One Year

by Mary McDonough

  “No. That would just make things worse. We’ll stay, have dinner, then we can leave tomorrow after you talk with PJ.”

  “I almost forgot that’s why we came here in the first place. He won’t be at dinner tonight?”

  Megan shook her head. “He said something about having other plans.”

  “Yeah. Avoiding me. But Megan, what if my mother erupts again?”

  “She won’t. I suspect she feels badly about what happened. I suspect she’ll do her best to act as if it never did happen.”

  “Well, dinner should be a real treat.”

  “You’ll behave, won’t you, Pat?”

  “For you, Meg, I’d do anything.” He pulled his wife to his breast and held her tightly.

  “And if I suddenly decide to throw a punch,” his wife whispered in his ear, “be sure to stop me.”

  CHAPTER 87

  Alexis took a deep breath and pushed opened the door to the Shelby Gallery. She hadn’t seen Morgan since their picnic lunch the week before. She had planned her visits to downtown Oliver’s Well to be as brief and as infrequent as she could manage, and she had studiously avoided even glancing in the direction of the gallery. But she couldn’t avoid Morgan forever. She owed him an answer to his incredibly kind and generous offer of a job. Maybe it was also a self-serving offer. But what was wrong with someone wanting to be with her?

  After many a sleepless night and many a tortured waking moment, Alexis had decided that there was no way in good conscience she could work with Morgan Shelby and not put her marriage at a grave risk of complete failure. And a failure of her short-lived marriage would be mortifying. She did not think she could stand the shame.

  Alexis’s decision did not bring her contentment. She wanted to be happy. She believed that she deserved to be happy and she wasn’t, not now, and she simply couldn’t see how she could ever be, not with things the way they were in the world of the Fitzgibbons. At best it could be said that she and PJ were carefully coexisting. It was no way to live. But she had taken a solemn vow before God and her family and her friends to love and to cherish PJ Fitzgibbon for the rest of her life, and she was determined to do everything in her power to keep that vow. She was determined.

  Morgan was standing behind the counter when she came through the door. “Hi,” he said with a smile. “It’s been a while.”

  Alexis thought there was a slight nervousness in his manner, though she suspected that what she perceived was merely a projection of her own distress.

  “I’ve been busy,” she said.

  “That’s good. Better than being bored, anyway.”

  Alexis attempted a smile and failed. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” she said.

  Morgan came around the counter. “Why don’t we talk in back?”

  Alexis was torn. She didn’t want to be entirely alone with Morgan. But she didn’t want what she had to say to be interrupted by the arrival of a customer. “All right,” she said. She followed him back to the small hall at the foot of the stairs that led to his apartment.

  “Now,” Morgan said. “What have you been thinking about?”

  “I can’t accept your offer of a job,” Alexis told him. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

  Morgan’s expression darkened. “Is it because of—”

  “No. Yes.”

  “Alexis, I—”

  “Please, Morgan. I can’t—”

  Morgan put his hands on her arms and looked at her searchingly. Alexis felt her body lean forward, toward him. And then their faces were very close. Alexis closed her eyes. Her resolve melted away. What there had been of her resistance dissipated. Let it happen then. I want it to happen. She felt his warm breath on her cheeks. This is the turning point. There will be no going back. After this moment I will have committed adultery. And then with a cry, she opened her eyes and tore out of Morgan’s embrace.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her hand on her heart. “I shouldn’t have . . . I’m so sorry.”

  Morgan shook his head. “It’s all right. It was my fault.”

  “No, it was mine,” Alexis insisted. “The fault is entirely mine.”

  “Alexis, please—” Morgan reached out a hand but did not come toward her.

  “I have to go now,” Alexis said, tears beginning to dribble down her face. “I—I can’t see you again.” Then she turned and ran.

  “Alexis, wait!”

