Emilie Richards - The Parting Glass

Sam Trumbull, another loyal customer, gave her a cock-eyed grin. He was a little man, with a chronic thirst and a line that could convince any stranger to buy him a drink in ten seconds flat. “Somebody put me in charge. I can’t remember who.”

There was just enough champagne for one good round of toasts right before the cake was cut. Before that the guests would have to settle for the excellent wines Niccolo had chosen, Barry’s mixed drinks, or the best Guinness in Cleveland.

“Not another bottle,” she warned. “Not until I tell you to. It’s going to go flat.”

“I just thought I’d check and see if the temperature was right.” He held out the bottle. “Want to see?”

“One glass, Sam. That’s it. Then pour the rest of it for—” She turned and pointed. “The man and woman over there. That’s my aunt Deirdre and uncle Frank.”

He looked disappointed, but he nodded.

The wind was rising outside, and Peggy checked the saloon clock. “I hope everybody gets here before this storm really breaks. It rains, then it stops, then it rains….”

“Cleveland spring.” Sam lifted his slight shoulders.

“Well, once they’re all here, it won’t matter.” She looked up as the door opened and Jon and Casey came in, followed by a large contingent of distant Donaghues.

Casey found her and pointed behind her, mouthing, “They’re coming,” enough times that Peggy understood. “The wedding party will be here pretty soon,” she told Sam. “Remember, don’t pop those corks until I signal. Promise?”

Casey managed to thread her way over to the bar as Peggy exited. “Where’s Kieran?”

“Upstairs sleeping. The baby monitor’s in the kitchen.”

“You’ve got a lot of people here that want to help you.”

“Kieran doesn’t need a lot of people, Casey. He needs a quiet environment and my full attention.”

“If this sojourn in Ireland doesn’t work out, you know you can always come back, right? Nobody will say ‘I told you so.’”

The door opened again, and this time Megan and Niccolo came through it, just behind Rooney. Behind them were the olive-skinned, regal members of Niccolo’s family. Peggy knew they were Andreanis because they were the only people in the saloon she didn’t know by name.

“Are they behaving themselves?” she asked Casey. “Nick’s family?”

“Actually, they’re charming. His mom’s a little reserved, like she’s here against her better judgment, but the rest of them are great. And can they tell stories. The trip from Pittsburgh’s worth a book. Maybe the Italians and the Irish are cousins under the skin? They’re going to get along with everybody.”

“And how’s Rooney doing?”

“He’s here, isn’t he? And it looks like Aunt Deirdre’s corralled him. She’ll make sure he’s fed and happy and not given anything to drink.”

Megan made her way toward her sisters. She was stopped, hugged and kissed by everybody between them.

“Other people have nice, quiet receptions,” she said. “Sit down dinners. Chamber music.”

As if on cue, the Celtic band—the lead singer was a second cousin on their mother’s side—began to play. The noise level doubled.

“Other people don’t have this much fun!” Peggy hugged her. “You doing okay?”

“We had to park down the street. Uncle Den claimed there wasn’t any room in the lot, not even for the bride and groom.”

Silently Peggy blessed her mother’s only brother and refused to meet Casey’s gaze for fear she would give away the truth. She just wondered how long it would take before someone mentioned the tree to Megan or Nick.

“Who invited all these people?” Megan shouted.

“You did!”

“Niccolo’s family will think he’s married into an insane asylum!”

Peggy looked past Megan to the Andreani gathering in the corner. Only they weren’t in the corner anymore. They were mingling and chatting, and they looked as if they were having fun. Even Mrs. Andreani, who was holding a small black-haired girl, looked as if she were loosening up. She caught Peggy’s eye and gave a slight smile.

There was a brief lull in the music, and Peggy heard Greta calling her. “Uh-oh, I’d better follow that sound. Kieran’s probably up.”

“What are you going to do with him?” Megan said.

“I’m going to bring him down for a while and see how he does. If he minds the noise and confusion too much, I’ll take him back up. There are plenty of people who will take turns watching him.” Peggy started off through the crowd, but she was stopped by her aunt Deirdre before she could get to her son.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow,” Deirdre said.

Peggy loved her aunt. Deirdre Grogan was Rooney’s sister, and she and Frank, her husband, had raised Peggy after Peggy’s mother died and Rooney left. At the same time Deirdre, who had undoubtedly wanted full custody, had been sensitive to Megan’s need to have a say in her baby sister’s life. So Deirdre had walked a difficult line. She was kind, patient and completely opposed to Peggy’s decision to take Kieran to Ireland.

“I love that color,” Peggy said, hoping to change the thrust of the conversation. Deirdre always dressed with quiet, expensive good taste. Today she wore a sage-green linen suit that set off hair that had once been the color of Casey’s but had less fire in it now.

“Are you sure you won’t reconsider, darling? After all, what do you know about this woman? What do any of us know? And how can we help Kieran if you’re off in the middle of nowhere?”

Peggy knew that her aunt was distraught, because Deirdre never interfered. Two years ago, when Peggy informed her that she was pregnant and didn’t intend to marry the father, Deirdre had asked only what she could do to assist.

“I know enough about Irene Tierney to risk the trip,” Peggy said. “She’s been warm and welcoming, and she’s anxious to meet even a small piece of her American family. Until a couple of months ago, she didn’t know we existed.”

“But doesn’t it all seem odd to you? She’s in her eighties? And she found you on the Internet?”

“Her physician gave her a computer to amuse her and got her connected. It’s something she can do from home that gives her broader interests. She’s mostly housebound. And I think it’s wonderful that she was so adaptable and eager, and that she found us.”

“I still don’t understand what she wanted.”

Peggy looked toward the kitchen and saw Greta standing in the doorway, pointing toward the stairs. Peggy waved at her to let her know she’d gotten the message. She was growing frantic, the response of any mother of any species separated from her bawling youngster. “I’ve got to get Kieran. We can talk later.”

Deirdre looked contrite. “Can I help? Would you like me to—”

“No, but thanks. Stay. Enjoy yourself. I’ll be down with him in a bit.”

Peggy didn’t add that she planned to take her time. There were a dozen relatives who would try to corner her before the night ended and quiz her about the remarkable decision to fly thousands of miles to live in rural Ireland with a woman she’d never met. She wasn’t anxious to face any of them.

Upstairs, the tiny apartment, often stuffy in late spring, had benefitted from the afternoon’s wind and dark skies. Peggy knew, without opening the bedroom door, that Kieran would be staring at the sheer curtain beside his crib. Even though the window was only open an inch, the curtain would wave with each gust, and Kieran’s gaze would be locked on that movement. He might even imitate it, waving his hand back and forth. When there was no curtain blowing, no clock pendulum swinging, no ceiling fan revolving overhead, she had seen him follow the slow back and forth of his own hand for as long as an hour, mesmerized and calmed by the fruitless repetition as she sat distressed beside him.