The Parting Glass (35 page)

Peggy wished she’d thought of that. With the windows open they could easily hear Irene or Kieran if they awoke, and the sun went down so late that there was still plenty of light. “I’ll get a tray.”

“I’ll spread a blanket.”

She met him outside a few minutes later. Poached salmon wasn’t exactly picnic fare, but it tasted even better in the evening air. They ate and listened to the sounds of sheep in nearby paddocks and the persistent call of a cuckoo, which never failed to delight Peggy. The temperature was dropping, and clouds were moving in. Peggy had changed into sweatpants as evening approached, and now she was glad. Before he returned, Finn had changed out of his shorts—which she silently mourned—but the man did justice to a pair of jeans, too.

“I think it’s going to rain,” she told him, looking up at the sky. Wispy clouds were gathering force, and she knew from experience what that meant in the west of Ireland.

“Then it’ll be a good night for a fire. Would you like one?”

She was fond of the smell of burning turf, which had seemed familiar almost from the beginning of her stay here. She supposed the acrid fragrance had wormed its way into and attached itself permanently to the Tierney genes. The centuries of plant life compressed into those slabs had seen Ireland’s triumphs and sorrows, and many of her family’s, as well.

“You’re sure you want to stay?” she asked. “Because I can monitor her through the night, and you’re just a phone call away.”

“I’ll feel better if I’m close by. Move your plate.”

She looked down at her lap. “Why?”

“Because my head’s going there.”

She was glad he wasn’t monitoring
her
heart rate. “And if I say no?”

“How can I tell you stories if I’m not looking up at the heavens?”

“Stories?”

“Well, most of our stories take years to tell. We’re a talkative people.”

“We took that with us to the New World. You should hear my family.”

“I could tell you a bit about Fionn Mac Cumhain, for whom I’m named, but we’d still be here next week.”

“That’s Finn McCool the giant?”

“One and the same. More or less.”

She smiled. “I know some of the stories. I grew up on them. What was your mother thinking?”

“She let my grandmother do the honors. I was to be a giant of a man, in whatever way I chose. Do you want to hear about our stars or don’t you?”

She moved her empty plate with no reluctance. He lay down, knees up, head nestled in her lap. “We’ll start with the sun, since it’s sneaking over the horizon. Did you know that if a woman sleeps outside in the sunshine, pregnancy is nearly guaranteed?”

“Does sunscreen prevent it?” She smoothed his hair back from his forehead. She liked the broad expanse of his forehead and the way his hairline dipped into something just short of a widow’s peak. The intimacy of this position certainly didn’t escape her. It felt absolutely right.

“There’s no research on that,” he said. “Maybe we could apply for a grant.”

“What else?”

“The moon has her stories, too.”

Peggy had her own. “We had moon stories in the emergency room where I worked. When it was full, we had to triage our patients. The place was always a zoo.”

“Must be universal and timeless. The ancients believed the moon caused insanity.”

“It’s that old devil moon….” She hummed a few bars until he winced. “You know, you’re going to have to get used to my singing.”

“I’m terrified I might.”

She laughed and gently tugged a lock of his hair. “What about the stars?”

“The luck, or lack of it, you have in your life depends on what star you’re born under.”

“Astrology, huh? Irish style?”

“When a soul moves from purgatory to heaven, a meteor streaks across the sky.” He paused. “I may just have run out of sky lore.”

“Where did you learn all that?”

“My grandmother—the one who named me—lived on
Inis Mór,
in the Aran Islands. Stars are the nightly entertainment. I spent summers with her and learned all the constellations. I’d point them out if it were darker.”

“Always a scientist, huh?”

“I preferred the myth to the science. The romantic Irish soul. I was born a storyteller.”

“Do you tell Bridie stories?”

“Not anymore.”

She waited, giving him time to elaborate. Talking about himself was Finn’s greatest trial.

“I used to tell stories to the three of them,” he said at last. “Every night. Mark loved them the most, even before the words made sense to him, I think. He loved the rhythm, the rise and fall of my voice. He would sit there, wide-eyed, nodding as if I was one of the heroes I spoke of.”

