Emilie Richards - The Parting Glass

A gust of wind nearly lifted her off her feet, and this time it sent her smashing into Casey. Peggy’s shriek was eclipsed by an earsplitting crack. For a moment she was so disoriented that the sound didn’t register. Then in horror she turned her head toward the car and saw disaster swaying just above it.

“Get away from the car! Everybody! Now!” She extricated herself from her sister, and almost as one body they hurled themselves forward. “The tree—”

Winston and his crew were tough guys, but they were also survivors. Instinctively they scattered like the leaves that were raining from the big maple tree positioned just over Niccolo’s new Civic. A horrifying screech, like ten giant fingernails on a heavenly blackboard, rent the air. Then, as Peggy watched in horror, the tree wobbled uncertainly and split in two.

With a thunderous roar, followed by the scream and crunch of metal, the half closer to the saloon fell on Niccolo’s car, flattening the roof and hood. The other half of the tree remained awkwardly, tentatively erect. Nick’s car looked like a week-old sandwich fished out of a teenager’s bookbag.

Peggy did a frantic head count and assessment. The tree had fallen just slowly enough to give the kids time to get away. They looked shaken, but unharmed.

“Everybody’s okay,” Peggy said. She repeated it as a question and got satisfactory answers from all the kids. Winston herded them to the other end of the lot, where they shouted and pointed excitedly.

“It missed the saloon,” Casey said, her voice shaky. “But, lord, Peggy, that door into the kitchen isn’t going to open again until we get a crew out here. It opens out, and the tree’s smack against it.”

Peggy raised her voice over the intensifying wind. “Who cares about the door? What about Nick’s car? How are we going to tell him, and what are he and Megan going to use on their honeymoon?”

“They—they can take mine on the trip. Jon and I can make do with one car until they get back.”

“We still have to tell Nick.”

“Yeah? Exactly when?”

Peggy was still trying to process this disaster. She was the most analytical of the sisters, but analysis was beyond her at the moment. “How would you like to know something like that right before you head off for your wedding?”

“Wouldn’t.”

“Can we keep the kids quiet?”

Casey glanced over her shoulder, and the wind whipped her hair over her eyes. “Winston can. Besides, it was probably his idea to have Josh bring the car over. He’ll want to take as much time as he can owning up.”

Family and friends began pouring out the front doors of the saloon.

“St. Patrick and all the saints! Better call a tree service,” somebody shouted.

Another voice chimed in. “Get a wrecker.”

Casey documented the obvious. “Any sane person would cancel the reception.”

Peggy was trembling now, a delayed reaction that grew more ferocious as she realized just how lucky everyone had been. “You said it yourself. We have a blocked exit. Legally we have to lock our doors.”

Casey put her arm around Peggy’s shoulders. “That’s the good thing about the Donaghues. Not a soul who’s invited to the reception will report us.”

“Casey, do you think maybe we could deed this parking lot to the city and get it out of the family once and for all?”

Two hours later Megan Donaghue stared into the full-length mirror on Casey’s bedroom closet door. A disgruntled woman in unadorned ivory silk gazed back at her. “I really don’t know how I got talked into this. I look like a lampshade.”

Casey spoke from the floor below. “You look gorgeous, and there’s not one inch of frou-frou on that dress. If it were any simpler we’d call it a slip.”

“I should have worn a suit. Only suits make me look like a penguin. How come you got the legs, and Peggy got all that gorgeous straight hair, and I got—” She paused. “Nothing. Not a damn thing.”

“Apparently Nick thinks you have some redeeming feature, and if you don’t stand completely still, I’m going to stick this needle someplace it wasn’t meant to go.”

Megan knew her sister and stopped wriggling. Besides, Casey had seemed unusually edgy since Megan had arrived at the house. She didn’t want to take any chances. “Maybe it’s just momentum. You know? Maybe we just fell into this and kept falling, and eventually he just couldn’t figure out how to get out of it. Maybe he’s been trying to tell me he doesn’t want to marry me and I haven’t been listening.”

“Megan, Niccolo’s been trying to get you to marry him for two years. That’s what you weren’t listening to. Then you finally stopped making excuses, and here you are.” Casey stabbed her needle into the portion of the hem that had come unsewn.

Megan stared at her image in the mirror. She had hoped that on her wedding day, at least, a voluptuous redhead with a come-hither expression and tits would stare back at her. Real tits that filled out a bodice, tantalizing and promising. Instead she saw a short, compact body and the rectangular face that went with it. Granted, there was nothing seriously wrong with the face. The features matched well enough; the amber eyes were large, the expression forthright, and the bright red curls had been tamed into a semblance of order by Casey’s own stylist.

“What does he see in me, Casey? I mean, Nick’s a good-looking guy. I’m not blind. Some might even say he’s gorgeous. I’m wearing a Wonderbra and mascara, and nobody’s going to faint from passion when I walk down the aisle.”

“Megan, don’t ask him what he sees in you on the honeymoon, okay? Because he’s supposed to be dizzy with desire, not laughing his head off.”

“Why am I doing this?” Megan pushed one wayward curl into place. She had been dragged kicking and screaming to the wedding boutique and chosen the simplest dress in the place, but she had refused unequivocally to wear a veil. Instead a spray of silk orange blossoms adorned her short hair, threatening to take off for parts unknown if she continued to bob her head.

“Let’s see.” Casey clipped the thread and sat back staring up at her sister. “Why are you doing this? Maybe because, despite being hopelessly unworthy of love yourself, you love him?”

“Funny, Case.”

“Then if it isn’t love, maybe it’s just good sex? Or could be you need somebody to fix the toilet when it runs—”

“I know how to fix the toilet.”

“Back to sex, then.”

“You don’t have to be married for that.”

“Then you tell me.”

“I’m going through with this because Nick wasn’t happy living together. He believes in love, marriage.” Megan scowled at the curl and pushed it into place once last time.

“He’s a romantic?”

“He was a priest.” Megan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He’s still deeply religious. Living together never sat well with him. He needs vows. He needs the Church’s sanction.”

“So you’re doing all this for him.” Casey got to her feet and started toward the closet to get her own dress. “Congratulations. That makes you a martyr. The church reserves a special place in heaven for people like you.”

Megan waited silently as her sister shed her shorts and T-shirt and slid into a slip and panty hose. Then Casey slid her matron-of-honor dress over her head and presented her back. “Zip this, will you?”

Megan did. The fiery copper-colored silk almost matched Casey’s hair, normally a long mass of curls but today tamed in an intricate French braid woven with silk baby’s breath.

The three Donaghue sisters shared red in their hair, but there was little else that physically tied them together. Peggy, with her oval face and dark amber eyes, was beautiful by anybody’s standards. She had softer features than her sisters and a womanly body that had ripened even further during her pregnancy.