The Eclective: The Celtic Collection

by The Eclective

  Mattie’s eyes widened. “Oh my God, dear, where did you get that?” It was a small green plastic shamrock. “It looks just like—”

  “It is from that place where you and Daddy met, Mom.”

  “You mean The Lucky Charm?”

  “Yes. He said they kept little ashtrays of them on the bar.”

  Mattie couldn’t believe it. “Yes, for good luck.” She grinned. “Mostly people would throw them at each other after a few shots of whiskey. When did you get this?”

  Emily’s tone turned pensive. “When Daddy was in the hospice. He had some from that last time you and he visited Ireland. When you were out talking to the doctors, he gave me five and said it would be his and my secret. He said he thought you might get emotional at certain times as I grew up and whenever I sensed one of those times was about to happen I was supposed to give you one. That way you would know he was with you. So…here.”

  Mattie’s sensed a flutter in her midsection as she accepted the small shamrock.

  “That means Daddy’s watching us, Mom.”

  Mattie gripped the cheap three leaf clover and reached over and embraced her daughter. But strangely the tears didn’t come. Damn, she did feel good. Joe was watching. “Thank you, baby. This means so much to me. Really.”

  For almost a minute they held each other until a rap on the window startled them. A pretty girl dressed in a cap and gown shouted, “Emily, let’s go. I don’t want to walk in alone. Oh, hi, Mrs. O’Malley.”

  “Congratulations, Bridget.”

  Emily was watching her mother. “Mom?”

  Mattie grinned. “I’m fine, now go. I’ll see you after the ceremony.” She watched her daughter bounce from the car.

  After only a few steps, Emily paused and looked back. “I love you.”

  Mattie waved with the hand holding the shamrock. “Love you, too, baby.”

  And so does your daddy.

  ***

  “Mom, I’m worried about you.”

  Mattie arranged the white lace veil around her daughter’s face. “Emily, don’t say such foolishness. This is your day. My God, I can’t believe you’re going to be a wife. It only seemed like last week I was—”

  “Teaching me to drive.”

  Both mother and daughter laughed. That had been an experience. Or her daughter’s freshman year at Stanford when Mattie had to fly up to Palo Alto the day after St. Patrick’s Day because Emily had been admitted to the hospital for severe stomach cramps. But it wasn’t appendicitis as the doctors had initially thought—Emily had drunk too much Irish whiskey at a frat party. Mattie could smile now, though at the time she’d been livid. At least the experience had taught Emily a lesson. She no longer drank, except a little socially. Time did fly. Fours years of college, five more years of law school and an internship. Emily had done so well.

  Outside the private dressing room, Mattie could hear the organ playing. She imagined how full the church would be. Both Emily and Frank, the groom, had plenty of friends. And it was a big church—far larger than the small chapel in Laguna Beach where she and Joe had been married. She gazed at her daughter. Emily was one gorgeous bride. Frank Aron was a luck man. But Mattie liked Frank, and though he wasn’t Irish, she thought they were perfect for each other. She grinned to herself.

  She took one of Emily’s hands. She could feel her eyes watering. “It’s almost time, dear.”

  Emily squeezed her palm. “Nervous?”

  “That should be my question.”

  “You know you can come live in San Francisco with Frank and me.”

  “I’m happy in Los Angeles.”

  “But you’re alone.”

  “Emily, I have friends. And a mother shouldn’t live with her newlywed daughter.”

  “Sell the house. It’s paid for. Get a condo. And date, will you? You’re the best looking sixty-five-year-old I know. Frank even said his dad has some male friends—”

  “This is not a conversation we should be having right before you’re to be married.”

  “Mom, promise me you’ll visit a lot.”

  Mattie smiled. “You won’t be able to get rid of me.”

  A soft knock said it was time. Emily’s face tensed. “Mom, I am nervous!”

  Mattie held her a long moment. “You’ll do fantastic, baby.”

  The door opened. “Mrs. O’Malley, they’re ready for you,” one of the ushers said. “I’ll escort you.” The organ music echoed from the corridor.

  “Mom,” Emily squealed. “Wait.” She removed a small envelope form under a vase of roses. “Now go, I’ll be close behind.”

