One Year

by Mary McDonough

  “Do you think that Meadows is persecuting the Fitzgibbons just for the heck of it? Could he find it a sport of sorts? Do you think he’s mentally unbalanced?”

  “I think he’s a jerk. And who knows his real motivations. Maybe he does get a perverse kick out of harassing old ladies. But my money’s still on some dubious business deal he’s got cooking. Did I tell you what I found out the other day?”

  “I don’t think so. About Meadows?”

  “Yeah. A buddy of mine was telling me that a few years back Meadows was involved in a nasty stink relating to a public taking of land later sold to a developer. And no coincidence, it was a developer with whom Meadows had a long and lucrative relationship. There were claims of bad faith dealing and corruption, but they never stuck and nothing ever came of it. No official charges were filed and no one made a court appearance, though you can be sure the lawyers for both sides were busy enough.”

  “It’s appalling, isn’t it, how some people have so little sense of accountability.”

  “And so little decency. Mark my words, Meadows’s motives in stirring up the board of the OWHA are nefarious.”

  “Nefarious?” Meg laughed. “You make him sound like a comic book villain.”

  “Villains don’t always wear masks and leggings. Most times they wear business suits. I just wish I knew what his motives were specifically. What’s he after?”

  “Power?”

  “He’s got plenty of that already. But I don’t know, power is addictive. Maybe he can’t get enough of it.”

  “Money?”

  “Same argument. Some people just can’t stop, even when they have more than their share.”

  “Did I tell you there was a claim of domestic abuse against him a few years back? A girlfriend barely out of her teens. Nothing came of that, either.”

  Pat frowned. “Why am I not surprised? No, this guy means trouble, you can be sure of it. And I’m not happy about my family being in the thick of it.”

  CHAPTER 48

  Alexis was cooking dinner, but for a moment she couldn’t say what it was she was preparing. Her thoughts had wandered off so completely that she had to take a step away from the stove top and stare hard at the pot in which a chicken was poaching and at the saucepan in which some greens were beginning to burn before she remembered that she was making a chicken salad with a side of kale. The experience was disorienting.

  Alexis turned off the heat under the saucepan and rubbed her eyes. Earlier that day she had spotted Morgan Shelby on Main Street and had waved but he hadn’t seen her and had gone into his gallery. An insignificant incident, but one about which she felt oddly upset. A non-incident. Unless Morgan really had seen her but had chosen to ignore her. But why would he do that?

  She turned from the stove now, wooden spoon in hand. “I guess it’s futile to suggest that we have Easter dinner anywhere but your grandparents’ house,” she said. It was the last thing she had expected to come out of her mouth.

  PJ, sitting at the kitchen table leafing through a gardening catalog, smiled. “What brought that up? And where else would we go?”

  “My parents’ house?”

  “But they’re not Catholic,” PJ said. “And you told me they don’t celebrate Easter. Besides, it’s a Fitzgibbon tradition to spend Easter all together.”

  “It’s just that I was talking to my mother the other day, and she said that she misses me. My father, too.”

  That was a lie. Her parents had said no such thing. But she felt frustrated. She felt thwarted and ignored. She felt that she wanted to start a fight.

  “Well, why not go and visit them for a few days?” PJ suggested. “You’ve been working hard. You deserve a break. Besides, Grandmother could fill in for you at the office. She knows every inch of the business backward and forward.”

  In other words, Alexis thought, I wouldn’t be missed at all.

  “What if we asked my parents to come here for Easter weekend ?” she said. “They could stay at a B&B in town.” In fact, she doubted they would want to come to Oliver’s Well, but for the sake of argument . . .

  PJ looked dubious. “I don’t know, Alexis. Easter is pretty important to my family.”

  “Are you saying that my family isn’t welcome here?” she asked angrily.

  “No, of course not. It’s just that Easter is the most important holiday in the religious calendar. And your parents don’t even go to church.”

  “Your parents only go to church on holidays, and not even on all holidays!”

