One Year (15 page)

“G
ood morning,” Grace said. “Well, good afternoon to you.”

“Greetings and salutations,” Megan replied with a smile. She and her sister-in-law communicated with some frequency—thank God, Megan thought, for the convenience of texting—but not even Skype was as good as being in the same room with a person you cared for, face-to-face. Besides, when you used Skype or FaceTime there was the huge downside of having to see yourself on screen. Megan said as much to Grace.

“You know,” Grace pointed out, “if you raise the computer to just the right height on the table—use a stack of books—you can avoid having to see the always unflattering view of your neck. Mostly.”

Megan laughed. “I've yet to find that right height.”

“And I know I'm not supposed to care about what my neck looks like,” Grace said, “but I
am
my mother's daughter! Not that she would ever admit to being the least bit vain.”

“God forbid! So, have you heard anything about the famous—or, infamous—Wynston Meadows moving to Oliver's Well?”

“Believe it or not, yes. I try to keep up on hometown news. Gives me something to chat about when I'm on the phone with Mom.”

“Then you know he's joined the board of the OWHA. There was a big party in his honor, complete with reporters and a camera crew to advertise his pledge of twenty-five million dollars to the OWHA.”

“Twenty-five million? Whoa.”

“The
Gazette
ran a big piece about just how important that kind of financing is to the future of the town. And it paid its usual obeisance to the OWHA itself, of course. Needless to say the online news sources got hold of the story, too. I daresay Mr. Meadows has a hotline to the press.”

“Let me guess,” Grace said. “Mom has high hopes for taking him under her wing.”

“She'd never admit as much, but I suspect that's her plan.”

“And a man like this Meadows is rumored to be is not going to take kindly to the whims—that's what he'll call them—to the whims of a quirky old lady.”

“I did try to warn her he might be too—big—to handle.”

Grace laughed. “How'd that go?”

“Not well, I'm afraid. And I know she's encouraging PJ—not that he needs much encouraging—to make a bid for Meadows's business. He's bought a home in town, of course. Lots of acreage.”

“Well, good luck to him. PJ has pluck. I just hope he also knows how to tread carefully.”

“I hope so, too,” Megan said. “He's determined to make a name for himself as his grandfather's heir. He wants to do everything in absolutely the right way, but he can be impatient. He gets that from his father.”

“I remember the time Pat grabbed a baking sheet barehanded right out of the oven because he couldn't waste time in finding a dishtowel. There were cookies on the baking sheet, of course. I hope he's learned his lesson.”

Megan laughed. “Not really! But forget about the Oliver's Well Fitzgibbons for a moment. I haven't asked about
your
life, Grace.”

“No worries. I'm fit as a fiddle and busy as a bee.”

“Which tells me next to nothing.”

“Well, there isn't much to tell really, not about
me
, anyway. I could go on for days about the important stuff, like the interesting people I meet, but I won't.”

“I've got time,” Megan said. “And I'm genuinely interested.”

“Thanks. I know you are. Unfortunately, I'm needed at the Angela House in fifteen minutes.”

“What's the Angela House?”

“It's a sort of halfway home for women who've hit rock bottom for one reason or another.” Grace raised an eyebrow. “I'm sorry to say there's often a man involved. Anyway, the women and their children can live there for a maximum of two years while they're taught basic life skills like balancing a budget and choosing healthy food at the supermarket. I'm one of a staff of volunteers who come in twice a month to give special workshops. Today it's Culinary Skills 101.”

“I didn't know you liked to cook.”

“I don't,” Grace admitted. “Can't stand it. But I know the basics.”

“I'm curious,” Megan said. “Do the women know you're a nun?”

Grace laughed. “I don't mention it. It could turn some of the women off, make them suspect I'm out to save their souls or something equally as intrusive.”

“I suppose it might,” Megan agreed. “But other women might be impressed to learn that being a nun in today's world has nothing to do with wearing hair shirts under long black habits and beating schoolchildren with rulers.”