  They embraced and then the usher had Mattie by the arm. Mattie took her seat in the front pew and waited. Just as the wedding march began she opened the envelope allowing the tiny green shamrock to slip into her hand. Oh, Emily, you didn’t.

  ***

  Mattie O’Malley turned sixty-eight three weeks before her grandson was born. For the first time in her life she was feeling a little old. Retired from nursing, she spent much of her spare time exercising, trying to stay in shape. Yet, the aches in her knees and hips told her it was time to curtail the jogging and try an alternative form of recreation. Aqua aerobics suited her, though she didn’t think she would ever get used to the coolness of the water.

  When she looked in the mirror, her reflection told her what she already knew—she was getting older. And for the first time she could ever recall, she was relieved Joe couldn’t see her like this. Crowsfeet, a few wrinkles under her chin, breasts—God, don’t even go there—and gray hair that constantly needed dying.

  Some days, Mattie would attempt to imagine what she’d looked like when she was married—she’d only been twenty-three. This wasn’t a good idea. How could four decades slide by without her knowing it? It only depressed her. And even after giving birth to Emily at thirty-eight she’d still looked great. Yet now… She couldn’t resist contemplating how Joe would look today? However she adamantly refused to recall those last images of him, rather her mind maintained a portfolio of mental photos of a young robust Joe—the Joe who walked into The Lucky Charm wearing a silly leprechaun’s hat and smelling of Irish Creed.

  Why couldn’t they have had Emily when she was younger? She and Joe had tried for fifteen years. She should be at least ten years younger expecting her first grandchild. Not sixty-eight. Yet, she realized she should be thankful. Emily was one of the two best things that had happened in her life, the other being Joe O’Malley. Still, she couldn’t help thinking of all the St. Patrick’s Days she and Joe had missed together. Living alone, she rarely celebrated the Irish holiday anymore. This only made her more despondent.

  When the phone rang that morning, Mattie had been expecting a call from one of her bridge partners. Bridge. Yup, she was bonafide old.

  It was Frank, though. “Mattie.”

  Instantly she detected the strain in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “Mattie, Emily needs you up here. It’s the baby. He’s decided to come early.”

  Mattie booked the first flight she could get out of LAX and Frank picked her up at San Francisco International Airport. “How’s Emily?” she gushed before she’d even hugged him.

  Her son-in-law wore a crooked grin. “Emily’s fine, Mattie. And so is Joe Jr,” he added.

  Mattie literally felt like she was going to burst with joy. “No!”

  Frank embraced her. “Yes, Mattie, you’re a grandmother. Congratulations.”

  Mattie couldn’t hold still on the drive to the hospital. Oh Joe, we’re grandparents! She kept fidgeting.

  Frank glanced at her. “Relax, Grandma,” he quipped.

  “Everything’s really fine?”

  Frank nodded proudly. “Mattie, everything’s perfect.”

  After parking, Frank led them to the lobby and then toward the elevators. He pressed the button for the maternity ward. But just before the doors opened on the third floor, Mattie felt Frank touch her shoulder. “Mattie”, he started, bef
ore pausing.

  “What is it, Frank?” His expression looked odd.

  “Mattie,” he began again. “I’m sure this is something private between you and Emily—she wouldn’t explain—but she did instruct me to give this to you when I saw you. It doesn’t mean much to me, but Emily assured me you would understand. So…here.”

  Mattie held out her hand and Frank dropped the little green shamrock into her palm. This time Mattie did cry.

  ***

  Mattie checked the time again. The big clock above the mantel said 10:25 AM. Emily and Joe Jr. would be here in five minutes. She couldn’t wait to see them. She’d taken some extra aspirin to alleviate the arthritic pain in her knees and back. It was helping some, too, along with the medications the doctors had prescribed. Regardless, no way would she allow a little discomfort to prevent her from a trip to the San Francisco zoo with her grandson and daughter.

  Joe Jr. was six now—such a fun age to watch a child run around and explore the world. She recalled how she and Joe had gone on so many tiny excursions—the beach, planetarium, parks, carnivals—when Emily was young. They’d had so much fun together—before the tumor. Emily had been such a precocious child and Joe Jr. seemed bent on following in his mother’s footsteps.