The picture tore at her heart. “Tell me more about him.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s the only way I’ll ever know him, the only way anyone will now. You have to tell Mark’s story, and Brian’s, too. So they’ll be remembered. It’s the Irish way.”

“And if remembering them is like walking on hot coals?”

“It won’t always be.”

“You would know that? From personal experience?”

She stroked his hair. “Finn…”

He was silent so long she didn’t think he would speak again. When he did speak, his voice was rough. “His hair was darker than Bridie’s. More golden brown, and his eyes were dark like mine. He had a child’s turned-up nose and freckles. He had colic as a baby, and Sheila was desperate to trade him in. I promised we would if he still had it when he was three.”

Peggy laughed softly.

“He loved Bridie’s pony. I’d promised him one of his own on his next birthday.”

“The anticipation must have been delicious.”

“He was marking off days on the calendar. It was the first thing I saw when I came home after the accident. Mark’s calendar, one childish X after another.”

“Each one put there with great joy, Finn.”

“If only I’d bought him the pony for Christmas.”

She smoothed his forehead. “Tell me about Brian.”

“Smaller than Mark at the same age. The darkest hair of the three. It probably would have been nearly as dark as mine. More precocious, but more the baby, too. He liked the way everyone hovered over him. Mark tolerated him, and only a little at that. But as Brian got older, they showed signs of becoming friends.”

“How did Bridie get along with them?”

“Bridie was in charge, and nobody disputed it. For a fragile-looking child, she’s surprisingly strong.”

“I think she’s the most delightful little girl I’ve ever met.”

“She talks about nothing but you and Kieran.”

“She’s so patient with him.” Peggy hesitated, then went on. “I think Bridie can sympathize with the way it feels to live in a world you don’t understand. Kieran’s days are a mixture of confusing signals, and in some ways, hers are, as well. I’m not sure life feels very safe for either of them.”

“Because she lost so much?”

“Yes, and because she’s not sure what she still has.”

“I suppose you’re referring to me.”

“I’m not judging you. It would be foolish to believe you could simply adjust and move on after such a terrible thing. The world changed for both of you. You have to feel your way.”

“She needs more than I can give her. I know that.”

“Were you close before the accident?”

“I fell in love with Bridie the moment I saw her. I was too young when she was born. I was married to a woman I really didn’t know, and the pregnancy was difficult, so between that and my education, we didn’t get to know each other very well in those months, either. Sheila spent more time at the home of her parents than she did with me. By the time Sheila delivered, I was fairly certain I didn’t want an infant cluttering our lives. Then I saw Bridie, and that was that.”

“I was glad you came to help out with Kieran today. It was a good way to spend time with her.”

“I don’t think I could be around your son so much if he wanted more from me.”

Clearly Finn was a man of hidden depths, she just hadn’t realized he was so well acquainted with them.

“I don’t think Kieran knows what he wants,” Peggy said. “And I’m not sure there are any books to help me teach him. But if we can teach him to respond outwardly the way most children do, maybe he’ll be able to understand and express his feelings someday.”

“We?”

“Don’t worry, I know today was an anomaly. I’m not expecting an hour of your help every day.”

“Help for you, or for Kieran?”

“Both.”

“I’m impressed with the way you’re handling your life and his. You take chances not many women would take, like coming here, quitting what you really love to devote yourself to helping him.”

“I loved medicine. I love him more.”

“Does it really have to be an either-or?”

“It does on my budget. He needs intervention now, not after I’ve finished my residency and I can afford the best programs for him.”

“How is it going?”

“Not well.”

“Then what’s the next step?”

“It’s too early to think about that. Three months isn’t long enough to see a marked improvement. If nothing’s changed by next spring, I’m going to have to reevaluate.”

“You’ll leave Ireland either way?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

He moved from her lap and propped his head on one hand. “Did I tell you my favorite piece of sky lore? I don’t think I did.”

“Try me and we’ll see.”

“Come down here first.”