  The door slammed behind her, its bell furiously clapping. Alexis ran until she was out of sight of the gallery. Then she turned off Main Street onto a block of private homes and, panting, came to a stop. She wiped ineffectually at the tears coursing down her cheeks. She was horrified by her behavior. It was all her fault. Morgan Shelby was a good man. She had led him on. She had acted inappropriately. She shouldn’t have gone to the gallery today. She should simply have called Morgan and told him that she couldn’t accept his offer of a job and then she should have vowed never to seek him out again.

  Alexis took a deep, shuddering breath. All along she had been telling herself that there was nothing inappropriate in her relationship with Morgan, and yet all along she had been acting as if their relationship was inappropriate. She had never mentioned him to PJ. She had lied about where she had been while spending time with Morgan. She had sat at the dinner table beside her husband, fantasizing about another man.

  Yes, Alexis thought, standing alone outside a trim little brick house with a pretty little garden, I am as guilty of betrayal as if I’d been sharing Morgan Shelby’s bed.

  CHAPTER 88

  “Alexis!”

  Alexis whirled around. It was Maureen Kline. It seemed like ages since they had last met.

  “I saw you from the corner,” Maureen said. “Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t look so good. Oh no, you’ve been crying. Are you sick?”

  “Yes.” Alexis put her hand to her forehead. “No. Oh, I don’t know . . .”

  “Look, come to my house. You’re in a good old-fashioned state of distress and we don’t want the populace of Oliver’s Well making assumptions.”

  Alexis let herself be led back to Main Street and then to Maureen’s car, which was parked outside her office. Ten minutes later the two women were sitting in Maureen’s kitchen, a pitcher of water, a bottle of whiskey, and two glasses on the table before them.

  “Medicinal purposes, you understand,” Maureen said with a smile.

  Alexis managed an answering smile and took a bracing sip of the whiskey Maureen poured for her.

  “Now,” Maureen said, “tell me what’s happened.”

  Alexis did. She told her about how stifled she had come to feel, living in the cottage in full view of PJ’s grandparents. She told her about how Mary Bernadette was always criticizing her and about how PJ never stood up for her. She told her about how she felt at a dead end. And she told her about how she had met Morgan Shelby. He had been nice to her. They had talked about interesting things, things not related to Fitzgibbon Landscaping and the OWHA. He had shown interest in her photography. He had said that he believed in her talent. She did not mention his offer of a job. She did not mention that they had almost kissed.

  Alexis sighed. “And that’s the whole awful story in a nutshell. I never meant to—to become so attracted to Morgan. And I love my husband. I do. It’s just that things between us are so awful right now. It’s just that I’m so confused.”

  Maureen finished her whiskey and put the glass down with a thump. “Look,” she said, “the first thing we need to do is avoid social disaster. Given the reputation of the Fitzgibbon family and Wynston Meadows’s determination to tarnish it, you’re a natural target for the gossips.”

  Alexis put her hands to her head. “Oh God, what have I done!”

  “Nothing yet, if you’re telling me the truth.”

  “I am,” Alexis said, amazed that her cheeks weren’t flaming with the lie. “I swear.”

  “All right. The thing is Alexis, you need to be very, very careful when you live in a
town like Oliver’s Well. I said once that the Fitzgibbons live in each other’s back pockets. Well, the same might be said of everyone here. When my former husband was cheating on me, most of the town knew before I did. Unfortunately, I learned about his bad behavior from an old busybody who took some pleasure in letting me know.”

  Alexis leaned across the table and put her hand on Maureen’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  Maureen looked down at her empty glass. “People can turn vicious in the presence of another person’s grief, even those who are usually quite kind.”

  “It’s awful here,” Alexis said vehemently, sitting back in her seat. “I hate it.”

  “Oliver’s Well isn’t worse than any other small town. And there’s the flip side of the coin. When someone is in real trouble, the neighbors come out in force to help.”

  “Is that really true, Maureen? Or is it just a tale people in small towns tell themselves to make the stifling life they live bearable ?”

  Maureen did not answer the question; Alexis thought her silence spoke volumes.

  “You need,” Maureen said then, “to keep far away from Morgan Shelby. That’s the first step toward making things right. Hopefully anyone who might have seen you together will soon forget what they saw if there’s nothing new to remind them. And then you have to talk honestly to PJ.”

