One Year (42 page)

P
J and Alexis had just returned home from their second therapy session with Roz Clinton. Alexis had immediately made two cups of tea, and now she and her husband sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch.

“I'm exhausted,” PJ said.

“Me too.”

“She's very smart.”

“She is.”

“And she's very kind. She's not judgmental.”

“Yes.”
Well,
Alexis thought,
if she is judging us, she's very good at hiding it.

“Do you think Roz always dressed like that? So Bohemian?”

Alexis shrugged. “I have no idea. It suits her, though, doesn't it?”

“Yeah. Alexis?” PJ shifted so that he could look directly at her. “How does anyone ever make a marriage work over a lifetime? How have my grandparents pulled it off? How have my parents or your parents done it? More and more it seems to me that it takes a sort of miracle—maybe a whole bunch of them—to get it right for the long haul.”

“Maybe you're right,” Alexis said thoughtfully. “Maybe you do all that you can possibly do and then you pray to God or whatever spiritual power you believe in to send along a miracle of—of kindness and patience and understanding and sympathy.”

“Are you sure you don't regret becoming a Catholic for me?” PJ asked. It was one of the topics that had come up in this second session with Roz Clinton. “It was an awfully generous thing of you to do.”

“No,” Alexis replied promptly. “I don't regret it. But honestly, I'm not sure how long it's going to take to really feel like I
belong
. It's so different from your experience, always
being
a Catholic. Like always having black hair and blue eyes, no big deal, just what's always been
there
. But I have to make a conscious choice to believe. It's hard.”

“I'm honored you made the choice for my sake. You gave me a great gift, Alexis. I just hope I can make it worth your while. I hope I can give you what
you
want in return for what you give me.”

Alexis smiled. “It's takes two to tango. Sorry, silly cliché. But it's true, PJ. For our marriage to be a success, I have to create a meaningful life of my own. I guess I'm learning that a husband is not meant to be a knight in shining armor.”

“But I really want to be,” PJ said earnestly.

Alexis took his hand. “But don't you see, that's not fair. No one should have to be the solution to another person's life. I have to make me happy. It's
my
responsibility.”

“As long as your being happy includes me as your husband, shining armor or not.”

“It does, PJ! Even in sweatpants you're the man I want.”

PJ laughed. “Really? I've been dying for you to say that.”

“No!” Alexis shrieked. “Please, no sweatpants.”

“Darn. One other thing. I was thinking that maybe we should tell my parents that we're going to therapy. I want them to know that we take this marriage seriously and we're not going to let the strain of these past months destroy something beautiful. Are you okay with that?”

Alexis smiled. “Yes, that's a very good idea!”

“But I still think we should keep Grandmother in the dark.”

“Also a very good idea!” The last thing any of the Fitzgibbons needed, Alexis thought, was for Mary Bernadette to have another heart attack.

“Chinese takeout for dinner,” PJ said suddenly. “What do you think? We haven't done takeout in . . . I can't remember how long it's been.”

Alexis kissed her husband's cheek. “I think it sounds like fun,” she said. “And I want spicy sesame noodles.”

M
egan was en route to the grocery store. She felt exhausted. She felt anxious. There was CPEE business she had been neglecting. Danica had reminded her that she had promised to make three dozen brownies for her class bake sale the next day. The night before Pat had wanted to talk at length about the conversation with his mother in which for the first time ever William had been mentioned. Megan was afraid she hadn't paid as much attention as she should have and she felt bad about it. A few days earlier David had admitted that he was in fact scared about having surgery, and Megan's own fears and sense of helplessness had roared into life, momentarily rendering her at a loss on how to answer his concerns. She felt bad about that, too.