  “And believe me, Grandmother is not happy about it.” PJ sighed. “Look, Ali, if you really want to ask them down—”

  “No,” she said. “That’s okay.”

  “I mean, I guess they wouldn’t have to go to church with us.”

  “PJ, I said it’s okay.”

  “Are you angry?”

  “No,” Alexis lied. “I’m fine.” She turned back to the stove.

  “Okay. Hey, how would you feel about a couple of azalea bushes out front? My grandmother loves azaleas, especially the white ones, and she could really use some cheering up.”

  CHAPTER 49

  Mary Bernadette was sweeping the front hall of the Wilson House. The OWHA had a woman who came in twice a week to vacuum the carpets, dust and polish the woodwork, and clean the bathrooms. Twice a year a professional crew came to clean every windowpane, inside and out. And several of the board members, Mary Bernadette being one of them, took it upon themselves to maintain general order and cleanliness. Which was why Mary Bernadette could be found that morning with broom in hand.

  “Just the woman I wanted to talk to!”

  Mary Bernadette’s head jerked up, and she put a hand to her heart. Wynston Meadows stood only a few feet in front of her. She hadn’t heard him come through the front door. Could he already have been in the building, keeping out of sight and waiting for a moment to come upon her so abruptly?

  Nonsense. “Good morning, Mr. Meadows,” she said.

  “Doing a bit of domestic work, I see.”

  Mary Bernadette made no reply. She wondered if he had come to harass her about her nonexistent college career. She thought of how he had singled out Neal. Now, he was here alone with her. Was he separating each member from the group to better create chaos? But to what end?

  “I’ve been thinking about our educational program,” Wynston Meadows said suddenly, taking a step closer to her.

  Our educational program? Mary Bernadette stiffened. What made him assume ownership when he had had nothing to do with the inception and growth of the program?

  “Yes,” she said carefully. “It’s something of which we are very proud.”

  Wynston Meadows shook his head as if with genuine regret. “Well, I was looking at the numbers, and I’m afraid the program just doesn’t make fiscal sense. The money we spend on those craft classes and whatnot could be put to better use. For example, it could be put toward the purchase and restoration of the Branley Estate. Assuming we decide that we really do want it.”

  Mary Bernadette could not quite believe what she was hearing. Had Wynston Meadows lied when he told everyone that since he was a small boy visiting his grandfather’s museum he had had a love for the work of historical societies? And of course the OWHA wanted the Branley Estate! They had wanted it for years!

  “With all due respect to the numbers,” she replied, “it’s the responsibility of the OWHA to educate the public. Eliminating or even cutting back on our educational program would greatly diminish the importance and the usefulness of the OWHA. You know, our educational program has won regional recognition for its excellence.”

  “Regional?” Wynston smiled. Rather, he showed his teeth. “How nice. But I can’t agree with you that eliminating the program would cause any significant loss of support or interest in our enterprise. Take that three-day summer camp. I believe you spearheaded the development of that? A serious waste of time and resources.”

  Mary Bernadette frowned. “The good people
of Oliver’s Well volunteer to work with the children. Our expenses are quite—”

  “I haven’t gotten where I am today by throwing my money away,” he said, speaking over her.

  And it is his money now, isn’t it? Even though we haven’t seen a penny of it yet. Mary Bernadette schooled her tone to remain calm and even. “My grandchildren,” she said, “attended the camp two years in a row. They had a wonderful time. They learned much more from the hands-on experience than they could learn from a book only.”

  Wynston Meadows cocked his head and grinned. “Now, Mary Bernadette, are we confusing family interests and the interests of business again?”

  “Of course not. I was just—”

  Suddenly, Mary Bernadette couldn’t go on. She was frightened being alone with Wynston Meadows. He was young and strong. And he was rude and bullying. The way he said her name struck her as far too familiar. Since when had he stopped referring to her as Mrs. Fitzgibbon? He was standing too close.

  As if sensing her unease and enjoying it, Wynston Meadows reached out and laid his hand heavily on her shoulder. “Well,” he said, “I’ll bring it up to the others. I have no doubt at least a few of them—the smarter ones—will see things my way.”

