The Parting Glass. Emilie Richards
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family, she had thrown away the need for an easy diagnosis and settled for the fact that Rooney was not like other men. He had battled hard for sanity, but the years and a dependence on alcohol had taken a permanent toll.
Still, Rooney was no longer homeless, as he had been since Megan’s adolescence. Every night he returned to eat dinner and sleep at Niccolo’s house in Ohio City, a West Side Cleveland neighborhood. He no longer drank, and he took medication that helped him think more clearly. He was sometimes confused, but rarely confused about who his daughters were. He had missed a large chunk of their lives, but he was learning to know them again on his own terms.
“I reminded him about the wedding this morning,” Megan said. “He was up early.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing that made much sense, but he didn’t seem surprised, like maybe he’d remembered already. Will he get there, do you think?”
“He knows where St. Brigid’s is,” Peggy said. “He can find his way anywhere.”
“Megan, let it be enough that he remembered, okay?” Casey said. “He remembers you. This morning he remembered you were getting married. He wants to be there, even if he doesn’t quite make it. A year ago, when I married Jon, he had trouble remembering my name.”
Megan knew that if they searched for and found their father, corralled him and herded him into a car, he would panic. She considered, instead, the one thing she could control. “There’s still time for me to head for Botswana or the Canary Islands. I don’t care which.”
Peggy joined her, leaning down to kiss her sister on the cheek. She stepped back and wiped away a faint smudge of lipstick. “How about the church, instead? You don’t have a passport.”
“Yes, I do. I made sure of it.”
“You don’t have a ticket.”
“There must be planes to Botswana every hour on the hour.”
“From Hopkins? You’d be lucky to hop a jet to Newark.”
“That would do.” Megan straightened her spine. “You think I’m kidding.”
“I think you’re terrified,” Casey said, joining them. “I never thought I’d live to see the day you owned up to it. Now, are we going to church, or do I let everybody know you’re a pitiful coward?”
“That’s a stupid question.” Megan whirled and took one final look at herself in the mirror. Actually, the view wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. She looked like…a bride. “Let’s go.”
Casey shrugged. “You’re so darned predictable.”
chapter 2
Niccolo was glad Megan hadn’t chosen a formal wedding gown, because then he would have to wear a tux, and he was already afraid his seldom worn suit was going to be wringing wet by the ceremony’s end. St. Brigid’s wasn’t particularly hot. But he was particularly nervous.
“Josh, come here a minute.” He motioned to the gangly young usher who was trying to herd a string of shoving adolescents toward a pew at the front.
Josh obliged, turning over his end of the line to Tarek, another youth, who was dressed in neatly pressed slacks, a sportscoat and shining loafers. Tarek had told Niccolo that this was his first time in a Christian church, and he had made a carefully annotated list of what he should wear, right down to the conservative tie.
“Where’s Winston?” Niccolo asked when Josh joined him in the narthex. “He’ll help keep them in line.”
Josh didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Oh, he’s not here yet. He had stuff to do this morning.”
Winston, Josh, Tarek and all the other kids in the pew, were part of Brick. One Brick at a Time had started out as a bunch of neighborhood pre-adolescents watching Niccolo renovate an old house in Ohio City, and now it was a chartered nonprofit organization that taught basic carpentry and plumbing skills, and remodeled old houses. Home repair and remodeling were secondary to the real skills the participants learned, though: self-control, self-worth, the importance of follow-through, and community service. Brick hobbled along on a knotted shoestring, but Brick hobbled forward.
Niccolo’s collar was in danger of cutting off his air supply. He pulled it away from his throat. “Can you keep them in line long enough to get them to the reception?”
“Sure, they’ll do what I say,” Josh promised. Niccolo didn’t doubt he meant it.
Josh was Niccolo’s biggest success story. Although most of the Brick kids came from safe enough homes, Josh hadn’t been so lucky. He had moved in with Niccolo two years ago to avoid his father’s alcoholic rages, and had blossomed immediately. For the first time in his life his grades were excellent, and his self-esteem was growing. He talked confidently about college now, and Niccolo had no doubts he would do well.
“Do you see the big guy at the end of the second pew?” Niccolo pointed through the doorway toward the front. “With black hair and the pretty woman in blue beside him?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s my brother Marco.”
“He looks like you. How come he never comes to visit?”
Niccolo tried to think of a kind way to phrase the unkind truth. “My family wasn’t happy when I left the priesthood. Marco’s been running interference—” He saw that Josh didn’t understand. “He’s been trying to help the others understand that making a change was the right thing for me. Particularly my parents and the grandparents who are still alive.”
“I get it. He doesn’t want to alienate them by coming here while he’s working on their heads.”
Niccolo liked the way “alienate” had just slipped from Josh’s lips. And of course Josh had understood the subtleties of his explanation. Josh was a natural psychologist.
“You’ve got it. But he’s here today, and I’d like him to have a carnation for his lapel.” Niccolo motioned to the one in Josh’s. “Like yours. Will you take it up to him?”
“Sure. Cool.” Josh took a boutonniere from the white florist’s box beside Niccolo. “Anybody else coming? From your family, I mean?”
When Niccolo shook his head, Josh looked perplexed. “They don’t like Megan?” Clearly Josh couldn’t imagine such a thing, since he practically worshiped at Megan’s feet.
“They wouldn’t like anybody I chose. Don’t worry about it. Marco’s here. That’s a start.”
“So even good families can act crazy, huh?” Josh seemed to like that thought. He was smiling a little when he started back into the nave and up the aisle.
“What are you doing out here?”
Niccolo turned to see his best man coming through the door. Jon Kovats, Casey’s husband, was dressed in a dark suit, too, only on Jon it looked perfectly natural. He was a prosecutor, with quiet, clean-cut good looks that gave crime victims faith and an unwavering gaze that gave defendants shivers down their spines.
“Aren’t you supposed to be hiding somewhere with Father Brady until right before the ceremony?” Jon asked.
Niccolo hated to admit the truth, that after Jon had dropped him off at the side door, Niccolo had sneaked into the narthex for a look at the guests. He had hoped his parents would relent and attend, although he hadn’t said as much to Josh.
“I was just getting some air,” he said, “and checking to see if anything had to be done out here.”
“Nick, you can let go of everything for a while. Let the rest of us take care of the details. That’s why we signed on.”
“Have you heard anything from Casey?”
“Anything?”
Niccolo