“Oh, absolutely. And who knows, someone seeing me in action might even decide to take the veil! I suppose I'll have to make a judgment call at some point. If I suspect one of the women might benefit from knowing about my calling, then I'll tell her. Then again, I couldn't ask her to keep a secret from her fellow residents. That would be setting a bad example.” Grace laughed. “Maybe silence is the best policy after all!”

“Maybe,” Megan agreed. “Cheerio until next time.”

“Au revoir. Until we meet again over the airwaves or whatever this stuff is.” Grace laughed. “Sheesh! I sound like my mother!”

T
he board of the OWHA was in session. Mary Bernadette had opened the meeting, and Leonard had given his report. Neal read the minutes of the last meeting. This was followed by a discussion of old business, including the vexing issue of the missing reams of printer paper from Leonard's office. A discussion of new business followed. Neal suggested that they reconsider their fire insurance. “There was a story out of Connecticut yesterday,” he said, “about a dreadful fire that broke out in the headquarters of a town's historical society. The loss to the museum was enormous, and there just isn't enough money to go about finding new items of interest. Not that anything can be replaced, of course.” Leonard promised he would take another look at their policy. Thus far, Wynston Meadows had not contributed to the discussions, though he had been taking notes.

Mary Bernadette looked around the table. “Does anyone else have anything to add?”

“I do.” Wynston Meadows smiled at his fellow board members. “I'd like to revisit the awarding of the contract for the Joseph J. Stoker House to Fitzgibbon Landscaping.”

“Revisit?” Leonard said. “I don't understand.”

“Well, let's put it this way. I was thoroughly surprised to learn that a small, family-run landscaping business beat out a large and very well-regarded outfit like Blue Sound. I know their work well. It's quite impressive. In fact, I've hired them myself in the past. And I'm on the board of trustees of East Coast Investments with the owner, Mark Summers. Nice guy. Very smart.”

Mary Bernadette wasn't at all sure that she had heard correctly. She felt an unpleasant tingling in her stomach.

“And to be frank,” Meadows continued, “I have to say that I'm slightly troubled by the whiff of favoritism surrounding the selection.”

“But we've hired Fitzgibbon Landscaping many times,” Richard said, with a quick glance at Mary Bernadette. “Their work is good enough for our needs.”

Wynston Meadows raised his eyebrows. “Really?” he said. “Well, then, maybe the OWHA has been setting its standards too low. Anyway, what I propose is that we start over from the beginning. We'll send out another call for bids, choose the most promising candidates, and let them make their presentations. And this time, let's look with fresh eyes. Let's cast the net wider, try to draw in some new blood. If Fitzgibbon is indeed the best, no doubt it will be obvious.”

A weighty silence descended on the room. Mary Bernadette felt it bearing down on her. She was deeply shocked by Wynston Meadows's suggestion and just as determined not to show it. It took her great effort to speak evenly.

“Mr. Meadows,” she said, folding her hands on the table before her. “I assure you that Fitzgibbon Landscaping won the job fair and square.”

Meadows smiled ever so slightly. “I wasn't implying otherwise, was I? Anyway, if Fitzgibbon Landscaping did win fair and square, as you insist that it did, its owners won't mind the board revisiting their decision, will they?”

The unpleasant tingling in Mary Bernadette's stomach rose rapidly to her head. Revisiting? Investigating, more like. As if she and her family were criminals! Before she could respond, Neal spoke up.

“Wynston—if I may call you that?—Wynston, as Richard pointed out, Fitzgibbon Landscaping has done many, many jobs for the OWHA over the years. Their reputation is impeccable, and the board had no doubt whatsoever—
has
no doubt whatsoever—that in this case as well, they are the right people to handle the landscape restoration of the Joseph J. Stoker House.”

Leonard added, “Hear, hear,” and Mary Bernadette gave both men a slight nod of thanks.

Joyce spoke now in her trademark thin and high-pitched voice. “I think what Mr. Meadows—Wynston—is suggesting can cause no harm.”