  Four years ago Mattie had finally heeded her daughter’s advice and pulled up stakes in Los Angeles and moved to the Bay area. She loved her condo and thought Joe would have approved. This near her family, she noticed she was no longer as depressed. True, she wasn’t pleased with her appearance—it seemed more wrinkles appeared everyday—but she dealt with it better. Talking to Joe helped. I’m old now, Joe. She would imagine him chuckling and remarking, we both are, baby. Mattie would reply, I still miss you so damn much, Joe O’Malley.

  These private conversations helped Mattie though she never mentioned them to Emily. Sometimes she would take the tram down to the bay and watch the water. In some ways, especially when the sky was overcast and gray, the ocean reminded her of the water off the coast of Ireland. It was strange and something she regretted that she’d never made a trip back to Kinsale after that last one with Joe on their twentieth anniversary—over three decades ago. Now with her arthritis she was too old. She could barely take the tram anymore. She knew a part of her and Joe would always be in that quaint Irish pub The Lucky Charm where she and Joe had first met, if the bar was even there anymore. At least she had the three shamrocks. Once a week it seemed she took them from the tiny jewelry box where she kept them safe and held them in her hands—Emily’s high school graduation, Emily’s marriage, the arrival of her grandson.

  She’d even begun celebrating St. Patrick’s Day again, though not like she and Joe used to. But the doctors had told her a half shot of Tullamore Dew wouldn’t hurt so she would put on some Irish music and drink to Joe, her and The Lucky Charm.

  At just a little past ten:thirty the door bell rang. Emily and Joe Jr. were here!

  “Grandma,” Joe Jr. squealed rushing to Mattie.

  “Aren’t you growing,” Mattie exclaimed, wishing she could lift him, yet realizing those days were long past.

  Emily walked over and kissed her mom on the cheek. “You look good.”

  “Yeah, for a seventy-four year old.”

  “How’s the arthritis, this moisture not too bad on the joints?”

  “I’m fine.” Mattie watched Emily fusing with Joe Jr.’s jacket, just the way she used to fuss with Emily when she was young. Emily was thirty-six and still looked fantastic. A touch of sadness crept over Mattie. What if Joe suddenly appeared in the living room and saw them both—beautiful Emily and old Mattie—what would he say? The thought was ludicrous and quickly she shrugged it off. Today was going to be a fun outing.

  And it was. As were the many other fun times Mattie spent with her family. The years zipped by, seemingly in overdrive now. St. Patrick’s Days came and went. Every year that passed Mattie sensed a vague undefined pull on her psyche. She couldn’t explain it, not to herself and Lord knows she never discussed this strange sensation with anyone else. Her arthritis continued to worsen to the point that at times she began to wonder if she’d ever really been that sexy vibrant woman that had caught Joe O’Malley’s heart across the Atlantic along the Irish coast so many years ago.

  By the time Joe Jr. graduated from high school Mattie was using a walker. She was eighty-six. Emily still looked pretty damn good for a woman nearing fifty. Some of Joe Jr.’s buddies had even made comments about his good looking mom. Not about the old wizened grandmother, though. That’s because they never saw much of her. Mattie kept inside most days and rarely ventured outside except for a five or ten minute walk every so often. Her spine had taken on an unwelcome curve giving her the appearance of a humpback. God, some days she just wished she could go to sleep and not wake up. Yet, again that pull would return keeping her going. All she could guess was she wasn’t ready yet. For what she wasn’t ready for, she wasn’t sure—dying?

  Joe Jr. graduated from Emily’s alma mater, Stanford, with high honors. Mattie didn’t make the ceremony though she’d wanted so badly to go. She just wasn’t feeling well the evening of the festivities. Stomach flu the doctors had called it. Rest and fluids. For a ninety year old, stomach viruses could be fatal.

  Emily and Frank kept their promise, though, and brought Joe Jr. by to visit her the next day when she was feeling better. Joe Jr. had a surprise for Mattie when he introduced her to a young pretty redhead by his side.

  “Grandma,” Joe Jr. began. “I’d like you to meet Rachel. She’s my fiancé.”

  Mattie’s wrinkled face broke into a huge grin. She glanced at Emily and Frank who both nodded. Reaching for Joe Jr.’s hands, she gushed, “You and Rachel are getting married?”