  He withdrew his hand and, without a farewell, he left the Wilson House.

  Mary Bernadette stood as if frozen to the spot in the hallway. She felt as if she had been violated. She felt sick to her stomach. Wrenching herself into action, she threw the broom to the floor and rushed to the bathroom.

  CHAPTER 50

  “Those are nice curtains,” PJ said. “Are they new?” Alexis, sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop and browsing an online catalog of photography equipment, gave the curtains a withering look. In truth, the curtains themselves were nice enough. It was the fact of their being in her windows that annoyed her. “Yes,” she said. “They’re new.”

  PJ frowned. “I’m not sure we should be spending money on things like curtains, not when the Stoker job is still up in the air.”

  “We didn’t pay for them,” Alexis told him. “Your grandmother bought them. And she put them up.”

  “You didn’t help her?”

  “I couldn’t. She did it when I was at the office.”

  “She shouldn’t be up on a ladder at her age.”

  “She’s probably in better shape than any of us,” Alexis countered.

  “Still,” PJ said, “you should have told her not to hang them.”

  Alexis laughed in frustration. “I didn’t even know she was coming over! I asked you to tell her not to barge in when we’re not here, but you didn’t, did you?”

  In answer, PJ turned away and began to sort through the pile of mail on the counter—left there, of course, by his grandmother.

  Alexis closed her laptop. “PJ,” she said, “really, something’s got to change. I wish—PJ, look at me, please.”

  He turned to her, his expression guarded. “What?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes I wish that we lived somewhere else or that—that things were different.”

  PJ’s guarded expression now erupted into one of annoyance. “God, Ali, your timing is great, you know that? My family is being harassed. I’ve probably lost the Stoker project for good. My grandmother’s character is being maligned. The last thing I need is you going on about being bored or whatever it is you’re complaining about this time.”

  Alexis felt the color flood to her face. In all the years she had known him, PJ had never raised his voice with her. She wasn’t afraid; she was shocked. “I’m not complaining,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I’m just trying to have a discussion about our lives. And by the way, it’s my family, too. I’m a Fitzgibbon now.”

  “Then you shouldn’t be whining. Don’t you know anything about family loyalty? It’s the most important thing there is.”

  “More important than personal happiness and fulfillment?” she shot back.

  “Yes.”

  “More important than world peace?”

  PJ tossed the pile of envelopes he was holding onto the counter. Several envelopes slid to the floor. “Alexis, don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I don’t mean to be ridiculous!” she cried. “It’s just . . . Can’t you see that your grandmother doesn’t want you to live your own life?”

  “That’s nonsense. I’m totally living my own life.”

  “Well, I’m not living mine,” Alexis said. “PJ, I know you love your grandmother, but you have to see that she wants to mold us into the new Mary Bernadette and Paddy.”

  “Ali, you’re hallucinating. She doesn’t want any such thing. Seriously, where do you come up with this stuff?”

  “She even chose my wedding gown! She wouldn’t let me wear a strapless dress in church. Because of her I wore long sleeves.”

  PJ shook his head. “But you looked beautiful. Besides, that was over a year ago. Why didn’t you say something then if you were so unhappy?”

  “Because I—” Because I was in love. Because I wanted to please you and that meant pleasing her. So then, what had changed? She had changed. Her eyes had been opened. What she had taken for charming had proved, upon closer inspection, to be—primitive. Backward.

  PJ sighed. “Look,” he said. “I’m going out for a while.”

  “But we haven’t finished talking!”

  PJ grabbed his car keys from the counter and a baseball cap from a peg on the wall. “You might not have finished,” he said, “but I have.”

  He let the door slam behind him. Alexis flinched.

  Alexis felt badly that she had never acknowledged her friend Diane’s anniversary card. She felt badly that she hadn’t sent her an e-mail since before Christmas. Diane’s e-mails were always full of news about their friends from college—who was dating someone new; who had broken up; who had gotten a promotion; who had gotten tickets to hear a popular band in concert. Alexis’s e-mails were full of news about PJ’s family and not much else. Maybe that’s why I’ve been remiss with my correspondence, she thought now. I have virtually nothing to say.

