One Year (34 page)

I
t was Saturday, the tenth of May, the day before Mother's Day. Mary Bernadette was home alone. It wasn't her habit to watch television in the middle of the day, but on a whim she had decided to catch the afternoon edition of the local news. There seemed to be nothing of great interest going on in Smithstown or Waterville. Westminster reported a rise in unemployment among its recent high school graduates. One of Lawrenceville's finest citizens had been caught on camera sneaking out of a “house of ill repute.” And there was a fire in downtown Somerstown that had already claimed one life. Mary Bernadette made the sign of the cross and said a prayer for the soul of the victim.

“And in Oliver's Well news . . .”

There on the screen was a reporter she hadn't seen before, a rather oily-looking man, Mary Bernadette thought, wearing an old trench coat and sporting the type of mustache she hadn't known men to wear for more than forty years. Something about the bushes behind the man looked familiar....

“That's my lawn he's standing on,” Mary Bernadette said to the living room. “That's my property!”

“. . . so given the recent allegations of wrongdoing on the part of Fitzgibbon Landscaping, this reporter decided to snare the lioness in her own den Friday afternoon.”

Mary Bernadette stood abruptly. The remote slid from her lap to the floor.

“Even after repeated knocking,” the reporter continued, “Mary Bernadette Fitzgibbon refused to answer the door to us. One can't help but ask, what is the woman hiding?”

“That's a lie!” Mary Bernadette protested. “I was at the hairdresser yesterday afternoon! He's lying!”

Mary Bernadette put a hand to her head. She wished she knew why she was being persecuted by Wynston Meadows. What had she ever done to justify this one man's hatred? She wasn't perfect. She knew that. But hadn't she always tried to act according to the word of God? Hadn't she always followed the Golden Rule and treated others as she would have them treat her? Then why, why was this happening?

And then her moment of fury was followed by abject fear. What else could this evil man do to her? Would he succeed in destroying her family, too? Would the good name of the Fitzgibbon family, already tarnished, be entirely and forever blackened?

The news show droned on. Or had it now gone to commercial? Mary Bernadette peered at the television screen. It was blurry. Something must be wrong with the cable. The sound was odd, too, a sort of buzz. She felt—funny. She was vaguely aware that Banshee was crying and that Mercy was making a pitiful noise.

I must call someone
.

The idea seemed to have come from someone else, but it struck Mary Bernadette as a sound one. There was only one problem. The phone was in the kitchen and she was in the living room. Well, then, she would go to the kitchen. She took a step and fell to the floor. And then she felt a wonderful sense of peace envelope her.

Could it be? Am I about to join my sweet baby William
?

It was her last conscious thought.

M
egan shut off the engine of her car and got out from behind the wheel.
Here I am,
she thought,
back again
. The car could probably drive itself to and from Oliver's Well by this point.

As Megan got closer to the front door, she heard Banshee howling. But there was something different in it, something frantic, as if the animal was terrified. It was a sound Mary Bernadette would never ignore. And she had to be home, because her car was in the driveway. . . .

“Darn it,” Megan muttered, fumbling with her keys in her sudden haste. “Come on, come on!”

And then the key was turning in the lock and Megan threw open the door to find Mary Bernadette in a heap on the living room floor. The television was on. Banshee was circling Mary Bernadette madly. Mercy was crouched in the doorway of the dining room, whimpering. The rest of the house appeared to be empty; at least, Paddy's car was not parked outside.

“Oh, God, let her be all right,” Megan murmured as she grabbed her cell phone from her bag and called for an ambulance.

She knelt down by her mother-in-law's prone body. “Mary Bernadette, can you hear me?” she asked. “Mary Bernadette?”

She was afraid to touch her. She had no medical training; she didn't even know CPR and cursed herself for it. Thankfully, it was only a moment or two later that Megan heard the siren and the Oliver's Well Emergency Corps pulled up outside the house. The door was still open as she had left it, and two paramedics came hurrying inside. Banshee dashed up the stairs, and Mercy retreated in the direction of the kitchen.

