The Parting Glass. Emilie Richards
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“Nobody’s fault.”
“Jon says Nick’s mother had a heart attack? She’s in Mercy Hospital in Pittsburgh?”
“Chest pains. They put her in yesterday morning for tests. I haven’t heard any results yet, but Nick thought he ought to be there. He flew out last night. It was too late to make the drive home, so I stayed there alone until this morning.”
“You had what, four nights together? Not much of a honeymoon.”
At least they had been blissful nights. The lake lapping at the shore, Niccolo’s lovingly chosen wines, gourmet meals prepared together, moonlight walks, the glowing eyes of nocturnal animals in the forest beyond their cabin. The big, soft king-size bed.
“It’s a bad break, but it couldn’t be helped,” Megan said. “Marco told him not to make the trip home, but you know Nick. If he can’t help, he doesn’t exist. And she is his mother.”
“You deserved longer. Between the tornado, the bids and estimates, the insurance adjustor, now this…”
“Hey, we were lucky to have any time at all. Between renovations here and Nick’s work at Brick, it might be years before we can get away again.”
“Don’t even say that. You have to make time for each other.”
Megan started toward the kitchen door. The old maple tree was gone now, and so was Niccolo’s Honda Civic. The first brand-new car he had ever owned was a shiny silver cube in a Cleveland junkyard. Even the shifty-eyed insurance adjustor, who had clearly wanted to issue a modest check for repairs, had gasped when he saw it and declared it a total loss.
“I don’t suppose the contractor’s spent much time here,” Megan said. She had come to terms on the renovations with a man from Westlake before she left. Casey had volunteered to supervise whatever visits the contractor wanted to make before Megan came back. “With all the rain you’ve had and everything else, I bet he’s hardly been here.”
They entered through the kitchen. It, like the rest of the saloon, had been picked clean. Before the brief Michigan honeymoon, Megan had hired a moving company to take everything that wasn’t nailed down to a storage facility while the repairs commenced. The front facade of the building was shored up just enough for them to begin clearing the rubble, but security would be an issue until the walls were restored and doors could be installed again and locked.
“Megan, about the contractor.” Casey followed her sister into the saloon proper, although there was nothing very proper about it now. “That’s part of why I came looking for you.”
Megan waved a hand as if she were wafting away the scent of boiling cabbage. “Look, I know he’s no peach to deal with. He’s got the manners of a bulldog, but his references are good. And his was the only estimate that even came close to the amount the insurance company is willing to reimburse us for. We’re still going to have to come up with thousands of dollars ourselves. Expanding and improving went out the window fast.”
“He never gave you the estimate in writing, did he?”
Megan frowned, turning to search Casey’s face. “He said he’d send it to Nick’s—our house. It’s probably there. Why?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Casey, what are you trying to say?”
“He called me the day before yesterday. He reworked his figures before he put it all in writing. He was way off, Megan. Now he says he can’t do it for what he promised. His new estimate’s in line with the others. It’s a lot more.”
“He can’t do that!” Megan felt a surge of anger starting at her toes. “He already gave me a figure!”
“Not one you can hold him to. He had the square footage wrong, and the price of lumber’s gone up in the last week. He says the only way he could do it at what he originally thought was to do a really shoddy job of it. And you don’t want that.”
Megan felt as if she’d been punched. She should have known the estimate was too good to be true. “We should have had more insurance. I knew it. I just didn’t get around to doing anything about it.”
“Jon and I will help, Megan. You know we will. And the others are going to pitch in—”
“What others?”
“The family. The offers are pouring in. Everybody’s going to help get the saloon up and running again. Maybe it’s ours on paper, but it belongs to all the Donaghues. All the memories and the connections to the past.”
Megan rarely cried. Now her throat felt tight. She didn’t want to accept help. Sure, the Whiskey Island Saloon was a family icon, and the Donaghue clan were her family. But none of them profited from it. For years she had run it, and they had enjoyed it. The system had worked perfectly, with no grumbling. Relatives played at tending bar and helping in the kitchen; then they went home at night to their other lives. The saloon was a hobby, a welcome family link. She didn’t want the system to change.
“Uncle Frank and Aunt Deirdre will foot the whole bill,” Casey said. “He already gave me a check.”
“Tear it up.” Megan swallowed tears. She couldn’t cry. There was too much to do.
“He did it gladly, you know he did.”
“He’s a gem. I love him. I love them all. But we can’t make this a family enterprise, Casey. It’s too dangerous. Too many hotheads and firm opinions, and rambling lectures on tradition vs. modernization.”
Casey didn’t argue. Megan knew she agreed.
“So the other options?” Casey said at last.
The kitchen door slammed, and the two women looked at each other.
“Megan?”
Megan couldn’t believe it. “Nick?”
He came through the kitchen door into the saloon. “Surprise.”
“Nick!” She was so thrilled to see him that she forgot her dignity. She ran to him, falling into his arms as if she hadn’t seen him for weeks. “What happened? Why are you back so soon?”
“Anxiety attack,” Nick said. “And not mine. Mama’s. Mama wasn’t dealing with our wedding quite as well as we all thought.” He held her away and grinned. “We’ve had a little talk, Mama and me. She’s on the road to recovery.”
“You’re kidding!”
“It was real. She’s not given to hysterics. Just too much change in her orderly life. But she’ll cope. She’s humiliated. Next time she’ll die of a heart attack before she tells anybody she has pains in her chest. And she’s going to take up yoga. My mother in the lotus position. I’ve demanded photographs.”
“Poor woman,” Casey said. “I actually liked your mother, Nick, even if she spent most of our time together telling me about the day you were ordained.”
“You’re okay?” Niccolo asked Megan. “The drive back went okay?”
“It was lonely.” She smiled up at him; then she sobered. “Nick, Casey has bad news.”
“Jon already told him,” Casey said. “He thought Nick should be warned.”
“Why? So he’d be prepared to come home to a basket case?” She tempered the words with all the smile she could manage. “Listen, you two, I’ll cope. Maybe I’ll take up yoga, too. I’m going to find a way around this, even if I have to do the damned repairs myself. And I could, you know. If I had to.”
“You don’t,” Niccolo said.
“You know, I should leave,” Casey said. “You’re invited for dinner tonight. I’ll see you two then. You can fill me—”
“No, I want you to hear this, too,” Niccolo said.
Casey