gallery in Somerstown. Morgan was waiting for her, wearing slim black pants and a taupe linen shirt. Alexis thought he looked great.

“Punctual,” he said, opening the door of the gallery for her.

Alexis smiled. “It's one of my many talents.”

There were two categories of prints on display at the Foss Gallery. In the first room were Binjin prints. Each depicted a beautiful woman dressed in a traditional Japanese kimono. She was always alone, sometimes contemplating her image in a mirror, sometimes applying her makeup or giving herself a pedicure. At other times she was in a landscape. One of these, a portrayal of a woman in a veritable storm of cherry blossoms, particularly charmed Alexis.

“The colors are really amazing, aren't they?” Morgan said. “So luminous.”

“Mmm. And the mood is so serene. They're just lovely.”

In the second room were landscapes. These images were just as beautiful; they depicted specific sites in Japan—rivers and towns and monuments—at sunsets and sunrises, in rainstorms and in snow showers. Morgan was greatly taken with a print of a spectacular waterfall. “I'm overwhelmed by the sheer beauty in this room,” he told Alexis. Her own appreciation was keen, but Alexis suspected that Morgan, having gone to graduate school, was seeing things she wasn't trained to see. As for the names of the artists—Ito Shinsui, Kawase Hasui, Natori Shunsen—she had no idea how to pronounce them and hoped Morgan wouldn't ask her to try. She didn't want to appear foolish.

When they had finished viewing the exhibition—and Morgan had been in no rush to leave the gallery—he suggested they have lunch. “I know this little place a few blocks away,” he said. “They have great soups. Do you like soup?”

“Who doesn't?”

“My college roommate. He couldn't abide soup of any kind. Bisques, broths, cream of whatever. Hated them all.”

Alexis laughed. “Maybe he was traumatized by a soup at an early age.”

“Or maybe,” Morgan said, “he was just weird.”

When they were seated at the restaurant and had each been served a bowl of corn chowder, Morgan said, “Guess who came into the gallery the other day? The illustrious Mr. Meadows.”

“Really? Did he buy anything?” Alexis asked.
Imagine
, she thought,
having all his millions! I wonder if shopping would ever get boring?

“He looked. And he asked me to keep an eye out for an armoire by Stephen Trevelyan. He was a famous cabinetmaker in the late eighteenth century.”

“Are his works hard to find?” Alexis asked.

“One in good condition can be, but I'll try my sources.”

“So, what was he like, one on one?”

Morgan frowned. “Perfectly pleasant. But I got the distinct feeling that it was a very practiced act. He's a crafty man, no doubt. I wouldn't want to tangle with him.”

“I think he's met his match with Mary Bernadette,” Alexis said with a laugh. “She's the most bossy, most stubborn person I've ever met.”

“But she's never made millions managing a hedge fund, has she?” Morgan asked. “And she doesn't handle the OWHA's finances and properties. Leonard DeWitt does that. And everyone knows that she doesn't like to travel. When was the last time she went even fifty miles from Oliver's Well? Did she ever hold a paying job other than office manager of her husband's company? I think you overestimate her, Alexis. I'm not saying she's not an intelligent woman, but I am saying that this time she's in way over her head. I've heard what's being said about how Meadows has been acting with the board members, treating them like his minions.”

This was a perspective Alexis had never considered. Maybe Mary Bernadette Fitzgibbon
didn't
have what it took to withstand someone like Wynston Meadows. Maybe he really could destroy all that she had built, if only for sport. In fact, Mary Bernadette hadn't even gone to college. How had this rather unworldly woman managed to assume so much control and influence over so many people? Had it all been through the force of her personality and the strength of her will? But Morgan was probably right. Not even Mary Bernadette's formidable self could triumph over a man like Wynston Meadows, who traveled the world to dine with dignitaries, was an important presence on Wall Street, and was rumored to be considering a run for a major public office.

“Alexis?”

“Oh,” she said. “Sorry. I was just thinking about what you said.”

“Yes, well, let's not spend any more time talking—or thinking—about the Fitzgibbon matriarch. Tell me more about you. I mean, the you that has nothing to do with the Fitzgibbons.”

Was there such a person? Alexis wondered. “Oh,” she answered nervously. “There's really not much to tell.”

“Let me give you a challenge.”

“Okay.”

“The next time I see you, you have to tell me three true facts about yourself. And not things like where you grew up—where did you grow up, anyway?—but things like your dream vacation, your favorite book as a child, what character trait you like best about yourself.”

Alexis smiled. “Philadelphia,” she said. “And I accept your challenge.”

After lunch Morgan walked her to her car.

“This has been a great day, Alexis,” he said. “I'm so glad you could join me.”

Alexis willed herself not to blush. “Me too,” she said. “I mean, thanks for suggesting this.”

Without hesitation or forethought—at least, on Alexis's part—they shared a brief hug, after which Morgan jogged off to where he had parked his car.

With a slightly trembling hand, Alexis unlocked her door and slid behind the wheel. For much of the journey back to Oliver's Well she was in a bit of a haze. She had not touched another man so intimately since her first date with PJ. The result was that she felt exhilarated. She felt powerful. She felt as if she had proved something. She did not ask herself what she had proved or to whom.

It was only when she finally reached Oliver's Well and turned onto Main Street with the intention of making a quick stop at the pharmacy that full consciousness returned, for there was Mary Bernadette behind the wheel of her Volvo, less than three car lengths behind her.

Alexis's heart began to race.
Darn it
, she thought. Could Mary Bernadette have followed her that morning as she left Oliver's Well? Could she have seen the hug she and Morgan had shared? Could she have trailed Alexis back to Oliver's Well, eager to accuse her of a sinful assignation?

Alexis glanced again at the rearview mirror. Mary Bernadette's Volvo was gone. For a moment Alexis wondered if she had imagined it. She pulled into the nearest parking space, shut off the engine, and put her hand over her racing heart.
Oh God,
she thought
, why did I lie to PJ? Why couldn't I have been honest and told him that I was going on an outing with Morgan Shelby?

But the answer was obvious. It was because she considered her relationship with Morgan to be wrong. You didn't keep a totally platonic friendship a secret, because you didn't
have
to keep it a secret.

“I am a deceitful person,” she said to the interior of her car.

Alexis didn't have the presence of mind to go into the pharmacy and make small talk with the locals. Not now. She started the car again and headed back to Honeysuckle Lane. She was painfully aware of the fact that she should never have gone to the gallery with Morgan Shelby—and just as painfully aware of the fact that if he asked to spend time with her again, she would say yes.