“I found her like this less than five minutes ago,” Megan said to the man and woman who now bent over Mary Bernadette. “She was alone when . . .”

“Megan?”

It was Lucy Burrows and her daughter standing in the doorway.

“Poor Mrs. F!” Lucy cried. “What happened?”

Megan shook her head. “I don't know.”

“Well, what can we do to help?”

“What?” Megan's mind went blank.

Lucy nodded. “I'll go find Paddy and take him to the hospital.”

“Oh,” Megan said, her intelligence returning. “Yes. Call the office first,” she suggested. “If he's not there, Alexis might know where he's gone. If not, call Danny Kline, or check the bar at The Angry Squire. Sometimes he goes there for lunch.”

“Right.” Lucy Burrows dashed off.

“I'll look after Mrs. F's kitty,” Tiff said. “Everyone knows how much she loves that kitty.”

“Thank you. And would it be too much to ask that you walk Mercy, too? If none of us is back home by evening? There's a spare set of keys under the back door mat.”

“Sure. She's a great old mutt!”

“Thank you, Tiff,” Megan said. “I'll lock up and follow the ambulance in my car.”

Less than five minutes later the paramedics had loaded Mary Bernadette onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. Megan pulled out directly behind to make the fifteen-minute drive to the hospital. “The old pain in the butt,” she muttered, wiping away a tear. “I'll kill her if she dies.”

T
hat evening, Jeannette and Paddy and Megan and Danny sat around the Fitzgibbon kitchen table, attempting to eat a dinner for which no one had much appetite. Megan had suggested that PJ and Alexis join them, but her son was too distraught to be with other people. At least, Megan thought, Alexis was staying at his side. Things between the young couple might not be hopeless.

“A stroke. I still can't believe it.” Jeannette sighed and put down her fork, her hamburger and string beans neglected. “She's always been the picture of health. Well, thank God it was as minor as it was. It was a good thing you came along so quickly, Megan.”

Megan reached across the table and laid her hand on her father-in-law's arm. “Yes,” she said. “A good thing.”

Paddy shook his head. His eyes were red rimmed from crying, and his voice was ragged. “All these years I bowed to her will,” he said, “rather than acting on her behalf. Even when I knew she wasn't feeling well, I never forced her to see a doctor.”

“We all bowed to her will.” Megan took her hand from Paddy's arm. “It wasn't just you.”

“Did we have much choice?” Jeannette said. “Mary Bernadette established herself as almost entirely independent and self-sufficient long ago. There's no use pretending things were otherwise.”

“Jeannette is right,” Megan said. “I'm not saying that Mary Bernadette brought this on herself—never blame the victim. But she did make it very hard for anyone who loved her—who
loves
her—to help.”

“She was always so strong. . . .”

“She still
is
strong, Paddy,” Jeannette said firmly. “Don't forget that. It will take more than a stroke to fell the oak that is Mary Bernadette Fitzgibbon.”

Danny nodded. “Amen to that.”

“I know no one is very hungry,” Megan said now, “but we should all try to eat. Especially you, Paddy. You need to keep up your strength for your wife's sake.”

“But does she really need me?” Paddy asked. “Did she ever?”

There was an awkward silence following those plaintive words. Danny cleared his throat and poked his fork into his cold hamburger. Jeannette caught Megan's eye and frowned. Megan thought that her father-in-law looked resigned to some great and permanent disappointment or sorrow.

Slowly, as if in pain, Paddy rose from the table. “I'm going to bed,” he said. “Call me if there's any word from the hospital.”

W
ell,
Mary Bernadette thought,
this is quite a way to celebrate Mother's Day, hooked up to a bunch of tubes and wires, flat on my back in a hospital bed.
The celebratory meal she had planned to serve that afternoon would have to be postponed until the following Sunday; she was certain she would be home by then. She didn't know why such a fuss was being made about her. Her husband, sitting in a chair by the side of her bed, looked as if he were the one who had had a stroke. His face was ashen, and there were dark circles under his eyes. She was sure he hadn't slept at all the night before. Silly man, when there was really nothing to worry about.

