Intentions - SF9 (36 page)

"Since I realized what I lost by being so distant from my baby," she said with uncharacteristic honesty.

"It's drooling on your sweater," he helpfully pointed out.

"
She
may drool wherever she wishes. That's why God made dry cleaners," she said.

He leaned back in his seat, staring at the interaction between his wife and the small child. "She looks a little like Jamie did at that age," he commented, sticking his finger out for the baby to play with.

Caitlin looked mildly interested in him, but she was fascinated by the heavy silver chain that Catherine wore around her neck, and she occupied herself by trying to make a dental imprint on the smoothly polished metal. "Yes, she does a little bit," his wife agreed. "Less so now than when I met her. She looked more like Jamie when her features were still a little indistinct. I suppose it was the blonde hair and the green eyes."

"That's a nice combination for a little girl," he said, once again trying to engage the baby. "I miss my little Jamie," he said softly as he trailed a finger down the baby's pudgy cheek.

"With any luck, we'll have a grandchild or two in a few years," she said lightly, now beginning to look forward to the possibility.

"Yeah," he said tersely. "There's always that to look forward to."

Catherine gave him a look and shook her head. "They are planning on having children, Jim. You have a few years to get used to the idea, but you're not going to dissuade them. I think they'll be fantastic mothers."

He nodded somberly, unwilling to even imagine his daughter being that adult. "I'm sure Jamie would be," he admitted.

"Ryan is the one," Catherine disagreed. "She had the proper example at home. Jamie will learn how to mother from her."

Catherine looked up when the three O'Flaherty brothers entered the gym. All three lumbered up the stairs, greeting everyone as they passed. Since Jim and Catherine were in the top row of the group, the men squeezed into the row behind them for their introductions. Conor, of course, was friendly, asking Jim all about his adventures in Washington. Brendan was very reserved, being formally polite-nothing more. Rory was his usual shy self, but he acted as though he bore no animosity towards Jim. After just a few seconds, Brendan indicated that their cousin Frank had saved them seats, and he and Rory climbed through the crowded bleachers to reach their spots.

"I have the feeling that your brothers aren't in my fan club," Jim mused to Conor.

"I don't think Rory knows much about what happened," Conor informed him, "but Brendan knows enough. He's not the kind of guy that can tolerate having Ryan hurt."

Jim looked at his young friend and asked the obvious question. "What about you, Conor? Why do you still speak to me?"

Conor thought about the question for a minute and decided to be honest with the older man. "It helped when you called me to tell me what had happened," he revealed. "I don't approve of what you did, but I guess I tried to put myself in your shoes. If my kid was doing something that I really didn't approve of, I'm sure I'd be pretty heavy-handed, too."

Jim nodded and said, "It's been hard, Conor, but I really am sorry for hurting your sister."

"You didn't really hurt her, Jim. You've upset her, and made her really anxious, but you haven't actually hurt her."

"Are you sure of that, Conor?" he asked, casting a glance down at the young woman playing her heart out down on the court.

"Oh yeah," Conor assured him. "If you had, you'd be dead." He gave him a friendly pat on the back, his face curling into a smile. Jim couldn't help but notice, however, that the normally warm blue eyes now bored into him like a pair of surgical lasers.

There was a small break between the first and second games, and some of the other players' parents came over to say hello to Catherine and Jamie, and finally meet Jim. Jim nearly gagged when Amy's mother introduced Catherine to her husband as 'Ryan's mother-in-law', but he managed to smile and graciously accept a few compliments about his recent appointment.

As the couple left, Jim leaned over to his wife and whispered, "How many of these games have you been to?"

"All of them," she said lightly. "It's important to Jamie."

The match was the most emotionally draining one that Ryan had ever played in. Stanford had gotten so much better since they had last played each other that they seemed like a different team. But against all odds, Cal was having an extraordinary night. The match was so close that every game extended beyond the normal 15 points. Cal won the first 17-15 with Stanford taking the second 18-16. When Stanford also took the third 16-14, Jamie was afraid that the tide was turning. But Cal roared back and rescued the fourth game on a beautiful dig by Michelle that Ryan put away for a kill to take it 17-15.

Every point in game five was hard fought, with neither team ever being up by more than two points. When Stanford missed an easy block that would have given them the match at 15-13, Jim's voice echoed through the gym as he shouted out, "Hit the damned ball!"

20 pairs of mostly blue eyes turned and stared at him in shock, but Jamie did her best to avert a mutiny when she said, "He's a Stanford alum. He gets carried away!"

Most of the relatives smiled at his faux pas, but Brendan locked his gaze on Jim, looking like he wanted to take him outside and teach him a lesson. Martin put his arm around his eldest and whispered something to make him turn around and concentrate on the game again, but he couldn't keep himself from turning around another time or two, his eyes burning with unveiled animosity.

The match was knotted at 18 when Jordan and Ryan rose as one to extend their arms up and over the net to block a ball powerfully off the Stanford setter. All of the O'Flahertys stood with the other Cal fans as Erika served for the match. She looked entirely focused as she tossed over a high percentage serve just to be safe. The rally went on so long that Jamie's stomach was in knots, but to everyone's amazement, the shortest person on the team, 5'4" Michelle Chang, leapt as high as she was able to record her first kill of the match. The Stanford team was so utterly devastated that they could hardly bring themselves to go to the net for the traditional handshake. Even the crowd lapsed into silence, except for the very vocal Cal rooting section.

Jamie noticed that Ryan was wiping her eyes as she hugged the seniors from Stanford, obviously feeling empathy for the team that had never lost at home. The Cardinal coach came up to the net and threw an arm around both Jordan and Ryan and spoke to them for a few moments, finally releasing them to continue their celebration.

