One Year

by Mary McDonough

  She went directly to the hospital from the airport. She had known what she was going to find there—she had visited countless numbers of people in the hospital suffering from all sorts of nasty ailments—but the fact was that this was her mother. Nothing could ever prepare a child for the loss of a parent.

  Grace, she scolded silently, as she looked down at her mother stretched out on the bed, don’t be an idiot. The woman is alive. And she would not let her mother see her distress. She had inherited Mary Bernadette’s poker face and now put it firmly in place.

  “You look well, Mom. Considering you’ve had a stroke.” Grace bent down and kissed her mother’s pale cheek.

  “Very amusing, my dear. How was your flight? I can’t imagine ever getting on a plane again, not with the way the world is these days. Terrorists around every corner.”

  “The flight was fine, Mom. Uneventful. Not even a colicky baby.”

  Mary Bernadette glanced at her daughter from head to toe. And there it is, Grace thought. The criticism. “Have you been to the house yet?”

  “No,” Grace replied. “I wanted to come straight here.”

  Mary Bernadette sighed. “I wish I knew what was going on in my own home. It’s very tiresome not knowing things. Is Banshee being properly fed? What about my plants? Has anyone been watering them? Make sure the mail is brought in. Don’t let it accumulate in the box. Thieves notice such things.”

  Grace smiled. “Now, Mom,” she said, “don’t worry. Megan’s got everything under control. Katie and Bonnie will help with Dad’s meals. And Buddy Burrows will see to the lawn.”

  “That’s your father’s job. He’s very particular about it.”

  “Yes,” Grace said, “but Dad agreed. He wants to spend every spare moment with his wife, not pushing a lawn mower and pulling up weeds. And Mike Burrows will take the garbage to the dump.”

  Mary Bernadette made a sort of humph sound, and Grace bit back a smile.

  “This is very important, Grace,” Mary Bernadette said now, her voice determined. “I don’t want anyone but the family coming here to see me. And Father Robert, of course.”

  “Not even Jeannette?” Grace asked.

  “All right. Jeannette. But no one else. Promise me. Especially not anyone on the board of the OWHA. I don’t want anyone to see me . . . to see me like this.”

  Grace promised.

  “Did your brother arrive yet?” Mary Bernadette asked.

  “Yes. Pat’s been in Oliver’s Well since last evening. Hasn’t he come to see you yet?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll drag him in. You know how squeamish he gets around sick people.” That was a lie, but Grace didn’t have the heart to voice what both women knew. Pat hadn’t been to see his mother because he didn’t want to see her. Could it really be, Grace thought, that her brother didn’t care at all for his mother? Megan had told her that Pat wanted to cut all ties with Mary Bernadette. Well, Grace decided, not if I have anything to say about it.

  “Yes,” Mary Bernadette said. “I’m sure that’s it. A weak stomach.”

  “Right. He’s very concerned that you get well.”

  “No one has to worry about that.”

  Grace smiled. “I daresay we don’t. Now, Mom, why don’t you get some rest while I go and introduce myself to the nurses.”

  Mary Bernadette sighed. “I must admit I do feel a bit weary.”

  Grace kissed her mother on the forehead and straightened her blankets before going out into the hall. Only then did she allow herself the luxury of a tear.

  CHAPTER 104

  Megan was dusting the living room of Mary Bernadette’s house. Grace and Paddy were at the hospital. Pat was home in Annapolis; he said he’d been called back on an emergency. Megan knew he was lying. He just hadn’t been able to work up the nerve or the courage or whatever it was he needed to visit his mother. “She’s stable and you’re all here,” he had said, avoiding his wife’s eyes. “She doesn’t need me.” Megan had let him go without protest.

  A photo of Mary Bernadette and Paddy in the early days of their marriage, dressed smartly for church, arm in arm and smiling directly into the camera. Mary Bernadette with the two-year-old twins on her lap, the kitten Banshee perched on a branch of the brightly decorated Christmas tree. Mary Bernadette and Megan on Megan’s wedding day. If only I had known what I was getting into, Megan thought, gently wiping the glass with the dust cloth.