The idea of lying beside him on the blanket sent warning signals jangling along Peggy’s nerve endings. She peered at him through lowered lashes. “What happens to a woman who lies outside in the light of a rising moon?”

“She gets cold unless she has a warm man lying beside her.”

She wondered if warning signals were the right explanation for what she was feeling. Anticipation might be a better term. She lowered herself to the ground beside him, and their thighs caressed companionably through denim and fleece.

He pointed above them. “Look up at the sky.”

The sun was finally gone, and the streaks of glorious color it had left behind were gone, too. The light was quickly fading, and the sky seemed to turn darker as she watched, spurred on by gathering clouds.

“What am I looking for?” she asked.

“The first star.”

“It’s too cloudy.”

“Not if you’re observant.”

She took up the challenge. They lay side by side, quietly gazing up, until she thought a thousand stars could come out and she would be too blind to see any of them.

She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, a glimmer of light appeared in the sky directly above them. “Look.” She pointed. “First star.”

“Very good.”

“Now, what’s the story?”

“Well, if a woman sees the first star in the company of a man who kisses her, she’ll get her fondest wish.”

Her breath left her lungs in a whoosh. “That part about being in the company of a man who kisses her? That’s entirely new to me.”

“You still have things to learn.”

“How long can my wish be?”

“Don’t waste a good opportunity. One long run-on sentence is the norm.”

She made her wish as he leaned over her, a wish that began with Irene’s improvement and ended with Kieran’s. And in the middle were wishes for Finn and Bridie, and one for herself. They flowed together into one fervent “please” as she wound her arms around his neck.

Finn was satisfied with Irene’s progress. Her color was better, her breathing much easier. She woke up when he took her vital signs, seemed oriented and coherent, then drifted back to sleep without a fuss once he’d finished.

He joined Peggy in the kitchen, where she was washing dishes. She was a modern, no-nonsense woman who still seemed to take pleasure in the simplest of things. Her hair swung as she swayed from side to side in rhythm with the washing and rinsing. Her sleeves were pushed up over her elbows, exposing delicate wrists. There was nothing about Peggy that didn’t physically please him.

She turned when she realized he was standing in the doorway. “How is she?”

“I think she’s out of the woods. For now.”

“But these acute episodes will become more common, won’t they?”

“It’s an old heart, and a weak one. You might go in to wake her next time and find she’s gone.”

She halted in the midst of rinsing a plate. “She needs monitored long-term care, doesn’t she? Did I delay that by coming to stay with her?”

“She needs to be
here.
Adding months to a life she despises is no gift. I just want you to understand your own risk. You’ll feel guilty. You’ll be certain you could have done more, that if you’d only checked on her earlier, or left her door open so you could hear her call you, or decided not to take Kieran for a walk, she would still be alive.”

“Thank you.” She took a deep breath, almost as if she was inhaling and absorbing what he’d said. “It’s a good warning. And you? Will you be able to let go of Irene without feeling you failed her?”

He had thought about it enough to know he could. “I’d fail Irene if I insisted she move away. If I hadn’t agreed to look after her, she might already be dead. Of course, insisting I care for her here is her way of proving to me that I’m still competent. Two birds with one stone. She was never a woman to mince words or waste time.”

“Or maybe it’s her way of helping you learn to let go. More gradually and naturally than you were forced to before.”

“This is the way people should die. After a long life lived, for the most part, the way they wanted. Surrounded by people who love them. Happy with what they had time to accomplish.” He hadn’t meant to sound bitter, but the undertone was there.

“Oh Lord, I want that fire.” Peggy shivered. The wind had picked up as the sun went down, and Finn felt the chill coming through the old walls, despite being used to it. They didn’t need heat, but it was a perfect night for a small fire on the hearth.

“How soundly does Kieran sleep?” he asked.

“Why?”

“Because I have an idea how to entertain you tonight.”

She raised a brow, and he laughed, because he knew she was thinking of their kiss on the blanket. “How soundly?” he repeated.

“If I drop him on his head, he might wake up. If I set off firecrackers under his bed…”