The Parting Glass (52 page)

In the kitchen he refused everything but apple juice and sat lethargically in his high chair as the others breakfasted.

“He’s certainly not himself,” Irene said. “We can actually hear each other’s chatter this morning.”

“I hope it’s only a cold,” Peggy said. “But I’m going to check his throat after breakfast, if Megan will hold him for me.”

“Perhaps Finn will have a look at him.”

Peggy wondered if he would. She wasn’t overly worried. Colds and fevers were commonplace, and Kieran would certainly have his share. Still, she wouldn’t mind a consultation, particularly if his throat turned out to be infected.

It was red, as she discovered after breakfast, and even in the hour since she had taken his temperature, his fever seemed to have climbed. She gave him acetaminophen and additional juice; then she sat with him in her lap and rocked while he lay dazed against her.

By the time Finn arrived to see Irene, she was growing concerned. He stopped by to say hello and frowned when he saw her rocking Kieran.

“That’s not a sight I’ve seen often,” he said.

“He’s sick.” Peggy helped the little boy turn. “His throat is red and swollen, and the last time I took his temperature it was 102.”

“That would be high for an adult, but not so bad for a baby.”

She was annoyed that he was placating her. “I know that, but I’m afraid he has an infection he’ll need an antibiotic for. And before you tell me that doctors don’t prescribe antibiotics for every little sniffle anymore, I know that.”

“Good.”

He didn’t volunteer to look at Kieran, and she sighed. “Finn, would you mind just taking a peek at him?”

He was silent so long that she knew what his answer would be. “I don’t practice medicine anymore, Peggy. You know that.”

“You see Irene. You still have a license to practice. You even have a medical practice you haven’t sold. I’m not asking you to do major surgery. Just to look at his throat and prescribe something if he needs it.”

“You need to take him to see Beck. I can give you the number. He’s in his surgery in Westport today, but if you let his nurse know that I told you to take Kieran to him, I’m fairly certain he’ll see him.”

She thought about the long drive into Westport with a sick child, and not just any sick child but an autistic child for whom new experiences were excruciating. She wouldn’t have given it a thought if Finn hadn’t been standing right here. But he
was
here, and he had the knowledge and the license to prescribe. He just didn’t have the courage.

She bit off her reply. “That’s what I’ll do, then.”

He didn’t say anything more, didn’t wish her well or encourage her. He went in search of Irene, and Peggy didn’t see him again.

Megan accompanied them to Westport, and between them they got Kieran into the reception area to wait for Dr. Beck. Then, while Megan went off to explore the city’s cheerful streets and shops, Peggy waited.

Kieran was frantic with exhaustion when the doctor finally got to him, two hours later. Dr. Beck was a young man, harried, condescending and dismissive. He gave her a prescription for a decongestant and cough syrup, then gazed with icy amusement over rimless glasses when she asked for an antibiotic.

“Prescribing medication is
my
job, Miss Donaghue.”

She told herself to remain calm. “I certainly understand that, and I appreciate your caution. But he’s
my
son, and I think this is more than a simple cold. Will you do a throat culture, just to be sure?”

“I think I know the difference between a serious infection and a little virus.” He stood to usher her out of the room. “I’ve seen this same thing over and over for the past two weeks. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“I know how busy you are. You have too many patients and too little time. I understand that. But please—”

He shook his head and left the room ahead of her.

Megan was in the waiting room when Peggy returned, fuming silently. By now Kieran was so tired and so feverish that he fell asleep in Peggy’s arms as she carried him to Megan’s rental car.

By the time they got to Irene’s, Peggy’s anger had intensified. She had tried and failed to understand Finn’s side of this. Kieran wasn’t just any child; Kieran was the child of his lover. Surely Finn knew the sentence he had imposed by his refusal to look at Kieran himself. He knew Beck. He knew the man was seriously overworked and seriously lacking in bedside manner. Beck had completely dismissed Kieran’s autism, even hinted that the child was simply spoiled and needed discipline. Only innate good manners and good sense had stopped her from telling him exactly what she thought of him. And Finn had known what she would be up against.

