The Perfect Love Song (18 page)

He groaned. “Can’t I just transfer my ticket? I don’t have that . . . ” He stopped.

The crowd pushed him toward the wall where a woman who looked to be homeless was wearing a thick white down jacket that covered her from neck to feet. Over the jacket were pinned frayed, dirty angel wings. She smiled at Jimmy, and he looked away, not wanting to be asked for a handout. He was down to his last cash until he got paid his full promise next week. A drunken man jostled into Jimmy, shoving him into the angel. “Sorry,” he mumbled to her, slamming shut his phone.

“It’s no problem, son. But you look miserable. You okay?”

He stared at this old, tattered woman, whose voice did not match her cragged face and dirty clothes. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

She smiled. “You looking for a pawnshop?” she asked.

“No,” he answered, beginning to run back toward the hotel for his backpack. His luggage had not yet arrived from
the tour. All he had on him was Charlotte’s ring and his wallet with very little cash. Then he stopped and turned, staring at the angel. “Yes, I am. I am.”

“Right there,” she said, pointing down the block. “Four doors down on the right.”

Jimmy stared at the woman; she’d just answered his question without knowing she had. She’d led him without even knowing he needed to be led. That was how he’d get the money: Charlotte’s ring. He could come back after Ireland and buy her ring back, but all that mattered now was getting on that flight that left in an hour and a half.

He ran toward the pawnshop.

I
t was Christmas Eve day, and the group, which now included Deidre and Bill and Brian, who had landed only hours ago, stood in front of the church, waiting for the director to meet them for the rehearsal. They’d all scattered during the day, some touring Galway, others resting and reading. Charlotte and Kara had wandered the streets, alleyways, and museums of Galway, where Kara took photos of Christmas lights for her new portfolio. They attempted to find the places Maeve had spoken about, walk the path she had walked, take
photos of her land and time. They visited the jewelry store, which purported to make the original Claddagh ring, the ring of legend. Kara had asked to meet the owner, but was told she was out of town and would return in the morning.

Deidre yawned and then shivered in her down jacket. “This is beautiful, Kara. Simply amazing.”

Charlotte entered the church first, and the others followed. She winked at the Mary statue, glancing down to see the shell still resting as an offering.

The wedding party went through the wedding motions with the church coordinator, Iona. When they stood at the altar, each in their place, the coordinator, in her soft Irish accent, asked Kara, “Would you like me to place the leaves tonight? I think our congregation would love to see them, to know they came from where Maeve lived the last of her life.”

“What leaves?” Jack asked.

Kara smiled. “I have a surprise for you.” Then she looked to Iona. “If you’ll tell me where they are, I’ll get them.”

Iona held up her hand. “They are back in the sacristy. They came last night. I haven’t unpacked them.”

Kara followed Iona, and when she returned she held a single magnolia leaf in her hand. She walked toward Jack, who leaned against a pew. “This,” she said with this sweet smile on
her face, “is from the tree where we used to hide when we were kids. I sent enough to put on each pew’s end.”

Jack, who had held it together quite nicely until this moment, fought the tears rising in his throat and eyes. “Kara,” he said in a tender, quiet voice. “My God, I am the luckiest man in the world. I just am.”

She kissed him right there in that church in front of family, friends, and Iona, in front of God and Our Lady of Galway and Saint Thomas Aquinas, and the angels rejoiced. They did. Trust me. They always do when love presides.

J
immy Sullivan had sold the ring for half of what he’d bought it for, but it was enough cash to get a ticket to Ireland if and only if he got to the airport in time. He ran to hail a cab. The Christmas Eve crowd pushed into stores, hotels, and high-rises. He stood at the curb and exhaled when he felt wetness fall onto his hand, a teardrop, or what looked like a teardrop, landing on his cell phone screen. He glanced up. Snow. Falling from an invisible source, the flakes were large, oversized, and melting on impact. Tumbling onto and over one another, the whiteness filling the sky and gathering its strength.

“No,” he mumbled and shoved his phone into his pocket. He noticed another cab approaching and flagged it
down, and when it stopped he moved toward the back door. A woman in all black jumped out of the backseat, and the cabbie yelled toward Jimmy, “Off duty!”

Jimmy leaned down toward the window. “I’m desperate. I need to get to the airport for a plane that leaves in less than two hours.”

The cabbie didn’t even answer, but drove away, leaving Jimmy jumping back onto the curb, where he bumped into a young child dressed as a star. Her face was surrounded by bright-yellow plastic or maybe it was foam. Either way her head had been transformed into a huge star. “Sorry,” he said.

“That’s okay,” the little girl said. “We’re late too.”

A woman, probably her mother, bundled up in a black fur coat, glared at Jimmy. “Excuse me,” she said and grabbed the little girl’s hand, pulling her toward a long black limousine.