  Like her husband, Megan hadn’t seen her mother-in-law since she had been admitted to the hospital, but not for lack of trying. She supposed that the indomitable Mary Bernadette was likely embarrassed by the fact that the woman she had so horribly maligned only weeks earlier had been the one to see her safely to the hospital. Well, Megan thought, I’m not going away. She’ll have to see me at some point, so it might as well be on her own terms.

  Megan went to the kitchen, put the dust cloth in the broom closet, and put water on to boil. After a cup of tea she would call home. The twins would soon be out of school and eager for an update. Danica had burst into tears on hearing of Mary Bernadette’s stroke and had gone on about not having been nice to her about the blouse with the bow. David had offered to take a leave of absence from school in order to move in with his grandfather and “help out.” He had argued, very reasonably, that he could make up the missed course work during the summer while he recuperated from his surgery. Megan’s heart had swelled with pride, though she had had to tell David that Grace and the neighbors had everything under control.

  And me? Megan wondered. What am I doing to help? She turned off the gas under the teakettle and, taking a tea bag from the pocket of her jacket, dropped it into a cup. Mary Bernadette would be horrified if she knew someone was using a tea bag in her home, but Megan was just too lazy to make a real pot of tea the way her mother-in-law insisted on. Quality over convenience was Mary Bernadette’s motto.

  And was there anything wrong with that? No, Megan decided, there wasn’t. Her mother-in-law believed in setting high standards. She never shied away from hard work or what might seem like an impossible task. And here was the germ of an idea.... There might just be a way in which she could help Mary Bernadette, and the rest of the family, and even Oliver’s Well if . . . if she could somehow rid the OWHA of the pest that was Wynston Meadows. I’ll be the Exterminator, she thought, and laughed out loud. Her weapons would be her intelligence, her doggedness, and her devotion to her family. Really, she should have taken action back when the thought had first occurred to her after that call of concern from Jeannette.

  It was going to difficult, of that she was certain. It might prove to be impossible. But she had been feeling a bit bored in the past months, hadn’t she? Going up against Wynston Meadows was sure to be anything but boring, especially since she had no clear idea of how she was going to do it. An immediate goal might be to get herself a place on the board. Then, armed with more information about how the board functioned and a better sense of Meadows’s intentions regarding it, she might try to hunt out concrete reasons to doubt his integrity and his dedication to Oliver’s Well. Ultimately, she would have to convince the others to oust Meadows—and lose all the money he had promised as a result. This is ridiculous, she thought. No one is going to listen to me. Why even bother? “Because it’s the right thing to do,” she told the room. Tilting at windmills, maybe; after all, the man had neatly avoided criminal charges in the past. Who was she to think she could succeed where others had failed? But still, it was the right thing to do.

  Megan finished her tea and stuffed the tea bag down into the garbage can where Mary Bernadette, should she be home in the next day or two, wouldn’t see it. The woman missed nothing, so Megan knew that her campaign to oust Meadows would have to be carried out with stealth. Further agitation was to be avoided at all costs if Mary Bernadette were to fully recover from the stroke—and she had to, if only for Paddy’s sake.

  The hard part would be getting the other members of the OWHA board to agree to keep quiet abo
ut her involvement. She would have to be very firm about it, “respectfully requesting their silence for the sake of their dear friend and colleague.” She might exaggerate her mother-in-law’s condition just a wee bit, make her out to be in a more fragile state than she was, in the hopes that not even the miserable Joyce Miller or the Great Man himself would be cruel enough to risk Mary Bernadette’s health by bothering her with OWHA business. And she would have to enlist the help of her family in keeping the newspapers out of reach. And she would have to ask the hospital staff not to engage in any conversation with the patient about a topic more serious than what was for lunch.

  This is sounding like a mission mounted by the CIA! Megan thought. It would be a long shot, keeping the keenly curious Mary Bernadette in ignorance for as long as she was recovering, and the attempt might fail, but when and if it did Megan hoped that she would already have made some headway toward her goal. Her impossible dream?