She was alone in the kitchen when Finn came for his nightly visit. Megan had driven into town to buy ice cream in hopes that Kieran could be tempted to eat some for supper. Irene was in her room resting and reading, and Kieran was sound asleep.

“Did you take Kieran to see Beck today?”

She was washing glasses for supper, and she didn’t turn to speak to him. “I did, for all the good it did.”

“He’s a good enough doctor.”

“Maybe that’s true when he’s not being an arrogant son of a bitch, or when he’s not so overworked that a throat culture might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. But for all the good that trip did, I could have kept poor Kieran here and bought medicine over the counter at the pharmacy.”

“You’re angry.”

“Damned tooting.” This time she did turn. “You could have looked at him. You could have saved the poor little guy hours of waiting in a strange office. You could have saved me from dealing with Doctor God. But you couldn’t see your way to that, could you?”

“No.”

She was exhausted, and she felt something snapping inside her that could not be repaired. “When does this fear of making mistakes step over the line into self-pity, Finn? Are you afraid, or just too sorry for yourself to move on? This village needs its own doctor. And not just anybody. They need Finn O’Malley. Kieran is just one child who had to make the trip to Westport or Castlebar or God knows where to be treated by God knows who. And you’re laying pipe or hammering boards or installing stoves, whatever the heck it is you do. And all those years of training and all that raw talent are lying fallow.”

“You’ve finished?”

She stared at him for a long moment. “Yes, I’m afraid I have.”

“This is beginning to sound like it’s about more than my decision not to be a doctor.”

“Maybe it is. Maybe it’s about whether you’re ever going to let go of the past and embrace the future.”

“Not any future, though, am I right? The one you have planned for me.”

“What does that mean?”

“You want me whole. You want the man I was before I drowned my wife and children.”

“No, I want the man who can move beyond mourning an accident that wasn’t his fault, the man who sees that his future can hold more than self-loathing and despair if he’ll just stop punishing himself.”

She had gone too far, and she knew it. She wasn’t surprised when he left the kitchen without another word.

Somewhere between the cottage and Shanmullin, Megan realized that she had to go home. Someday she wanted a real tour of Ireland, but for now, she needed to be with Niccolo. Peggy was right. She had let fear stop her from telling him what she really needed. Niccolo loved her—distance had clarified that for her—but he didn’t know how to be a husband any more than she knew how to be a wife. That was so easy to see now. She had to risk being honest with him, and in return, she had to really listen to his side of things.

So simple, but so difficult. She wasn’t sure how the human race had survived for so many thousands of years.

By the time she was on her way back to Irene’s with vanilla ice cream and more fruit juice, she was ready to call the airlines and book a flight.

As she pulled up to the cottage, she noted a strange car parked beside the door, the bumper sporting a sticker from the same company that had rented hers. For one ecstatic moment she wondered if her husband had come to Ireland to claim her. But she was nearly as happy when she saw Casey standing in the doorway.

“Case!” It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen her recently, but Megan hurried up the walkway to give her sister a hug. “What on earth?”

“I decided you two were having all the fun here, and that’s not fair. So I hopped a plane.”

Megan’s plans to return to Ohio vanished. She couldn’t leave right away, not when this had become a Donaghue sister reunion. Her emotions were decidedly mixed.

“I’m not here for long,” Casey warned, before Megan could respond. “But I plan to pack plenty into a couple of days.”

Megan hoped her relief wasn’t apparent. She could leave for home when Casey did, and she would actually have company on the trip. “Next you’ll tell me that Rooney and Aunt Dee are on their way, and all that’s left of the Tierney family of Shanmullin will be under one roof.”

“I don’t think we’ll ever get Rooney in an airplane, but Aunt Dee’s planning to visit Peggy in the fall. Which is good timing, since I don’t think this incredible cottage would hold us all at once.”

“It held our ancestors, who knows how many at one time?”

Peggy joined them. She was clearly thrilled to have Casey with them, but she looked exhausted. The day had been frustrating and difficult. “Kieran’s just waking up. Let’s see if we can get some more juice in him and a little ice cream. Then we can catch up.”

