Emilie Richards - The Parting Glass

“We never get guarantees, but I think you’re a pretty safe bet.”

“I’m a mess. I’m dripping, my car’s probably going to be towed, and I’ve ripped my stockings into shreds.” A hand leaped to her hair. “And I lost my damned orange blossoms.”

“Good. You look perfect the way you are.” He paused. “Although my mother and father will be more impressed if you put the shoes on your feet.”

“They came?”

He nodded.

This time she did fall into his arms. Casey and Peggy arrived just as they finally stepped apart. “Peggy got Charity parked. We—” Casey stopped when she saw Niccolo. “Get out of here,” Casey told him in mock horror. “Go wait where you’re supposed to. This is bad luck.”

He grinned with no contrition.

“Scoot!” Casey gave him a mock shove. “Go tell the organist to do another round of ‘Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring.’ Give us ten minutes.”

“Five.”

“Seven. Go!”

“Bye…” Megan watched him leave. Nick turned in the doorway and blew her a kiss.

“Megan!” Casey grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward the stairs.

They were ready in ten minutes, panty hose changed, hair dry enough. Megan entered the foyer flanked by her sisters. Through the door into the church she could see that Nick, Jon and Father Brady had already entered from the front. The orange blossoms had been restored—Casey had rescued and pocketed them early in their walk—and even Megan’s shoes had been wiped clean. She was ready.

“Do you think Rooney made it to the church? Do you think he’s here somewhere?” Megan positioned herself at the doorway. Heads were beginning to turn.

“He wanted to be,” Peggy said.

The strains of Beethoven’s “Joyful, Joyful We Adore Thee” sounded from the front of the church. Megan had begged the organist to step up the tempo a little so the trip to the front wouldn’t take so long. Now the familiar melody sounded like the most strenuous selection in a Richard Simmons exercise video. Sweating to the Sacred. Clearly, after the delay, the poor woman was ready to call this gig quits.

“Okay, we’re going in together. Don’t walk too fast and leave me behind.” Megan took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

“I love you,” Casey said, and Peggy echoed it.

Megan’s eyes filled with tears. “Just go, okay?”

They started down the aisle. She took a step over the threshold and into the back of the church. Like one body the assembled guests rose. From the corner of her eye she saw a lone male figure step into the aisle. Then, as naturally as if he had rehearsed the scene for hours, Rooney Donaghue, shirt buttoned properly, clean shaven and smiling, came toward her and held out his arm.

None of the Donaghue sisters were sentimental, but despite that reputation, Peggy choked back tears during the ceremony. Megan was radiant as she joined her life with Nick’s, and even though Peggy hadn’t spent much of her adult life in church, the familiar rhythms of the wedding Mass touched her. But nothing touched her more than seeing her father take his rightful place at his oldest daughter’s side.

That glorious glimpse into the sacred exploded the moment she opened the door into the Whiskey Island Saloon.

“Ice machine gave up the ghost.” Barry, their bartender, pushed past her on his way outside. “Going for ice.”

“I—”

“And the band says they need more room to set up than you gave them,” he shouted over his shoulder. “So I moved tables out of their way, only now there aren’t so many tables—”

“I—”

“And there’s trees down all over Cleveland, so there’s no hope of getting a crew in tonight to cut it up. We roped off the area around the kitchen so nobody’ll park near the piece that’s still standing. But we can’t even get the car towed until…” His voice trailed off as he disappeared into his car and slammed the door.

Peggy wondered exactly what she was going to tell Niccolo and Megan when it came time for them to make their getaway and Casey’s car—if her tire was fixed by then—was waiting for them at the curb instead of the Honda.

“Peggy?” A strong hand ushered her all the way in. She looked up to see Charlie Ford, one of their loyal patrons. “The bakery just called. The cake’s all set up, but they forgot the petty cash, or something like that.”

“Petit fours. I thought maybe they had just put them in the kitchen.” She was beginning to panic. This was a crowd that would expect sweets before the cake was cut.

“Said they’d be by with them shortly. Not to worry.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Charlie’s eyes sparkled. His only son lived in New York, and the staff and patrons of the Whiskey Island Saloon were his Cleveland family. “And Greta says she’s going to quit if she has to stuff one more piece of cabbage.”

Greta was Megan’s treasured kitchen assistant and a fabulous cook in her own right, as well as a dedicated employee. “She always says that. Anything else?”

“Kieran went down for a nap about an hour ago, and the sitter left. The baby monitor’s in the kitchen with Greta.”

Peggy had expected that. The sitter had other obligations, and they had agreed to this compromise, knowing how regular Kieran’s nap time was. The older woman was one of the few outsiders who was willing to look after Kieran at all. How blessed it was to let someone else assume her son’s care for a few hours, and how impossible that would be beginning tomorrow.

But that was the way she had wanted it.

Charlie clapped Peggy on the shoulder. “Say, have you heard the one about the Irish priest who got stopped for speeding on Euclid Avenue? See, the cop smells alcohol on the good father’s breath and notices an empty wine bottle on the floor, so he knows he has to ask him about it. ‘Father, have you been drinking?’ he says. And the priest says, ‘Just water, my son.’ So the trooper picks up the bottle and holds it out in front of him. ‘Then what’s this, Father,’ he says. The priest throws up his hands. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he’s done it again!’”

She groaned. “Charlie, you’re the worst.”

He grinned as he disappeared into the growing crowd.

Peggy went straight to the kitchen. Greta was supervising a crew of cousins and customers who were setting food on platters and taking it out to the bar for the reception. Behind her, Peggy could hear the front door opening and closing regularly, and she knew that soon enough the saloon would look the way it did on St. Patrick’s Day.

“Everything going okay in here?”

Greta looked up, her moon face glowing with perspiration. “Did you know Nick’s family was bringing food?”

Until she’d seen them at the church, Peggy hadn’t even known Nick’s family were bringing themselves.

Greta waved one hand behind her toward the steel counter on the far wall. “Piles of it. They dropped it off before the wedding. His mother gave me instructions, like I don’t know how to heat up covered dishes? Why didn’t somebody tell me? I’ve been cooking for a week.”

“Nobody knew they were coming, Greta. I’m sorry. But I can guarantee everything you cooked will get eaten. Every single bit of it, and they’ll lick their plates.”

“Manicotti like you never seen. Sausages and peppers. Meatballs!” Greta grimaced. “All of it pretty good, too.”

Peggy put her arms around her for a quick hug. “Soldier on, okay? The Donaghues will eat their weight in corned beef. You can count on it.”

“They better!”

“No sounds from upstairs?”

“Not a peep, and I’ve got the monitor turned up all the way.”

“Just let me know.” Peggy heard the unmistakable pop of a champagne cork and sprinted back into the saloon and behind the bar. “Sam, who told you to start opening that?”