Carol Clark - Laced

When he arrived home, Neil’s wife, Felicity, greeted him at the door and excitedly pointed to the empty spot on the living room wall where Margaret’s painting had hung.

“Darling,” Felicity said, her eyes dancing, “Margaret is terrified of May Reilly.”

“So am I,” he responded as he took off his coat. Felicity was a pistol, always had been. It was certainly true that opposites attract, but sometimes he wished she were a little less gregarious. He was quiet and methodical; she was the life of the party. Their marriage had stood the test of time-forty-one years and counting.

“Can you imagine Margaret thinking that May Reilly is going to haunt her because of the lace in her paintings?” Felicity bubbled, anxious to gossip.

Neil headed toward the kitchen. “I’ve never met a woman who was as superstitious as Margaret Raftery, except maybe my mother.” He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a beer.

“Your mother!” Felicity laughed as she went over to the stove, lifted a lid on a big pot, and stirred a mélange of vegetables energetically. “She thought it was bad luck to cut her fingernails on Sunday! And what day of the week did she say was always a bad day for your family?”

“Tuesday,” Neil said. “Today is Tuesday. She wasn’t wrong about everything you know,” he said defensively.

“Of course not,” Felicity acquiesced. “It just made life difficult when she thought so many things we did would ‘tempt the fates.’ We couldn’t even admire our beautiful children because she said it would bring bad luck. And she wanted us to keep the kids barefoot-even in winter!-so the fairies wouldn’t kidnap them.”

Neil rubbed his eyes. “I know.”

“And remember she didn’t want us to get married on a Saturday? That was supposed to bring bad luck, too. And she wouldn’t come into our first little house until we’d hung a horseshoe face-up over the door. Face-up so the good luck wouldn’t run out. And, of course, she was always throwing salt over her shoulder whenever anyone dropped anything in the kitchen. My floor always looked as if we were preparing for a snowstorm. I could go on and on.”

You already have, Neil thought wearily but muttered an um-hmmm in agreement. He sat on a stool at the kitchen counter and gratefully took his first sip of beer. “Poor Margaret,” he said, putting down his drink. “She’s a bit daft, but she’s been such a loyal employee all these years. The theft of the tablecloth has really thrown her off whatever little balance she had.” He pondered the events of the day as he watched Felicity, armed with a giant fork, poke at the potatoes in the oven. She’d never been a great cook.

“These need another another ten, maybe fifteen minutes,” Felicity mumbled.

“I can’t imagine who would have been driving Margaret around today,” Neil remarked. “I always had the impression she was a loner.”

Felicity shut the oven door and shook her head. “I am so mad at myself! I should have offered to walk her to the car.”

“Ah, well,” Neil said. “I hope she’s planning on coming to work in the morning. We have a group of Americans coming in.” He paused. “No matter what, I’m going to make sure everything runs smoothly tomorrow at Hennessy Castle.”

Neil should have learned from his mother that it was bad luck to “tempt the fates.”

When Mother Sharkey and her son closed up shop, they went upstairs where Seamus was making preparations for their evening meal.

Tonight they were having spaghetti, a family favorite.

“I put the water on to boil,” Seamus said proudly, “and I set the table. How were things down at the smile center this afternoon?”

“Busy, Daddy,” Dr. Sharkey answered. “Two emergencies.”

“I can’t wait to hear all about them.”

“You will. First, I want to get out of these clothes and put on a pair of sweats.” He disappeared down the hall, whistling a happy tune.

“Danny’s such a good boy,” Seamus commented to his wife, Kathleen.

“I’m worried about what’s going to happen to him when we’re gone,” Kathleen responded. “He’s going to miss us so much. If only we could find him a nice girl.”

Seamus nodded. “It was such a shame he drilled the teeth of that lovely lass he was going around with a few years ago. Things were never the same after that. I thought they were truly in love.”

Kathleen pointed her finger at her husband. “The saying goes, ‘You shouldn’t mix business with pleasure,’ but it was on a Sunday, remember? She had a terrible toothache and asked him for help. It wasn’t Danny’s fault she ended up with an infection and had to have the tooth pulled. Now let’s get this food on the table.”

Seamus sighed. “Maybe we should have been more encouraging when he wanted to go into show business.”

Kathleen waved her hand disgustedly. “And I should have made a living doing the Irish jig.”

Seamus knew the discussion was over.

During dinner Seamus asked his son about the emergencies he had handled that afternoon.

“The first,” Danny said as he twirled spaghetti onto his fork, “was an American whose cap fell out when he bit into a blueberry pancake that contained a pebble.”

“Ouch!” the older Sharkey cried. “I get a pain just thinking about it. Did he have brown hair? And was he with a brown-haired woman?”

“Yes.”

“I knew it!”

“Really?”

“Yes. He seemed upset when he got into his car.”

“He was laughing when he was in my chair, I can tell you that. The strangest laugh. His wife hurried into the treatment room to see what was going on. She told me he couldn’t have any more nitrous oxide.”

Mother Sharkey looked up from her spaghetti. “That was when I was upstairs. If I’d been there, I never would have allowed her to interrupt you.”

“Thank you, Mother, but it was necessary. She said he had a heart problem.”

Kathleen shrugged. “The woman didn’t want to fill out the forms. You would have known about his heart problem if she had.”

“Fill out the forms?” Danny said with a laugh. “I didn’t even get their names.”

“You didn’t?” Seamus asked, astonishment in his voice. “I’m up here taking notes and writing down license plate numbers in case any of these people turn out to be dishonest, and you didn’t even get their names?”

“It’s all right, Daddy. They’re not coming back. He’s going home to his dentist in New York-or Los Angeles. Who knows?”

“What do you mean, son?”

“First he said his dentist was in Los Angeles, then he said New York. It really doesn’t matter.” Danny opened his mouth and loaded it with spaghetti. “Does it?”

They all ate in silence for several minutes, savoring the delicious spaghetti sauce. It was Seamus’s specialty. The bread was crunchy and hot, and the salad tasty.

Finally, Seamus wiped his mouth with his napkin. “You didn’t tell me about the other emergency yet.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “A woman who works at Hennessy Castle. She fell in the street and knocked out her front tooth. Oh! She’s the woman who designed the decal for the Fun Run. Rory at the gym recommended her to me.”

“She designed that funny decal?”

“Yes.”

“What does she do at Hennessy Castle?”

“She’s a housekeeper.”

“Based on that decal, I’d say she’s a very talented artist. She should pursue her art.” Seamus helped himself to another piece of bread. “You know what happened at Hennessy Castle last night, don’t you?”

“No,” Danny answered.

“I do,” Kathleen said. “I saw it on TV today.”

“What happened?” Danny asked. “I was so busy every minute, I didn’t hear a bit of news.”