“Wait, Mother,” she said and walked toward Jimmy. “Will you miss your plane?”

Jimmy nodded; she must have heard him begging the cabbie. “If I don’t get a cab I will.”

“Where are you going?”

Jimmy smiled at her star face. “Ireland.”

“Wow,” she said. “That far, far away?”

“Yes,” he said, enchanted with the flecks of light and dark playing in her eyes. Snow fell harder now, landing on her eyelashes and black parka. “That far away.”

“You want to spend Christmas with someone you love.” Her voice was clear, like the bells of a church ringing midnight. And he realized she wasn’t asking a question, she was telling him the truth.

He smiled at her. “Where are you going all dressed up like a star?”

“I’m the guiding star in the Christmas Eve pageant tonight. I really don’t do anything but stand there, but I guess I’m still important. The shepherds won’t get there without me.”

He smiled and almost patted her on the head but thought better of it with her mother staring at them. “Go be a star. Your mama’s waiting.”

“You won’t get there without me, either,” the little girl said in a quiet voice.

“Pardon?” Jimmy asked.

“Mother,” the girl said and turned to the woman, “this man has to get to the airport right now or he will spend Christmas all alone.”

“Dear, I’m quite sure that man knows how to get a cab.”

The little girl stared at her mother for so long that Jimmy began to walk away.

“Come back,” the little girl said.

Jimmy stopped, turned.

“No,” the woman in the black coat said, “we can’t, Maria. We can’t save the entire world. You’ve got to stop this.”

“It’s not the whole world. It’s one man. Imagine, Mother, if you were alone tonight and stuck somewhere. Roger will just be sitting there waiting for us. Why can’t he take this sad man to the airport?”

The woman looked at Jimmy, and her face held so many conflicting emotions Jimmy couldn’t decide whether she was mad, sad, or irritated with her young daughter. Then she took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she said to Jimmy. “I don’t mean to be rude at all. The holidays, God, they kill me. I don’t think this is the way it’s supposed to be. If you can spare another five minutes, our driver will drop us off at church, and then I’ll tell him to take you to the airport while Maria is in her play. She’s right. He’ll have time.”

“Ma’am,” Jimmy said, “that is too generous. I can’t accept.”

“Yes, you can. Consider it a Christmas present. Now, don’t stand here and talk me out of it. We’re late and so are you.”

“Thank you,” Jimmy said, “You have no idea . . . ” And then his voice broke as he crawled into the backseat of the limousine as the woman explained the situation.

Roger, the driver, looked back to Jimmy. “I recognize you, man. You’re that country singer that was on TV last week. You seriously want to make an international flight that leaves in less than two hours?”

“Yes,” Jimmy said.

“That’ll take a miracle, but I’ll do my best.”

A miracle, yes, but there are such things. Oh, yes, there are.

—OLD IRISH PROVERB

 

 

 

 

T
he lights strung around the room twinkled like stars hung for Kara and Jack, for this moment. Although Charlotte knew they’d been hung for Christmas, tonight it felt as if everything was there for love’s final promise. The restaurant was full with families and patrons while the small Larson-Sullivan wedding party gathered at one long table in the back of the restaurant.

Charlotte stood and lifted her champagne glass. “Okay, as the maid of honor, I get to make the toast.”

Everyone raised their Waterford flutes, and Charlotte looked over at Kara and Jack. “Here’s to Maeve Mahoney and her story, to the story that brought you together.”

“Hear! Hear!” echoed across the table.

“And to Kara for recognizing the truth inside the story,” Charlotte said and blew a kiss down the table.

This was the place and space where the best man would make his toast—that kind of silence echoed. Finally, Brian stood. “My turn.” He looked to Charlotte and smiled and then turned to his sister and Jack. “I would not and could not have picked a better brother if I’d tried. Welcome to the family.”

Brian said more, but Charlotte stared out into the dark night and could not stop her mind from wandering to Jimmy. This was the part where he’d read that speech he’d worked on for weeks. This was the part where he’d sit next to Charlotte and hold her hand and whisper that he loved her. This was the part . . .

Charlotte stopped her thoughts from going any further because in truth this was the part where she missed him and her heart broke for all that could have been and was not. She turned her eyes and concentration back to Jack and Kara, lifted her champagne, and took a long swallow.

Brian leaned close to her. “You okay?”

Charlotte nodded. “I’m sad for Jack, too. His brother should be here for him. I want to be mad at Jimmy, but I
can’t.” Quick tears flashed in her eyes. “I keep trying to be mad at him, but I . . . can’t.”

“Crazy thing this love thing is,” Brian said and shook his head. “I’m trying to stay away from it.” He lifted his champagne and clinked his glass with hers.

Charlotte smiled at him. “Good luck with that.”