The doctor who had visited her earlier that morning, a man who looked no older than her grandson PJ, had told her that she was no longer in immediate danger but that she would not be released until the doctors had conducted a series of exams. “What sort of exams?” she had asked warily. One never knew with doctors. They were always poking and prodding in places God never meant one to be poked and prodded. And they let perfectly innocent people die.

The doctor had explained that they would be looking for a clot that might have been the source of the stroke; finding it might help prevent another stroke from occurring. Or something to that effect; Mary Bernadette couldn't quite remember. She did recall, however, that the doctor had said that she was lucky. The stroke might have been much worse than it had been. Her speech had not been affected, and in all likelihood she would need only minor physical therapy to rehabilitate her right side. Mary Bernadette thought that getting back to her housework would do just as well.

When the doctor had gone off, Mary Bernadette had duly said a prayer of thanks to God for having spared her. And then she had asked for the strength to endure the time she would be forced to spend in the same place where her beloved son had breathed his last. The place that terrified her.

Now, Mary Bernadette thought, looking again at her husband, she should say another prayer asking God to spare Paddy Fitzgibbon from his worry.

“You gave me quite a shock, Mary,” Paddy said with a small, pathetic smile.

“Yes, well, I gave myself quite a shock, too. A stroke? Are the doctors sure?”

“Yes. Very sure.”

Mary Bernadette sighed and plucked at the thin blanket under which she lay. “It's all very annoying. I'm afraid my memory of what exactly happened is a bit vague. It seemed as if one minute I was just fine, watching that awful news program, and then . . .” The memories of those few moments, no matter how vague, frightened her. “Well,” she said briskly, “here I am now, in this dreadful place.”

Paddy managed the ghost of a smile. “Now, don't let the nurses hear you say that, Mary.”

“No, no, of course I won't. Paddy? How did you know I'd been taken ill?”

“Lucy Burrows hunted me down at the office. She drove me to the hospital.”

Mary Bernadette, weakened as she was, couldn't hide her horror. “In that old jalopy of hers? It's a wonder you both didn't die in a fiery wreck!”

“Well, we didn't.”

“Who is looking after Banshee while I'm in this aw—this place?”

“Tiffany Burrows. And she'll walk Mercy when I'm not there.”

“Lord save us.”

“Now, Mary,” Paddy admonished. “The Burrows are good neighbors. And don't worry, I'll make sure Banshee gets as much attention as Mercy until . . . until you come home.”

He wiped a tear from his cheek, and for a heroic moment Mary Bernadette struggled to keep her own eyes dry. She succeeded. Paddy got up from the chair then and perched on the edge of his wife's bed. He took her hand in both of his. And Mary Bernadette felt just a little bit ashamed. She had never been very nice to the Burrows. What possible motive could the family have for being so neighborly? Could it be that they were just—kind? Good Samaritans. It was a startling thought.

“Where are the others?” she asked now. “Where's Pat?”

“He's on his way from Annapolis.”

“Who . . . Oh, this is so frustrating, but I can't remember exactly how I got here. And don't say in an ambulance.”

Paddy smiled. “Megan found you. She heard Banshee through the door and knew something was wrong.”

Mary Bernadette closed her eyes. How embarrassing that her daughter-in-law had seen her in such a vulnerable and undignified condition. But there was nothing to do about it now. And might such embarrassment really only be vanity?

“Grace will be here tomorrow.”

Mary Bernadette opened her eyes. “When was the last time we saw her, Paddy?”

“Almost two years ago now.”

“Too long.”

“Yes. But she has such important work to do.”

“Yes. Are you eating, Paddy?”

“I haven't had an appetite.”

“Now, don't be silly. You need your strength. You tell Megan to make you a proper dinner tonight. I assume she's staying at the house?”

“Yes. She drove me here, in fact. Would you like to see her? She's in the waiting room.”

Mary Bernadette flinched. She couldn't bear to face her daughter-in-law yet. “Not right now,” she said. “I'm suddenly very tired.”

“Of course. She'll understand.”

Paddy continued to sit by her side, holding her hand in both of his, while Mary Bernadette felt herself drifting off to sleep.