Maine - J. Courtney Sullivan [163]
Ann Marie didn’t crack a smile. “I’m a good person, Alice. I don’t deserve this.”
Alice paused. “I know you’re a good person. What I don’t know is where Maggie and Kathleen have gone, but shall we boil up some spaghetti to go with that sauce for just us two?”
“Sure,” Ann Marie said glumly.
After that, they didn’t talk about the house. They spoke about Maggie’s situation and Ann Marie said she was furious—about that. Then they turned on PBS and pretended to be engrossed in a fairly bland production of Pride and Prejudice, which they had both watched in full only a month earlier.
The phone rang every hour or so, and Alice glanced at the display screen to see the number. Each time, it was Patrick on the line, and each time she ignored it.
“Go ahead and pick it up,” Ann Marie said.
Clearly, she had asked him to do her bidding.
“No, I think I’ll let it ring through,” Alice said. “It’s probably one of those lousy telemarketers calling from India.”
The waiter came over with a basket of bread. Alice asked him for a Bloody Mary. The place was filling up. It would be rude to hold the table without ordering something besides tea. When he walked off, she unfolded the cloth napkin in the basket and pulled out three tiny jars of jam, which she promptly shoved into her purse. A moment later she gestured toward a busboy and said, “Could I get some jam, please?”
“Certainly, ma’am,” he said.
A driver leaned on his horn, giving her a start. That got a few other drivers going, and soon the whole street was an ugly symphony of honks and shouts. She never came this far north anymore, even though she could remember darting around these streets as a younger woman, ducking in and out of shops with Rita in tow. Nowadays she couldn’t always trust her eyesight. She had had to squint at the road signs all along 95 on her way here, especially near home, where it was misty and gray.
Alice felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Hi, there,” Father Donnelly said. “Thanks for meeting me.”
He looked as handsome as ever. He was wearing his collar. A couple of youngsters in suits at the next table stared. Had they never seen a priest before? Alice was embarrassed that she’d chosen this place. She hoped he didn’t notice them.
She straightened up in her chair, turning her head. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to sit outside or in. We could move inside if you like.”
“This is fine,” he said. “This is lovely.”
He sat down across from her. “How are you doing?”
“I’ve been better,” she said.
He nodded. “I’m sure yesterday took a lot out of you.”
“Yes. Once again, please let me say how sorry I am that you had to see all that. I, for one, am so embarrassed about how I acted.”
He shook his head. “Not at all. Sometimes these things happen in families.”
The waiter came by with the extra jam, and filled the priest’s cup with coffee. Father Donnelly paused, waiting for the young man to leave.
“Alice, I thought you’d told your children,” he said a moment later. “And while I’m eternally grateful even for the thought, I’m starting to have reservations about accepting the house. I don’t want to be the cause of strife.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said.
“Your daughter-in-law seemed beside herself yesterday. I’m sorry that it had to come out that way, but—”
“My daughter-in-law is the hysterical type,” Alice said. “Always has been.”
“I’m confused about why you haven’t discussed this with anyone,” he said.
“They’ll get used to it,” she said.
“Well, that’s what I mean. I’m not sure I feel right about that.”
“It was a momentary shock for Ann Marie,” she said. “But believe me, none of them value the place.”
“Even so,” he said.
“When you get old like me, you’ll start to view your life as a whole,” she said. “You’ll see the things you did right, the things you made a mess of. I’ve always tried to do right, Father, but usually I