  “But I can’t let him know about my feelings for Morgan!” Alexis protested. “He’d be devastated!”

  Maureen hesitated a moment before replying. “Yes, well, generally speaking I’m not a fan of secrecy between husband and wife, but in this case I think you’re right. From what I know of PJ he’s not—forgive me—not mature enough to handle that sort of revelation. He’s a lovely young man, but he’s got a fair amount of growing up to do. Still, you do have to tell him, calmly and clearly, that you need a—let’s say, a path of your own, something that belongs only to you and not the rest of the family.” Maureen paused. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure he’d take kindly to that, either, not with his—attachment—to his grandmother and the Family Ideal. Alexis, I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m not very good at giving advice.”

  Alexis smiled. “But you’re kind. You listened to me. I finally feel there’s someone in Oliver’s Well I can trust. You won’t say anything to anyone, will you?”

  “The cone of silence is firmly in place. Now, would you like me to drive you home?”

  Alexis shook her head. “Thanks, but I left my car in the municipal lot.”

  And, Alexis thought as she got up from the table, to think I once was tempted to dismiss Maureen as someone merely resigned to a life of boredom. There’s so much more to her. PJ isn’t the only one who needs to grow up.

  CHAPTER 89

  “Hi,” Megan said when her sister-in-law’s smiling face appeared on her computer screen. “You’re looking cheery.”

  “I just heard some good news,” Grace explained. “One of the women who’s been living at the Angela House got accepted to our community college. And she’s been awarded enough of a scholarship so that she can actually go. It’s a huge step in the right direction for her.”

  “How wonderful.”

  “It’ll be tough going, no doubt. But she’s got a support system in place for pretty much the first time in her life so . . .”

  Megan smiled. “Do you ever stop to realize just how lucky you are and how supremely good you have it in this cruel world?”

  “Every minute. So, what’s up with you?”

  “Well,” Megan said, “there’s this.” And she related what had happened in Mary Bernadette’s kitchen the last time she and Pat had visited. She had debated the benefit of telling her sister-in-law, and in the end she had decided that the very ferocity of the attack merited some attention and perhaps another point of view.

  “I’d never felt such vitriol coming from another human being,” she told Grace. “And having it directed at me, well, it’s not something I’ll soon forget. Nor will Pat.”

  Grace raised her eyebrows and whistled. “Oh boy. Meg, I’m so sorry. There’s no excuse for my mother’s bad behavior. She’s in her right mind, isn’t she?”

  “Actually, I’m not so sure,” Megan admitted. “I can’t help but wonder if she isn’t having a mental breakdown. She’s always been a firecracker, but lately she goes off at the slightest provocation.”

  “It could all come down to the stress she’s under because of Meadows’s antics. Still, to turn on her family is not the answer.”

  “No, it isn’t. And to make matters worse, Pat wants nothing to do with her. He thinks we should just cut ties, but I can’t walk away that easily. I mean, the last thing I want is a rift between factions of Fitzgibbons. PJ dotes on his grandmother, for better or worse, and Paddy—well, I imagine it’s been hard on him at times, being Mr. Mary Bernadette, but he’s devoted to her. I have to respect that.”

  Grace laughed. “And I’m the Bride of Christ! Meg, you put me to shame. Anyway, I wish Dad had some degree of control over her. Even a bit of influence would do.”

  “Well, if he ever did, he doesn’t have it now. Not that I can see.”

  “Poor Dad.”

  “And then there’s PJ and Alexis.”

  “What’s going on there?” Grace asked.

  “I don’t really know,” Megan admitted. “They seem to have lost their way. Alexis won’t talk to me at all, and I’ve had one fairly disastrous conversation with PJ, who was being a bit of an obtuse jerk. Not knowing all the details or what’s at the root of the problem makes it very difficult to help in any real way.”

  “It’s up to PJ and Alexis to ask for help,” Grace pointed out. “No one accepts help until they’re ready for it.”

