The Perfect Love Song (20 page)

Rosie hugged Kara from behind. “Isn’t it great how even our own imaginations cannot conjure up the most perfect thing? It’s so wonderful when it’s better than we thought or imagined on our own.”

Charlotte slipped the green silk dress over her slip and turned to her mother. “Can you zip me?”

Rosie spoke up. “Okay, I don’t want to be all bossy, but we need to walk over to the church. It’s time.”

Bundled in scarves and coats, the women were a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers tumbling out of the hotel, walking the two blocks to the church. The morning was clear, the sky swept of stars and clouds, of anything at all but the single sun hanging on the far horizon. The bay shivered beneath the cold, no sweater or coat to warm it, exposed to the sky without protection. The swans flapped and danced, teasing one another and the shoreline. The Christmas lights strung from trees and light posts winked at the women as if they knew where they were going and what they were doing.

They burst through the back door of the church, now whispering and laughing in quiet tones as if the church had demanded this by its mere granite presence.

Iona was waiting and took their coats. “The first Christmas mass has taken place. There is one going on now and then the wedding. Are you ready?”

Kara nodded. “Yes.”

“You are a beautiful bride,” Iona said. “Radiant.”

“Thanks. Are the guys here yet?”

“Yes, they’re waiting in the back room, telling jokes I do not want to hear.” She smiled. “All is well, I promise. I’ll be back in about thirty minutes to take you into the sacristy.”

Charlotte stepped forward. “Do you mind,” she asked both Iona and Kara, “if I walk around to the entryway for a couple minutes?”

“Of course not,” Kara said. “Why?”

Charlotte shrugged. She wanted to see Our Lady of Galway one more time. She wanted to touch the hem of her wooden skirt and see her face placid and still, her face that seemed to say all would be well. Yes, all would be well.

J
immy stood at the rental car window ringing the bell for an employee. When the plane had landed he’d attempted to turn on his cell phone, only to find he had no service in Ireland—which was probably a good thing, as then he couldn’t listen to the ten voice mails Milton had left for him. Finally, a young girl with purple hair and a nose ring came from behind the wall.

“Merry Christmas,” Jimmy said, glancing at his watch
while digging into his pocket. “I need a car and map to Claddagh Village.”

The girl ambled toward the computer. “I don’t think we have any cars left. It’s Christmas.”

Jimmy groaned. The wedding would begin in an hour and a half, and the drive was almost exactly that. “Anything. I’ll drive anything,” he said.

She squinted at the screen. “There’s nothing. And although you’d be saying you’d drive anything, there’s nothing.”

“There must be. Just one car. Just one.”

She laughed. “Only my clunker, and you won’t be wanting to drive that.” Her sweet Irish accent made the word “clunker” sound like a good thing.

Jimmy leaned forward on the desk. “Okay, here’s the deal. My brother’s wedding starts in an hour and a half. I’ve gone through hell to get here. I left my luggage in New York, sat next to the airplane bathroom in a straight-up position for seven hours, and now I just need a car. That’s all that’s left. A car is all that’s left between me and my brother’s wedding.”

Her eyes opened wide. “Really? Is all that true?”

He laughed. “Unfortunately, yes.” He held out his cash. “I can give this to you, along with a promise of utmost sincerity that I will bring the car back as soon as the wedding is over.”

“Hey,” she said, “why don’t I drive you? You can pay me to drive you, and then you won’t have to return the car. I was on night shift, and I’m off now. I need an excuse to not see my family. My da is home for the holidays, and I’d like to be late for the day. What do you say?”

“Let’s go.” Jimmy smiled.

The purple-haired girl—her name was Lydia—drove them through the crisp Christmas morning.

“So, can you be telling me why your brother is getting married in Ireland and, of all places, the little fishing village of Claddagh?”

“It’s kind of a complicated story, but it all had to do with this old lady who told his fiancée a story.”

“What kind of story?”

“About the Claddagh ring and about her life. Jack’s fiancée found Jack because of the story . . . ”

The girl smiled and tapped her steering wheel. “Tell me.”

Jack laughed. “You people and stories.”

“That’s our thing,” she said.

“Well, this old lady, Maeve Mahoney, was in a nursing home and . . . ”

The girl slammed on her brakes, pulled to the side of the road.

“What’s wrong?” Jimmy pointed to the road.

“Say the name again.”

He did.

She laughed this beautiful, melodic laugh that was more of a song than it was anything else. “That is my great-gram.”

Jimmy shook his head. “This is just getting weirder and weirder.”

She drove the car back onto the road. “Okay, I’ll get you there, but you have to finish the story.”

And so he did.

L
ydia drove down the Claddagh Quay and then pointed. “That’s the church.”

Jimmy stared at the red granite structure in the morning sun, the beauty of it mirrored in the bay as if there were two churches, one of permanence and one of a dream world. He glanced at his watch and then at Lydia. “The wedding already started.”