And on top of it all, she was afraid she had come to a dead end in her plan to rid the OWHA of Wynston Meadows. Leonard, and now Richard and Neal, were willing to lose Meadows's promised twenty-five million dollars in favor of the one million dollars Megan had already secured and her assurance of more money to come, but Jeannette and Anne were still hesitant to accept the fact that the new potential sources of money were indeed real and not phantoms born of desperation. And to get a unanimous vote against Meadows, she would have to convince Joyce, Wallace, and Norma as well, and there's where she saw real trouble. Jeannette and Anne would probably come around, but the two or possibly three who were in thrall to the Great Man would never vote against him for anything less than—than what? A truly nefarious deed.

Okay,
she thought,
so what's the worst that could happen?
She might fail to get Wynston Meadows ousted from the board. The financial pledges she had secured would then fall through; the private donors she had lined up had made it very clear they wanted nothing to do with the man. The OWHA might buckle under Meadows's bullying tactics. He might then buy historical properties from the now-bankrupt OWHA, tear them down, and put up hideous concrete office parks. He might effectively break Mary Bernadette Fitzgibbon's spirit, if he hadn't done that already.

No,
Megan thought, tightening her grip on the wheel,
I cannot fail. I simply cannot.

M
ary Bernadette Fitzgibbon was back home on Honeysuckle Lane. As she crossed the threshold, she said a silent and fervent prayer of thanks. She was installed in one of the armchairs in the living room and asked if she would like a proper cup of tea. She said that she would, and Megan went to the kitchen to prepare it. Banshee screamed her welcome and jumped onto Mary Bernadette's lap. Mercy stood by the chair, tongue lolling and tail wagging. Mary Bernadette was glad to see them all.

David and Danica had made a huge W
ELCOME
H
OME
sign and hung it over the door to the kitchen. Jeannette, Danny, and Maureen came by to deliver the cards and flowers gathered from her hospital room. (The balloons had been disposed of long before.) Katie and Bonnie stopped by bearing a plate of Mary Bernadette's favorite raspberry scones, warm from the oven.

As soon as the excitement of her arrival had settled down, and the twins had gone outside to play, Mary Bernadette expressed her intention of surveying the house to be sure that nothing had been broken or put back in a wrong place and that everything was as spic-and-span as she had left it. She was eager to reestablish herself over her domain. But her family wouldn't allow her to climb the stairs to the second floor, so she had to be content to inspect the rooms on the first floor. She found that everything was in order. She felt a bit disappointed that things had carried on so well without her. But she thanked her daughter and daughter-in-law for their efforts.

“I'm so happy to have you home in time for my birthday,” Paddy said when Mary Bernadette had taken her seat again. “Grace said that she'll make the cake, to spare you the effort.”

“I'm perfectly capable of making my husband a birthday cake,” Mary Bernadette replied briskly. And then she said, “But if Grace wants to do it, then of course she may.”

“And you don't have to worry about the everyday running of the household,” Grace said. “We all know how hopeless Dad is with the domestic arts—sorry, Dad—so Katie and Bonnie and Megan and I have made a housekeeping and cooking schedule. We'll rotate duties among us.”

Mary Bernadette opened her mouth to protest.

“Now, Mom,” Grace went on in that annoyingly mock severe tone she seemed to have adopted in the past weeks. “We're not intending to usurp your kingdom, just to help out while you regain your full strength. I'm sure you see the wisdom in that.”

In fact, Mary Bernadette did see the wisdom in her daughter's argument. “And now,” she said, “I must admit to feeling a bit tired.”

Megan and Pat wished her a pleasant rest and went off to fetch the twins. Grace and Paddy escorted her into the small first-floor bedroom that David sometimes used; it would be hers until she grew stronger. Banshee immediately settled herself on the bed and began to purr.

Paddy kissed her cheek and Grace closed the door behind them. Mary Bernadette was alone.
How,
she thought,
did I suddenly become so old that I can permit myself a nap?
She
was
tired, but sleep didn't come right away. Instead, she stared up at the ceiling, Banshee tucked under her arm, thinking of the difficult changes she would have to accept. She knew that she should wholeheartedly accept the assistance so generously offered her. But it was hard not to chafe under what she felt to be restraints on her will and her independence.