  Everyone laughed. Emily said, “Yes Mom, that’s usually what happens between a grandson and his fiancé.”

  Joe Jr. replied, “You bet, Grandma. The wedding is going to be next St. Patrick’s Day.”

  Mattie felt a familiar flutter in her abdomen. “Your grandfather and I were married on St. Patrick’s Day.”

  Rachel reached out and took her hand. “I know, Mrs. O’Malley. That’s part of the reason Joe and I chose that special day.”

  Mattie looked at her. “Part of the reason?”

  Rachel grinned. “Also, I’m Irish. My last name is O’Toole.”

  To Mattie’s amazement, they’d stayed until past lunch. She hadn’t had this much enjoyment in a long time. Talking to her guests made her forget about her humped back, arthritic joints and upset stomach. She even broke out her only bottle of Tullamore Dew and they all drank a little, except Frank who was driving.

  Before leaving Mattie gave each of them a big embrace. On the way out Mattie noticed Emily holding back a bit. “Mom, what do you think of Rachel?”

  “She’s so pretty…and she’s an O’Toole!”

  Emily beamed. “Joe Jr. and her are going to be so happy. The wedding is eight months off so stay healthy. I want you by my side in the front row.”

  “Thank you, Emily. I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter.”

  “Or me a mother.” Emily clasped Mattie’s hand briefly, before stepping away. “I’ll stop by tomorrow to see how you’re doing. I love you.”

  Mattie watched Emily walk to the car before shutting the door. When she looked down at her palm, she found the fourth shamrock.

  Daddy gave me five, Mom…

  ***

  The church Rachel and Joe Jr. chose was St. Patrick’s Church on the east side of San Francisco. The morning of St. Patrick’s Day found the air cool and saturated with moisture. At least it hadn’t rained—so far, Mattie thought ruefully. The sky sure looked bleak, though, and gray. Emily came over to assist Mattie in getting ready to attend her grandson’s wedding. Mattie was not feeling really well—she’d been prescribed some antibiotics for a bronchitis—but when Emily voiced her concern about Mattie attending for health reasons, Mattie shooed her off.

  “Miss my only grandchild
’s wedding? Never,” she boasted with a slightly hoarse voice. She’d just turned ninety-one a month prior and on her birthday she told Joe, the love of her life, the only way she would miss the ceremony would be if she was with him.

  Many nights since her birthday, she would lie in bed, recalling his last words to her. Not the “I love you,” but the when you’re ready, I’ll come back for you. As Joe Jr. and Rachel’s special day drew nearer, she’d come to believe this was what he’d been referring to. In spirit, Joe would be back for the wedding. This was foolish, she had to remind herself, because how could Joe have any inkling of what would transpire almost five decades into the future.

  Mattie wore a long blue dress with a lavender shawl.

  “Mom, you look great,” Emily said, helping her with her hair.

  “Oh Emily, don’t say that. I’m old, bent and wrinkled—thank God you father can’t see me now,” she remarked wistfully—wistful because she would love nothing more than to hold her long dead spouse one last time.

  “Don’t talk like that. Daddy would be so proud to stand beside you.”

  “Not when I look like this.”

  When Emily handed Mattie a small box, she eagerly opened it, expecting the fifth shamrock. It was a shamrock, but this one was ornately carved and decorated with tiny diamonds wending along the edges of each of the three leaves

  “It’s so beautiful, dear,” Mattie said, but if Emily sensed any of Mattie’s disappointment, she gave no indication.

  “Here Mom, let me pin it on you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Frank and Emily both assisted Mattie with her walker up the steps into St. Patrick’s Church. Outside, a small statue of The Infant of Prague had been erected as a warning to the weather—no rain today. And there wasn’t.

  Mattie sat in the front row and marveled at how wonderful the Irish wedding ceremony played out. The many guests rang tiny bells as the handsome groom and beautiful bride exchanged their matrimonial vows. Rachel wore a small porcelain horseshoe on her left wrist for good luck. There were Irish dancers and later at the reception, Bunratty Mead, an Irish honey wine was served per Irish tradition.

  Seated at a table near the dance floor, she couldn’t resist murmuring, “Joe, I so wish you were here.”

  I am, my love.