She stopped the car. “Well, then you’d better hurry.”

Jimmy took that moment to look into her eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you, but I will. I will.”

“Ah, Great-Grand-Mam would tell me it was my privilege.”

Jimmy threw open the car door and bolted for the front door. He entered with the wind behind his back, the cold forcing its way into the foyer. His sneakers squeaked on the marble, and he found himself face-to-face with Our Lady of Galway. He stared at her for the briefest moment, as if he knew her or had met her before, and then he looked toward the front of the church.

There they stood—Kara and Jack facing each other, Charlotte standing to the side, and Mr. Larson where he, Jimmy, should be. He took the longest breath and walked toward the aisle. He moved slowly, not knowing whether to speak or just slip into the pew.

It was Charlotte who first saw him, and she took in a sharp breath, her eyes opening wider, as if they needed to believe what they saw. Kara and Jack spun around, and the priest stopped in midsentence. Jack gave a timid wave and stopped midaisle, as if waiting for someone to tell him what to do. Sit? Run? Leave?

Kara nodded at Jack, as if to say, “Go to him.”

Jack and Jimmy met halfway, where Jimmy spoke first. “I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

Jack hugged his brother, and then stepped back. “Merry Christmas.”

Jimmy then hugged Kara before he turned to Charlotte with the hope of any man who turns to the woman he loves.
She smiled at him, bit her bottom lip in the way she does when she attempts to stop her tears. He held out his hand, and she took it, drawing him toward her. There were no words said because at that moment none were needed. The words—they would come later. Jimmy stepped back and took his place as best man.

Ah, the tears and joy mixed into that church were a sacred sacrament.

T
he front foyer of the church was crowded with the small gathering of Mr. and Mrs. Jack Sullivan and their friends and family. Kara’s veil had been lifted from her face, and she held her husband’s hand. Jimmy Sullivan stood in front of his brother and his friends and family and apologized once again.

“You’re here—that is all that matters. You are here. No more apologies,” Jack said.

“Look at me. I’m a mess. I probably ruined your nice wedding photographs.” He motioned toward the photographer, who was snapping pictures of Charlotte, Deidre, and Rosie.

“I don’t believe you’ve messed up anything, big brother. Except maybe . . . ” Jack motioned toward Charlotte.

Jimmy nodded and then called Charlotte’s name. She walked toward him, and together they stood in front of Kara and Jack, in front of Our Lady. A certain kind of hush fell over the foyer, the kind of hush that is full of expectation.

“Charlotte Lynn Carrington, I have never loved as I have loved you. I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry I lost sight of all I know, of you and our love.” Jimmy dropped to one knee. “Will you be my wife?”

Charlotte dropped down to face him, kneeling next to him. “Yes,” she whispered.

“I had a ring,” he said, taking her hand, “but I sold it to get on the flight. At this moment, all I have to give you is my heart and a promise.”

“That,” Charlotte said, “is all I ever wanted.” She placed her head on his shoulder, and he pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her, and held her as close as a man kneeling on a marble floor can hold a woman in a bridesmaid dress.

The small crowd clapped and whooped and made noises that at any other time would not seem appropriate in the church, but at that moment absolutely were. Then an older woman entered and glanced around the space until her green eyes lit like a lantern had been fired behind her pupils. “Mr. Sullivan?”

They all stopped and looked at her.

“Wow,” Jimmy said. “Mrs. O’Brien. How did you get here?” It was the woman he had sat next to on the plane, the sweet woman who had listened to his story.

“I never did tell you that I am the Mrs. O’Brien of the Claddagh jeweler. The original Claddagh ring maker here in Galway.”

Jimmy laughed. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“And where is this Charlotte?”

Charlotte stepped forward. “I’m here.”

The woman held her hand out to Jimmy and slipped something into his palm. “Now, do it right this time, son. This is a symbol of faith. Give it in that spirit.” And she turned on her black shoes and pushed open the front door. By the time Jimmy looked into his hand and saw the Claddagh ring with the large emerald in the middle, Mrs. O’Brien was gone, as if she’d never been there. He turned to Charlotte, overwhelmed with the realization that sometimes hope is not only fulfilled, but filled to overflowing. He knew better now than any other not to turn away a gift. He slipped the ring on Charlotte’s finger.

Together they stood, and when the hugging and tears were over, Jack shook his head and asked Jimmy, “How did you get here? What happened?”

“It was crazy, really.” Jimmy looked around the foyer.
“First Dad showed up.” He looked at Jack. “More on that later. And then there was a homeless angel and a child named Maria dressed like a guiding star and then a guy named Joe who got me on the flight. And then Maeve’s great-granddaughter drove me to the church.” He shook his head. “I’m still not sure how I got here.”

Tears gathered in the corners of Kara’s eyes like rain-drops at the edge of a windowsill. “You’d think Maeve Mahoney had something to do with this, wouldn’t you?”