She remembered then an old bit of wisdom her father claimed to have heard from his own father. “Have sense, patience, and self-restraint, and no mischief will come.” All these years later and Mary Bernadette could still clearly remember sitting at her father's feet before the peat fire in their home. She had loved him dearly. But how well had she adhered to his words of wisdom?

Banshee roused herself and stepped onto Mary Bernadette's stomach, where she curled into a ball. Before long the two ladies had fallen asleep. Mary Bernadette did not dream.

“I
'm on pins and needles, Neal. What made you call this meeting?”

Megan was at her desk in Annapolis, addressing her fellow board member via her computer screen. Around Neal, in the main room of his gallery, were arranged Richard, Anne, Leonard, and Jeannette.

“I think,” he said, “that I might just have the information we need to finally put an end to the disaster that is Wynston Meadows.”

“Well, come out with it then,” Leonard urged.

“You all know my friend Harry Duran? He's an agent with Hollytree Real Estate.”

There were murmurs and nods in the affirmative. “He's got a good reputation,” Megan noted. “And he donates to the OWHA.”

“Well,” Neal went on, “as in any given industry, word gets around, even things that are supposed to be top secret, deals and promises and the like. And just this morning Harry had it on good authority from a friend of his at Toth Realty that since he's been resident in Oliver's Well, Wynston Meadows has been in secret negotiation—through his lawyers, of course—with the Baker family.”

“The owners of the Branley Estate,” Richard said.

Megan could not restrain a grin.
Patience,
she told herself.
We haven't won yet
.

“One and the same. It seems that he's intending to buy the estate for himself. And, though it's unclear if the Bakers know this bit of the story, he's planning to tear down what survives of the old buildings, clear all that lovely land, and put up a housing development.”

Jeannette put a hand to her heart.

“I can't say that I'm surprised,” Megan said.
Surprised and cautiously elated,
she added silently.

“Are you sure of this, Neal?” Leonard asked.

“As sure as I can be. Harry wouldn't have passed along the information if he didn't take it seriously. Now the question is, what do we do with it?”

“I can't believe Mr. Meadows has been going against the OWHA all along. Pretending to be our benefactor.” Anne sighed.

“While still holding on to his money,” Jeannette said angrily. “And treating the rest of us like doormats.”

“I say we confront him at the next meeting.”

“You know as well as I do, Leonard, that he'll deny any wrongdoing,” Richard said. “He'll say it's only a nasty small-town rumor.”

“But that might be enough,” Megan argued. “What I mean is, even the rumor of a board member acting for personal gain could very well turn away other potential donors, or even our long-standing ones. We tell him we can't afford the possible fallout.”

Richard shook his head. “I hate to be the naysayer here, but to that Meadows will say he's got more money than all other donors put together, so who cares if the rest go scurrying off.”

“And Joyce and Wallace and Norma might still think it's worth the risk to keep him around,” Jeannette said gloomily. “I don't understand what they hope to gain from the man.”

“Who was it who came up with that silly rule about needing a unanimous vote to dismiss someone from the board?” Anne asked.

“Some oddball in the board's storied past,” Leonard said. “The point is, the time's come to act. I suggest that at our next meeting we reveal that we've got new financial backers lined up, and then we present the information that Meadows has been acting against the interests of Oliver's Well, and not only regarding the Branley Estate. What about his wanting to cancel the Independence Day Parade and cut the education program? We just might get that unanimous vote.”

“We have to try,” Neal said. “That's for sure.”

Megan nodded. “Just be sure we make no mention—not even a hint—of what new business we'll be addressing. Maybe the element of surprise will work to our advantage, not so much with Meadows but with Joyce, Wallace, and Norma. The last thing we need is for one of them to get wind of our intentions.”

“Mum's the word,” Neal agreed. “Shall I call this clandestine meeting adjourned?”

“See you all on the battlefield,” Megan said. “Good night.” And she went downstairs to pour herself a cautiously celebratory whiskey.