  Megan returned to the living room. Pat in a sailor suit. She picked up the photograph and smiled. The poor kid looked miserable. What would he say when she told him of her plan that was barely a plan? Megan suspected that his reaction might be worth capturing on video. It might become a YouTube sensation, a husband in the act of declaring his wife completely and totally insane.

  CHAPTER 105

  “Are you hungry, Grandmother? Can I get you anything from the cafeteria?”

  It was the second time her husband had asked that question in the past fifteen minutes. Alexis felt her heart break. He looked so very young at that moment. So very young and so very vulnerable.

  “No, thank you, my dear,” Mary Bernadette replied, which was exactly what she had told her grandson the first time he had asked.

  PJ was sitting in the chair next to the bed, from which he could easily hold his grandmother’s hand. Alexis stood at the foot of bed. She wasn’t sure she had the right to be any closer. Looking down at Mary Bernadette, Alexis remembered what Morgan had said at lunch the afternoon they had gone to the gallery in Somerstown. He had suggested that Mary Bernadette might not be as omnipotent as she appeared. Well, she had indeed been laid low. How the mighty have fallen, Alexis thought. She took no joy or satisfaction in this. It made her uneasy to see PJ’s grandmother in a situation of almost total dependence. Someone like Mary Bernadette Fitzgibbon wasn’t supposed to be susceptible to human frailty. People relied on her to be above and beyond the reach of common mortality.

  How ridiculous, Alexis thought. And yet, that’s how I’ve felt about her. Maybe we all have. It was true that she couldn’t pretend to like PJ’s grandmother very much—and sometimes she didn’t like her at all—but to see her lying in this narrow hospital bed dressed only in a flimsy johnny, her finger bare of her wedding ring, and without the powder and muted pink lipstick she always wore, was deeply disturbing.

  We are all going to die, Alexis thought, unconsciously putting her hand against her stomach. Life is so very precious, and so very fleeting.

  “Are you comfortable, Grandmother? Do you want me to adjust the pillows?”

  Mary Bernadette smiled. “You’re a good boy,” she said. “The pillows are fine.”

  Poor PJ. He had cried for hours the night Mary Bernadette had been taken ill, and Alexis had been powerless to console him. She had suspected his tears were for more than just his grandmother. She had suspected they were also for their marriage, for their unborn child, for all of the lost chances of kindness and understanding between them.

  “You’ll be good as new, Grandmother, I promise.”

  “Of course I will. There was never any doubt about it.”

  “Is there anything you need from home?” Alexis asked. “Any personal items?”

  “No, thank you, dear,” Mary Bernadette replied. “If I do need anything, Grace will bring it to me.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you two have some time alone, then.”

  Alexis left and took a seat in the waiting room down the hall. The atmosphere was hushed. There was a poor selection of old magazines, many with pages sloppily torn out and coffee rings obscuring print. The light was dim. A woman around her mother-in-law’s age was the only other occupant of the room. She was looking off into space while twisting a tissue in her hands. Her eyes were red and swollen. Alexis said a silent prayer for the woman.

  After some time PJ joined her. He sat in the chair next to hers and took her hand. Neither spoke. Alexis found the silence a comfort and hoped that her husband did, too. This moment, she thought, was a sign of the healing between them. At least PJ wasn’t retreating into himself and shutting her out. At least he wasn’t turning to another woman for comfort, as she had almost turned to another man.

  “Are you ready to go home?” she asked PJ gently.

  PJ nodded.

  They rose, and still holding hands, they left the hospital.

  CHAPTER 106

  Megan Fitzgibbon pulled into one of the parking spaces reserved for visitors to the Wilson House. She was wearing one of her best and most conservative suits. She was armed with knowledge of Meadows’s dubious prior real estate dealings and his shameful romantic past. She was filled with a sense of righteousness. And she was going to crash a meeting of the board of the OWHA. Asking for an interview would have allowed time for prevarication or downright refusal. It was much more difficult to turn away someone right in front of you than it was to fire off a dismissive e-mail. As predicted, Pat thought she was crazy but he knew better than to try to stop her.