Traitor,
Mary Bernadette thought. Joyce was a jealous woman, prone to enjoying the discomfiture of anyone she suspected had life too easy. Mary Bernadette had seen it time and again, like when Lydia Daly, wife of Oliver's Well's most illustrious retired plastic surgeon, had been robbed of a good deal of jewelry while on a trip to D.C. How Joyce had gloated over the woman's misfortune ! It was plain that Joyce's being married to a minister hadn't had much good effect on her character.

No one else voiced an opinion. Jeannette looked very pale. Anne was fiddling with her pen. Norma was gazing at the ceiling as if she were alone in the room. Wallace's eyes were darting around the table, as if, Mary Bernadette thought, he was looking for a clue as to what his opinion should be.

“Then it's settled,” Wynston Meadows pronounced. “I'll send out a call for bids, and Mrs. Fitzgibbon, why don't you inform your grandson—it is your grandson who now runs things, isn't it?—that if he wants another chance at the job he'll have to prepare another bid. And maybe, if he makes it through the first stage of the competition, another presentation.”

What was settled, Mary Bernadette wondered? Who had settled it? They hadn't voted to reopen the competition. Wynston Meadows had simply commandeered the decision. And Leonard, as CEO, was responsible for issuing a call for bids.

Meadows stood. “If there's nothing else to discuss,” he said, “I say we adjourn this meeting.”

“Mary Bernadette?” It was Leonard, his voice low.

“Oh,” she said, shaking her head. “Yes. That will be fine.”

“All right,” Leonard said tightly. “Meeting adjourned.”

Mary Bernadette retreated to her office and closed the door behind her. She couldn't bear to talk to anyone right then. Her self-control was enormous, but it, like everything else in the world, had its limits. God forbid a kind word from a fellow sympathetic board member—or a critical word from an unsympathetic one—might damage her defenses and force her to exhibit a regrettable show of emotion. Mary Bernadette break down in tears or lash out in anger? She would never be able to hold her head up in Oliver's Well again.

Something Mary Bernadette's mother used to say came to her mind then, as she straightened the blotter on her desk. “There's no heat like the heat of shame.” Mary Grace Lehane had been right.

M
egan, Pat, and the twins had come down for the weekend, arriving in Oliver's Well at six-thirty that evening, setting back Mary Bernadette's preferred dinnertime by an hour. Megan had expected a reprimand or at least a critical comment, but her mother-in-law had said nothing at all about the matter.

The twins had gone off after dinner to the ice-cream shop in town with instructions not to get double scoops or extra sprinkles on their cones. Now, plates cleared, it was the six adult members of the family around the kitchen table. Megan would be the first to admit that her mother-in-law was an excellent cook, if her repertoire was a bit limited. But tonight the chicken had been dry and the mashed potatoes a bit sticky. She would never dream of pointing out these flaws, of course, and especially not this evening. Clearly, Wynston Meadows's proposed review of the awarding of the contract for the Joseph J. Stoker House had been a great shock to Mary Bernadette.

Her mother-in-law brought a pot of coffee to the table. She poured a cup for everyone, leaving herself until last. She took one sip and pushed her cup away.

“I simply can't believe that he's behaving in such an appalling manner.” Mary Bernadette shook her head. “It's an outrage.”

Megan hoped that her husband wouldn't say, “We told you so.” When it came to his mother, he could be unnecessarily combative, even at times childish.

“Well,” Pat said. “I'm not at all surprised.”

“What do you mean?” Mary Bernadette demanded.

“I see the move for what it is—a political action on the part of a man who has to be in control of every little aspect of his life. You didn't really expect someone like Wynston Meadows to willingly take a backseat to a bunch of midlevel professionals, did you? Shopkeepers, housewives, and a retired police chief?”

“Pat,” Megan said quietly but with an unmistakable note of warning.

“Did anyone even think to interview the man before accepting him to the board?” Pat asked. “Don't you have an interview procedure in place?”

Mary Bernadette smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle on her dress. “Wynston Meadows is not the sort of man you interview. He and I had a conversation.”