  Before she could change her mind she punched in Diane’s number.

  “Diane? It’s me, Alexis.”

  “Hey, my long lost friend. You never answered my last e-mail. Or text, for that matter. And why aren’t you on Facebook?”

  “Sorry,” she said. “How are you?”

  Diane laughed. “Oh, just peachy. The guy I was seeing for the past four months just dumped me by text. I mean, how clichéd!”

  “Oh,” Alexis said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. Well, he wasn’t such a treat, anyway. So, what’s up with you?”

  Alexis hesitated. This probably wasn’t a good time to complain about her woes to Diane but... “Well,” she said, “things are, I don’t know, not great. Lately, PJ and I always seem to be fighting. And his grandmother is impossible. She acts like she owns the two of us. She’s even made me dress like her at the office!”

  “What does she dress like?” Diane asked.

  “That’s not the point,” Alexis said a bit testily. “The point is . . . The point is that nothing’s really what I thought it would be.”

  “Ha! When is it ever? Look, Ali, you have things really easy compared to a lot of us. I mean, you live in that adorable little cottage virtually rent-free. You have a job you didn’t even have to apply for, and there’s no way your family is ever going to fire you. Talk about job security!”

  “But I don’t own the cottage,” she pointed out. “And the job is boring.”

  “And you have no mortgage and your health insurance will never be yanked away. And then there’s the fact that PJ is a great guy. I think if I had a guy as charming and handsome as PJ Fitzgibbon to come home to every night I’d willingly live in a dump and work in a coal mine.”

  Once, Alexis thought, I would have, too. “You’re right,” she told Diane. “Sorry. I guess I’m just in a bad mood.”

  “Eat a pint of ice cream.”

&nb
sp; “It’ll make me feel better?”

  “No. It’ll give you serious gas and that’ll take your mind off your troubles.”

  Alexis knew that her friend expected her to laugh, and so she did. “I’ll think about it,” she said. “Bye, Diane. And thanks.”

  “Sure. And send an e-mail once in a while, okay? Let me know the good stuff that’s happening in your life.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I will.”

  Alexis ended the call and plugged her cell phone into its charger. Well, she thought, that had been a mistake. The next time she felt she needed to talk to someone about her marriage she would . . . she would what?

  She would keep her mouth shut.

  CHAPTER 51

  Megan was at her desk, reviewing the most recent correspondence from David’s doctors. In the past two years the spasticity of David’s muscles had been forcing his legs to turn inward. He was the furthest thing from a complainer, but the pain had become so great that he had broken down in tears one afternoon. And then there was his mounting frustration when the in-toeing slowed him down or, worse, made it difficult for him to do something as simple as pick up a pen he had dropped on the floor. And then there had been that horrible kid in school who only the week before had mimicked David’s awkward progress down the hall. It was only one episode, but one was enough.

  As a family—Danica had been included in the conversations—they and David’s medical team had decided that David would undergo a surgery that would help return his legs to a normal position. The procedure was called derotation osteotomy. It wasn’t a particularly risky operation, but recovery could take some time, which was why it had been scheduled for summer. David was at a good age for the surgery, too; he was almost fully grown, and as a result the condition probably wouldn’t return once it had been reversed. Until July twenty-third he would continue his exercises to the best of his ability, eat right (easier said than done with a twelve-year-old boy), and take a small but consistent dose of ibuprofen.

  In his characteristic, laid-back fashion David considered the surgery—his first, except for when his tonsils were removed—as just another blip on his radar. His exact words were, “It’s no big deal.” Sometimes, Megan just didn’t know from where he had sprung. Neither she nor Pat would be so nonplussed if they were facing the surgical knife. And his sister had admitted her fears just the night before in a cascade of hot tears. As for PJ, he, too, was a worrier, a true Fitzgibbon in that respect as in so many others.