The Parting Glass. Emilie Richards
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not my whole point. We talked about the saloon.”
She wondered if Marco disapproved of Niccolo’s new wife working as a saloon keeper. He was a traditional male. His wife, Carrie, stayed home with their two children and cooked. And cooked. Megan wished she could hire her.
“Marco has the contracting skills that I don’t,” Niccolo continued. “I could never tackle the repairs here alone, particularly if we expand the project and make the changes we need to.”
Megan felt her mind slowing. She was afraid to let it move forward, afraid she might be wrong.
“But Marco could do this job with his hands tied behind his back. Problem is, he has to pay a crew, and even if he could bring them here and house them for free, with union wages and building supplies, we’d be out of our range again.”
“And he couldn’t get his crew over here, anyway,” Megan said. “Why would they want to come to Cleveland?”
“No, but with Marco and me doing the work with the Brick kids and occasionally a temporary crew, we can do it for the insurance settlement, Megan. We went over and over the figures last night. I had Jon fax me all the estimates we’d already gotten, the plans I drew up for the changes you want. It’s doable.”
“But why would Marco come and do this? He has a business to run. Can he be away that long?”
“He’ll go home as often as he can. In the meantime—and get this—Carrie’s going to run his business.”
Megan stared at him. “Carrie? Of the fabulous parsley pesto sauce? Of the sun-dried tomato ravioli?”
“She’s been answering his telephones, printing up his bills, making calls to the lumberyard and supply houses for years. She’s even bossed the crew a time or two when he was sick. Marco says she can do it. He’ll go back and forth. It’s not that long a drive. A couple of days here, several days there.”
“Why?”
Niccolo smiled. “Because he’s my brother.”
Megan couldn’t believe her good luck. Casey could, though. She came over to hug them both. “This is so great! Now you can get everything you want, Megan. Expanded kitchen, a redesigned space behind the bar. And if you have to take money from the family, it will only be a little.”
“I might borrow,” Megan said. “And pay them back with interest.” With her current rush of goodwill, depleting their bank accounts seemed like the least she could do.
“Then it’s a deal?” he said.
“Of course it’s a deal!” She hugged him. She hugged Casey. “Thank you so much for coming up with this. I can’t believe it!”
“We’ll be slower than professionals,” Niccolo warned her. “It won’t get done overnight.”
“I don’t care. Just get it done. I’ll help. I’m good at this stuff.”
“You are.” He touched her hair. “Good at everything you do.”
Casey broke away. “That’s too much sweetness and light for me. Ever since you saw the Virgin in the tunnel, folks, it’s been like an episode of ‘Touched By An Angel’ around here. Gag me.”
“A couple more people want to see the Virgin,” Niccolo said. “Marco, for one. How would you feel if I took him through the tunnel, Megan?”
She was feeling much too fabulous to worry about anything so inconsequential. In fact, she was feeling so kindly toward Marco that she would scrape the image off the wall and give it to him for Christmas if he asked for it.
“The more the merrier.” Her smile was so broad it threatened to permanently stretch her cheeks. “I’m becoming a believer in miracles myself. Light candles, burn incense, make novenas. I don’t care.”
“I’m heading home before you start the Gregorian chants,” Casey said. “The invitation stands. You two come for dinner tonight.”
Niccolo looked at Megan. Megan looked at Niccolo. Casey looked at both of them.
“Another time,” Casey countered. “I know that look when I see it.”
“Thanks. And you can look after Rooney another night?”
“Not a problem. And Josh will hold the fort at your house. What hotel are you going to?”
“That would be none of your business.”
chapter 11
Bridie had an insatiable need to connect with people, and Kieran had as strong a need to keep them at bay. Yet the two children were fascinated by each other. She was an intelligent girl, with problem-solving abilities far advanced for her age. She saw Kieran’s desires and needs as puzzles to assemble so that, in the end, the picture that emerged would please everyone. She didn’t gush, and she didn’t ask for more than he would give. She seemed to have no need for hugs or kisses. When he shouted “hi” in her direction, she took it as her due. When he threw himself on the floor in an exhausted temper tantrum, she raised her slight shoulders as if to say “I warned you he was reaching his limit.”
Bridie was almost a daily visitor now, and Peggy had quickly grown dependent on the eleven-year-old’s common sense and insight, as well as her help.
“Red.” Bridie picked up a red sweater and dropped it on the small table where Kieran was sitting in the “classroom” Peggy had made for him. She picked up a red slipper she’d brought from home and put that on the table, too. “Red.” A third item, a lovely polished apple, followed the other two. “Red.”
Kieran showed as little interest as usual, standing, then wandering around the table. Peggy gently guided him back to his little chair, and when he sat at her instruction, she gave him a tiny fish-shaped cracker.
Bridie had cleared the table in the interim. This time she set out a giant red crayon. “Point to red,” she said. “Where’s red, Kieran?”
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