Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [107]
“Don’t worry about it,” Emily advised. “I’ll have a talk with Moira.”
“I wish you’d stay and have a talk with her every day,” Lisa grumbled.
“You can always e-mail me, but, for the Lord’s sake, don’t tell everyone else that.”
“Just about Frankie,” Lisa promised.
“That’s a deal, then—just about Frankie,” said Emily, knowing that no law was so strict that it couldn’t be bent for an emergency.
Eventually Emily got away.
She could hardly believe that it was just a matter of months since she had arrived here knowing nobody and now she seemed to be making seismic gaps in their lives by leaving for three weeks. It was amazing how much she had been absorbed into this small community.
She hoped she wasn’t going to speak with an Irish brogue when she got back to the United States. She hoped too that she wouldn’t use any Irishisms such as saying “Jaysus!” like they did in Dublin with no apparent blasphemy or disrespect. It had startled her at first, but then it had become second nature.
As she got nearer to New York she became excited at all that lay ahead. She tried to force the Irish cast of characters away from the main stage of her mind. She had to concentrate on Eric’s mother and Betsy’s brother, but images kept coming back to her.
Noel and Lisa in Chestnut Court soothing the baby as they prepared for a college degree that might or might not be any help to either of them. Josie and Charles kneeling down saying the Rosary in their kitchen, remembering to add three Hail Marys for St. Jarlath and a reminder that the statue campaign was going well. Dr. Hat playing chess with the boy in Boston who had something wrong with his foot and was out of school for a week. Molly in the thrift shop wondering how much to charge for a pleated linen skirt that had never been worn. Paddy Carroll bringing round, big wrapped parcels that contained juicy bones for the dogs that passed through. Aidan and Signora singing Italian songs to three children: their own grandchild, as well as Frankie and little Johnny Carroll. She thought about Muttie, wheezing happily to his dog, Hooves, or solving the world’s problems with his Associates. She thought about the decent priest Father Brian Flynn, and how he tried to hide his true feelings about the statue of a sixth-century saint being erected in a Dublin working-class street.
There were so many images that Emily dropped off to sleep thinking about them all. And there she was in Kennedy Airport, and, after collecting her luggage and clearing customs, she could see Eric and Betsy jumping up and down with excitement. They even had a banner. In uneven writing it said WELCOME HOME, EMILY! How very odd that it didn’t seem like home anymore.
But home or not, it was wonderful.
Emily talked to Eric’s mother in a woman-of-the-world manner. She managed to convey the impression that Eric was very near his sell-by date and that he was very, very lucky that Betsy had been persuaded to consider him. Betsy had, apparently, written over to Ireland that there were some “obstacles” in the way of the marriage. Emily couldn’t think what they might be. She looked Eric’s mother in the eye and asked if she knew of any. Betsy’s future mother-in-law, who was just a bit of a fusspot, started to babble a bit. Emily felt the point had been made. Betsy needed huge enthusiasm and support for her big day; otherwise she might pull out at the last moment and poor Eric would be left bereft.
Emily sorted out the shoes simply by insisting Betsy buy a pair in the correct size; she sorted out the dull dress problem by taking the very plain gray dress to an accessories store and asking everyone’s advice. Together, they chose a rose-pink-and-cream-colored stole, which transformed it.
She went to Betsy’s brother and explained