They caught up around a turf fire, more for effect than warmth. Irene had refused to go to bed before they did, and she joined them to hear what Casey had learned on the airplane from the newest batch of Maura McSweeney’s letters. First they told Casey about Liam’s involvement with the IRA and his hopes that Tim McNulty would contribute to their coffers.

“But McNulty lost everything during a Prohibition raid on Whiskey Island,” Megan finished. “So there was nothing left to donate to anybody. And Liam was nearly caught and jailed.”

Casey settled herself more comfortably against the cushions of Irene’s sofa. “There are a lot of letters. I have the copies with me. I’ve had to piece this together, a little here, a little there. But it seems as if our grandfather Glen fell in love with McNulty’s daughter and she with him. McNulty had other ideas for her, particularly after his bootlegging empire came crashing down around him. He wanted Clare, the daughter, to marry another bootlegger. Instead she sneaked away to marry Grandfather. And guess where?”

Megan looked at Irene, who refused to give anything away. “You
know,
don’t you? This is something else you’ve kept to yourself.”

Irene’s eyes widened innocently. “I’m an old woman. I know so much, I can’t remember where I’ve filed it all.”

Megan knew better, but she didn’t challenge her. “Where?” she asked Casey.

“At the saloon. At
our
saloon. Father McSweeney himself was performing the ceremony when the other bootlegger, some guy named Cassidy, started firing through the front windows. They escaped into—” She paused and smiled sadly. “Guess where?”

Peggy answered. “There’s only one place to escape. We found that out ourselves. The tunnel?”

“Exactly. When they thought it was safe they went upstairs again, but Clare stayed behind, claiming she needed a moment to recover. In the meantime, Glen was outside trying to find Cassidy. She heard gunfire. No one knows exactly why she went outside. Maybe to find Glen and bring him in through the tunnel? Maybe to offer herself as a sacrifice? No one’s sure. But Cassidy killed her. And guess what?”

Casey turned to Irene before they could guess. “
Your
father was there. Liam helped Clare escape her father’s house and brought her to the saloon. And apparently he stayed behind to be sure she was safe. Together he and Glen were trying to stop Cassidy when she was killed. They brought Clare inside the tunnel. Together. But she died in Glen’s arms.”

They fell silent. On the hearth, the turf crackled audibly.

Finally Peggy spoke. “That’s probably the saddest story I’ve ever heard. And I can’t figure out why I never heard it before. This was our grandfather, and I thought I’d heard every family story at least a hundred times.”

“I can make a guess,” Megan said. “Grandfather must have been devastated. He married late, remember? And when he did, and found happiness at last with our grandmother, no one wanted to remind him of the tragedy of his youth. As a family, we’re as good at keeping important secrets as we are at blathering forever about anything that’s not.”

“But he’s been dead a long time.”

“I imagine the story just disappeared, out of respect for our grandmother. And those who lived it are gone now. No one talks about Prohibition, either, or the speakeasy upstairs that wasn’t supposed to be there. Different times, times to keep silent about.”

“Was there anything more, Casey?” Peggy asked. “Irene still doesn’t know how her father died.”

Irene spoke before Casey could. “As a matter of fact, dear, I do.”

Peggy didn’t look surprised. She rose and found an afghan on the back of a chair and took it to Irene, tucking it around her legs. “Then I think we’d better make you nice and comfortable, because this may be a long night. Why don’t you start with why you’ve been telling us one story when another is obviously true? If you’ve known the way your father died all along, then you’ve been misrepresenting more than I thought. And don’t use that excuse about wanting to find out what kind of women we are. You already have that figured out.”

“And there’s no better way to discover a person’s character than to ask for help,” Irene confirmed. “But there’s a bit more to it than that. I’ll let the rest of the story come out on its own, I think. It’s time now. In fact, the timing couldn’t be better with Casey here.” She beamed at Casey. The two had hit if off immediately.

“Is this going to be it?” Megan pulled her legs beneath her and rested the back of her head against the sofa. “Because I do have to go home someday, you know. We all do.”

“Oh yes, you do have to go home, dear. You’d need to, even if there was no other reason than to discover the end of this story.”