  Here goes, Megan thought, stepping into the front hall of the old building. The others had already gathered in the former dining room, and Megan joined them. And there, leaning casually against the mantel of the fireplace, was the Great Man himself. Megan could feel his energy across the room; there was something brutal in it. She experienced a moment of panic. No wonder everyone is so intimidated by the man, she thought. But the panic was followed by the return of her resolve. She walked resolutely toward him and put out her hand.

  “Mr. Meadows,” she said. “How do you do? My name is Megan Fitzgibbon. I’m married to Mary Bernadette’s son. I’ve heard so much about you and your—work—in Oliver’s Well.”

  Meadows shook her hand briefly. “Another Mrs. Fitzgibbon,” he said, with barely concealed—was it amusement? “I’m afraid I didn’t even know that you existed.”

  Megan laughed. Fine, she thought. If that’s the way you want to play it. “Well,” she said, “I can’t claim to be as popular as you are, but in my own little sphere I’m not without influence.”

  “As you say, in your own little sphere. Well, it looks as if the meeting is about to start. You’ll be on your way then.”

  “Oh, no,” Megan replied. “I have a matter I would like to present to the board. Leonard assured me I was welcome to attend the meeting.”

  Leonard had done no such thing, but Meadows didn’t need to know that.

  Meadows raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? Well, then, I suggest you take a seat at the table. We do have a temporary vacancy, as you know.”

  Thanks to you, Megan thought, as she joined the others. In answer to their surprised expressions she simply smiled.

  Neal had been selected as temporary chairman in Mary Bernadette’s place. Why, Megan wondered, hadn’t Meadows commandeered that honor? No doubt he had his reasons. Neal opened the meeting and read the minutes from the last meeting, as was his duty as secretary. When old business had been discussed—rather summarily, Megan thought, disturbed by the general timidity and silence of the board; it did not bode well for her mission—Wynston Meadows took over.

  “As you can see, we have a Mrs. Fitzgibbon in our midst today. To what do we owe this—this honor?”

  “I’d like,” Megan said, folding her hands on the table before her, “to put myself up as temporary replacement for Mary Bernadette. Not, of course, as chairman.” Megan smiled at Neal, who nodded his acknowledgment. “But as a representative of a family whose lives have been deeply involved with the life of Oliver’s Well for o
ver fifty years. As a representative of a woman whose passion for historical accuracy and integrity is undeniable.”

  Meadows sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. “And what qualifies you for membership on the board?” he asked, showing his teeth.

  Megan looked from one board member to the next. Joyce frowned. Wallace looked away. Norma’s face was expressionless. Jeannette smiled feebly. “As many of you know,” she went on, “even though I make my home in Annapolis, I’ve been what I like to think of as an honorary member of the Oliver’s Well community for over twenty-five years. And during that time I’ve made it my business to keep up with everything that’s happening locally, from the debate about the new high school gymnasium to the mayor’s proposed ban on plastic grocery bags. My mother-in-law is an excellent source of information.”

  This last remark was met with appreciative laughter from Richard and Leonard. Neal and Anne and Jeannette smiled.

  “And as cofounder and copresident of the Cerebral Palsy Education Effort I’m well acquainted with the workings of boards and committees. I’m also a practicing lawyer with a professional knowledge of contracts and negotiation. Finally, I have a vested interest in keeping the Fitzgibbon family in the service of Oliver’s Well. The town has been good to us, and we feel it our duty to be good to it in return. My son and his wife plan to raise a family here in Oliver’s Well, and my husband and I want our grandchildren to have the same wonderful experience of the town as my mother- and father-in-law and my husband and his sister have had.”

  Megan’s final remarks were followed by a silence that was distinctly anxious. Covertly or quite openly, everyone at the table looked to Wynston Meadows. Megan found his expression inscrutable. Clearly, the next move would be his and his alone. Jesus, she thought. What was I thinking?

  “Well,” he said heartily after a long moment of letting them hang, “let’s put it to a vote, shall we?”