Ryan could not contain her joy for another moment, and she raced over to the bleachers and gingerly climbed up to grab Jamie in a powerful hug. "Oh, Baby, I'm so proud of you!" the smaller woman cried, hugging the overheated and thoroughly drenched body.

Catherine started to put a hand on her back, but she pulled it away quickly when she felt the sweat, not sharing that particular affinity with her daughter. Jim shook Ryan's hand, sincerely praising her efforts.

She smiled at him as she turned to head back down, saying, "Next time you'd better sit with the Stanford rooting section, Jim. Your comments could be dangerous to your health with my family around."

Jamie just smirked at her, amazed at Ryan's ability to focus so intently on her game and still hear nearly everything going on in the gym.

It was ten o'clock by the time the last of the guests arrived, and Catherine and Maeve spent a minute marveling at the energy that flowed from the young women as they cavorted in the pool. "Ahh, youth," Maeve said fondly.

"I never had that kind of energy," Catherine admitted. "I think athletes are just different kinds of animals."

"You could be right there," Maeve agreed as Ryan went barreling into the deep end, executing a perfect cannonball.

"Come sit and tell me how married life is treating you," Catherine urged, leading Maeve over to a table.

"Ahh! I just so happen to have some snapshots of the trip," the older woman said. "Your daughter arranged to have a professional photographer come, I'll have you know," she said with a big smile, "but we don't have those pictures yet. I just had my nephew take a few rolls of film with my little camera."

Catherine looked at one of the first pictures, taken the day Maeve arrived in Ireland. "Oh, these must be your parents," she exclaimed.

"Yes, that would be them. John Ryan and Bridget Casey-married 59 years in July," she said proudly.

"My, oh my," Catherine remarked. "Such a long time to be married."

"They're still daft about each other," Maeve chuckled, and Catherine had to admit that she could see the affection the two shared, even in a simple photograph. "I don't think Martin and I will have anything close to their longevity, but I certainly wish our time would come," she said, looking a little disappointed.

"I was a surprised when Jamie said you weren't living together yet," Catherine said slowly. "Is that because you haven't had your church wedding?"

"Yes," Maeve sighed. "I didn't mind at first-I suppose I was still so excited about the trip and everything. But I'm 57 years old, Catherine. I don't want to waste a quarter of a year waiting to live with my Martin. It's actually been wearing on my mind…I'm afraid I'll be so cranky by late January that he won't want to marry me any longer."

Catherine chuckled and assured her that would not be the case. "I think it would take more than a bad mood to scare Martin off. He's clearly very much in love with you, Maeve. How's he faring?"

"Well, Martin is nothing if not disciplined," she commented. "He believes that one just does what one has to do. We're actually spending a little less time together than we did before." She blushed mildly as she admitted, "I think it's too tempting for him to spend our evenings snogging."

"Snogging?" Catherine asked.

"Oh…you know…kissing," she said, still embarrassed.

"Then why wait, Maeve? Surely you could come up with an alternate plan. Would it bother Kevin if you and Martin lived at your house for a few months while you waited for Niall's house to be completed?"

"We haven't even asked him," she admitted, looking a little puzzled as she said this. "I suppose we hatched this plan, and now we're stuck with it."

"Nonsense," Catherine said. "We can put a wedding together in a week or two. Talk to Martin and see if he feels like you do."

"All right," she said tentatively. "I suppose I could be ready sooner-although I had planned on buying a nice dress." She shook her head briskly and said, "Ahh…no need. I can wear the one my sister bought for me in Ireland."

Catherine was thumbing through the pictures, and she came upon the ones from the actual wedding. "Is this the dress you mean?" she asked curiously.

"Yes, that's it," Maeve said. "It's perfectly serviceable," she insisted.

Catherine surveyed the plain ivory colored gown and thought privately that it did nothing for her friend. The color was too close to her skin tone, making her look exceedingly washed out, and the dress was of a style more suited to an older woman, not showing off Maeve's trim figure in the least.

The older woman continued, "My darling younger sister took me shopping, since I had not brought anything special enough to get married in. We could have done a better job if we had the time, but we were forced to go to a little shop in Ballina. They only had three dresses in my size," she commented. "This was really the best of the lot."

"I would love to go shopping with you, Maeve," Catherine said. "This dress is very nice, but it won't do to wear it twice. Isn't that some kind of bad luck?" she asked teasingly.

The older woman looked a little unhappy as she said, "I can't spend the money on something so frivolous, Catherine. I have a nice navy blue dress that I can wear. I'm sure that will be fine."

Catherine cocked her head and asked, "Do they have the good luck aphorism in Ireland that you should wear something borrowed for your wedding?"

"No, but I know what you mean," Maeve said.

"Let's go up to my room for a few minutes. I'd like to test a theory," the smiling blonde woman said.

Maeve was more than taken aback as Catherine led her to her walk-in closet. She looked around with a wide-eyed expression and finally was unable to stop herself from exclaiming, "My goodness, this looks like the finest clothing store in Kinsale!" She had never been to Kinsale, but the tony Dublin suburb was well known for having some of the most elegant boutiques in all of Ireland.

"It's rather ridiculous," Catherine said, acknowledging that she spent far too much money on clothes. "I had to attend so many social functions with Jim and for my own charity work," she said. "It's just not done to wear the same thing to multiple functions, so most of these things have only been worn once," she admitted.

Maeve gazed around at the gorgeous clothing that was arranged according to color, shaking her head in amazement the entire time. Her hand lifted as she fingered some of the garments, stunned by the rich feel of the fabrics. "Remarkable," she murmured, unable to come up with anything more complex.

Catherine placed a hand on Maeve's shoulder and said, "My theory is that you and I are about the same size. Would you be interested in testing it out?"