Pat snorted. “Just as I thought.”

Megan shot him a look of warning this time.

“Well,” Paddy said, “what's done is done. But I do think what the man is implying is an affront to the family's honor.”

“As do I,” Mary Bernadette added. “He didn't come right out and accuse us of manipulating the board's vote, but he implied as much. God knows the man probably thinks we bribed our way to getting the job!”

Megan wasn't so sure that Wynston Meadows had implied any such thing. Mary Bernadette had been known to exaggerate and to jump to conclusions. “I'd suggest a wait-and-see attitude for the moment,” she said. “And remember, what Meadows is asking for
is
within his rights as a board member, even if he went about it in a heavy-handed way.”

Mary Bernadette shook her head. “Nonsense.”

“Does he think I don't know how to run the business?” PJ looked to his grandfather. “Maybe I should confront Meadows man to man,” he said. “See what this is really all about.”

“Bad idea,” Pat said.

“But—”

“Consider your grandmother,” Paddy warned. “She has to work with the man. Just go along with the investigation, or the reconsideration, whatever he's calling it. After all, you won the job fair and square. You have nothing to hide.”

Megan nodded in agreement, wondered why more people didn't listen to Paddy Fitzgibbon, and then answered her own question. Because all too often he couldn't get a word in edgewise, not when his wife was around.

“Of course we have nothing to hide,” PJ said vehemently. “But even the suggestion of possible wrongdoing can infect people's good opinion of us. It's that old ‘where there's smoke there's fire' idea. And let's face it, Grandpa, people
want
to believe the worst of others. It's human nature.”

“Where did you get such a grim view of your fellow man?” Pat asked.

“PJ is right,” Mary Bernadette said fiercely. “People love other people's misery. It's sad but true.”

“No one will ever look at us in the same way again. It's like Meadows has infected us. He's planted a seed of suspicion.”

Mary Bernadette nodded. “Misfortune follows fortune, inch by inch.”

Pat sighed. “No one is going to listen to his nonsense. Everyone in Oliver's Well knows that the Fitzgibbon family is beyond reproach. Anyway, Mom, are you sure you're not imagining him accusing you of dastardly deeds? Maybe this reconsideration has nothing at all to do with you personally.”

“I most certainly am not imagining it!” Mary Bernadette shook her head. “A man with loud talk makes truth itself seem folly.”

Pat shared a look with Megan. “I think,” he said, “that the doom and gloom attitude should stop right here.”

“Hey,” PJ said excitedly, as if an idea had just occurred to him. “Meadows can't start the search over again if I've already signed the contract. Right? I'll go to the lawyers first thing tomorrow morning and demand they get to work.”

Megan looked down at her hands, folded on the table. Pat cleared his throat. “I'm afraid that's wishful thinking, son,” he said.
Wishful and naïve,
Megan thought.

“Well, I guess there's no chance now of Fitzgibbon Landscaping getting Meadows's personal business,” PJ said bitterly. “He'll probably hire that sophisticated Blue Sound Landscaping Design.”

Alexis had been silent until then, alternately flipping through a home decorating magazine and a copy of the Oliver's Well
Gazette
. Now she looked up and said, “Did anyone see the review in today's paper about that new movie starring Jude Law? It sounds really great.”

No one answered her question. Megan wasn't sure if anyone but she had even heard it asked. Within a moment the conversation about Meadows had resumed.

Alexis sighed, got up from the table, and left the kitchen. Again, no one but Megan seemed to notice her absence. It struck her as slightly peculiar that her daughter-in-law hadn't exhibited any interest in the conversation; in fact, she had seemed entirely unconcerned over what most of the other members of the Fitzgibbon family in the room were considering a crisis.

“So, what do we do now?” PJ asked.

“We forbear,” Mary Bernadette intoned. “We endure the trials set before us.”

Megan raised her eyebrows at her husband in warning.

“What you do now,” Pat said, looking sternly from his mother to his son, “is go along with the reconsideration Meadows suggested like the professional people that you are.”