One Year (46 page)

O
n 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.

“So, what's the deal with boys?” Grace asked Danica, when she had come back to the kitchen and dropped into a chair. “I mean, do you like them?”

Danica made a comically horrible face. “The deal with boys is that they're dumb! Well, not all of them. David's okay and Dad's all right. And PJ and Grandpa, too. But most of them are stupid and boring. Besides, I have soccer and debate team and schoolwork. I don't have time for boys. I mean, if I wanted to hang out with them. Which I don't.”

Grace nodded. “You know, you're pretty smart. Maybe someday you'll think about becoming a nun. We work to empower women. We fight for peace and social justice.”

“And you pray, of course,” Mary Bernadette added.

“That, too.”

Danica considered this for a moment. “That's all great,” she said finally, “especially the fighting part, but I do really like shopping.”

“Shopping,” Alexis said, “is definitely a good thing.”

“Well,” Megan told her daughter, “you've got plenty of time to think about your future.”

“Look, Maeve is waking up! Can I hold her?” Danica asked, jumping up from her seat and going over to her niece, who was making little mewling sounds.

“Of course,” Alexis said. “Do you remember how I taught you to pick her up?”

Danica rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”

 

Paddy, Pat, and David were in the backyard, watching PJ's progress on a garden shed. Paddy, good with his hands, offered suggestions. Pat, not good with his hands, had no suggestions to make. David watched with a critical eye.

“Did Marty give you a professional discount on the lumber?” Paddy asked his grandson.

“Yup. And I'll give him one when he finally decides to deal with that overgrown, weedy lawn of his.”

Paddy shook his head. “Don't count on that happening any time soon. His lawn has been a disgrace since I've known the man, and that's over thirty years. If I was still what I used to be I'd take a mower to it myself, whether he liked it or not.”

It was true that his wife's illness had taken a toll on Paddy, but good things had also come from the time of crisis. Mary Bernadette had mellowed in the aftermath of her distress, and Paddy felt a comfort in his marriage that had long been missing. That indeed was a blessing.

“So, what's this girlfriend of yours like?” Paddy asked his younger grandson.

David shrugged. “I don't know. She's nice.”

“Does she have a name?” PJ asked.

“Duh! Her name is Emma.”

“Is she a good student?” Paddy wanted to know.

David laughed. “Yeah! She's, like, the top of our class.”

“And she's pretty.”

“Dad!”

Pat shrugged. “What? She is.”

“Yeah,” David admitted. “She's pretty. Not that it matters or anything.”

David's surgery the previous July had been a success; he felt strong and in far less pain than he had been before the operation. He was now fascinated by golf. This pleased his father, as he, too, was fascinated by the game, though he wasn't very good at it. David and Pat now routinely spent Saturday mornings at the golf course, sending balls wildly into the air and narrowly avoiding getting hit by their own clubs.

“You know,” Pat said to his older son, who had just muttered in frustration, “you could have just bought a prefab shed.”

“Where's the challenge in that? David, hand me that box of nails, will you?”

David did so.

“Maybe someday you'll join Fitzgibbon Landscaping,” PJ suggested. “We could rename the company The Fitzgibbon Brothers Landscaping.”

“No thanks,” David said. “I'm going to law school.”

“Well, maybe when you're in high school you can work summers for me.”

“You just want cheap labor, don't you?”

Pat clapped David on the back. “You'll make a fine lawyer, my boy!”

“Just like his father,” Paddy added.

Pat smiled. These days he felt closer to his father, as well as to his mother, than he ever remembered feeling. Though Mary Bernadette was still the domineering woman she had always been, it was not as consistently. And his parents seemed happier together. Pat hoped they had rediscovered some of the emotional intimacy his father had told him was lacking in their marriage. His own marriage to Megan was as good as it had ever been, which was excellent. Pat was happy, too, to see Grace more often. He had great fondness as well as great admiration for his sister. And he was thoroughly besotted with his granddaughter. No doubt by the time she was old enough to talk, Maeve would have him wrapped completely around her little finger. Pat couldn't wait.

“Do you remember the time you tried to build that fort in the backyard, Pat?”

Pat turned to his father. “What do you mean tried to build? I
built
a fort.”

Paddy chuckled. “It lasted about three minutes before the entire thing collapsed on itself.”

David hooted and PJ grinned. “I guess talent skips a generation,” PJ said to his father.

PJ felt very grateful at that moment. Well, pretty much at all moments since the awful few months the year before. Life was not perfect, but it was good. He was still learning how to pay attention to his wife in a way that mattered to her, but this process was helped by the fact that Alexis had developed her own interests and was establishing her own identity apart from—but in relation to—his. He knew that he had acted unfairly, expecting her to ease in to his own life without any real support. He had failed to understand that she was a complete person of her own. There had been no malice in his thinking, just ignorance, which he had come to realize was often just as bad.

With the help of Roz Clinton—he and Alexis saw her once every six weeks—he was also learning how to fully separate from his grandmother while still expressing his love and respect for her. It wasn't always easy to say no to Mary Bernadette—saying yes had been a habit for a very long time—but she, too, had made an effort to let him live life on his own terms. It wasn't a huge effort, but it was enough that both he and Alexis had noted. And then, of course, there was his gorgeous, angelic, and absolutely perfect infant daughter.

Megan appeared at the back door then and called the men in for dinner.

“Finally,” David said, and hurried ahead of his elders.

Alexis had made a Middle Eastern feast, complete with hummus, baba ghanoush, tabouli, pita, and lamb kabobs.

“It's not at all hot,” she assured Mary Bernadette, whose expression was wary. “And it's all good for you.”

“It smells awesome,” David announced.

The Fitzgibbon family took their seats at the table in the living room. Even with the table's two extra leaves, it was still a tight fit. Alexis thought it was cozy. Paddy said grace and they began their meal.

“So,” Grace said, spooning tabouli onto her plate, “I've done some research on places to stay in Dublin and Cork. There are a few options that look good for all of us, considering our varying budgets.”

“I can't believe we're finally going to Ireland,” Danica said. “I am so psyched.”

“A family pilgrimage,” PJ said. “Four generations all together.”

“As long as my Mary continues in good health,” Paddy said, taking his wife's hand.

“I swear by the Almighty Father, His Loving Son, and the Holy Ghost—and the Virgin Mary, of course—that I will! Now, would someone pass me that—what did you call it, Alexis? Baba-something? It's very tasty.”