  “Of course you’re right. It’s just so sad. They had so much potential as a couple. They were so glad to be with each other.”

  “How much do you think Mom’s got to do with their marital woes?” Grace asked.

  “I’m pretty sure she’s part and parcel, which is another reason I want to avoid a big, definitive split in the family. It will only make PJ cling even more tightly to his grandmother, and there’s no way that would be good for his marriage.”

  “Good point. Look, Meg, have you been praying lately?”

  “Does repeating the Prayer of St. Francis a few times a day count?”

  Grace laughed. “Well, you know there are ways of praying without just parroting old words. They might be helpful just now.”

  “I guess you’re right. But good old Saint Francis works for me.”

  “Then stick to him. You know, a colleague of mine is fond of saying that an everyday saint is someone who willingly spends time with the sad and the ill. Someone who looks for the kernel of good in the disagreeable.”

  Megan laughed. “Well, that leaves me out!”

  “No. I think it describes you quite accurately. You should be the one in the habit.”

  “I think Pat would have something to say about that!”

  “Yes,” Grace said. “I think he might.”

  CHAPTER 90

  Alexis fiddled with her bracelet. She was nervous. PJ would have to listen to her. She would have to make him listen, because the last time she had been alone with Morgan Shelby she had teetered dangerously on the brink of undeniable betrayal. That sort of thing must never happen again. She knew that. She loved her husband. But she was deeply unhappy. She knew that, too.

  PJ was leaning against the kitchen counter, staring down at the screen of his iPhone.

  “PJ?” she said.

  “Hmm,” he replied, without looking up.

  “Can we talk? It’s important.”

  “Sure.”

  He looked at her now, his expression wary. For all they had apologized to each other, she no longer felt comfortable with PJ. Why should he feel comfortable with her?

  “I’d like us to see a therapist,” she said.

  “A therapist?” PJ laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  Alexis sighed. She h
ad been afraid of this reaction. What had her mother and Maureen said about PJ? That he was immature. “Why would I be kidding?” she asked. “I’ve given it a lot of thought and I really don’t think we’re equipped to handle this—problem—on our own. We don’t have the skills.”

  “Jargon,” PJ muttered.

  With some effort, Alexis kept her temper. “There are a few couples therapists in Westminster and in Smithstown. I’ve checked them out online and—”

  “No. Alexis. That’s not going to happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “We don’t need ‘skills’ to take care of our problems. And we don’t need outsiders butting into our personal business.”

  “Who do you mean by ‘we’?” Alexis asked. “You and me or the Fitzgibbons?”

  PJ didn’t answer.

  “My God, you’re such a throwback!” Alexis cried, all effort to curb her emotions fled. “Going to therapy doesn’t come with a social stigma anymore, you know.”

  “I’m sorry, Alexis, but no therapy. It’s a waste of time and money.”

  “Money’s more important than our marriage?”

  PJ rolled his eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

  Alexis turned abruptly away from her husband. She spotted her crystal rosary beads heaped on a shelf of the bookcase. ALEXIS FITZGIBBON was engraved upon the back of the cross. Mary Bernadette and Paddy had given it to her on her wedding day. Alexis remembered showing it to her mother. “What an artifact,” she had commented. “I can’t see you actually using it. And I still don’t know why you gave up your own name.” Then her mother had smiled. “I hope I recognize you at this time next year. But I fear you’re becoming a stranger.”

  A stranger to my own self, she thought now. Was she no longer her own person? Had becoming a Fitzgibbon erased all that was unique and special about her, all that could be cherished and admired as purely her own? All the resolutions and promises she had made, all the prayers she had offered, now seemed pointless in the face of this fresh wave of despair.

  Alexis continued to stare at the string of rosary beads. Once it had seemed a symbol of the loving bond between her and the other Fitzgibbons. Now it seemed a heavy, painful, punishing chain, binding her in servitude to people who felt no genuine love for her as a unique and individual person. It had to go. Alexis stalked over to the bookcase and snatched up the string of rosary beads. And in one smooth move she turned and threw it at her husband.