Wellesley Wives (New England Trilogy) (25 page)

Popsy shook her head. “He won’t let me mind him while I’m here, so I may as well head off with you. Anyway, it’s only a weekend, and it’s months away. How much trouble can he get into over three nights? And you and I could really do with a little time away.” She kissed Sandra on the cheek. “And I love my present. You’re very bold, but thank you.”

“So we’re going to Ireland? I can hardly believe it.” Sandra laughed. “Why didn’t we do this before? I can’t wait to see all those fabulous green fields and experience the famous Irish welcome.”

“Oh, I’d say they’re going to love you there.” Rosie smirked. “You really do look like a million dollars. How do you always look so good?”

“She lives in the gym,” Popsy interrupted. “But Rosie, you’re looking pretty terrific yourself these days. Have you gone on a diet?”

Rosie laughed. “It’s a little soon to see results, but I have started running every day in preparation for my vacation.”

“Well, I can see the results. Keep it up. You look amazing,” Popsy said.

“Ah, youth.” Sandra sighed. “How easy it used to be to carve my body into the shape I wanted. Now I have to work out every day just to maintain what I have.”

“What you have is pretty darn good, and don’t you forget it. I bet some Irish guy will snatch you up in no time.”

Matilda’s eggs on toast were sublime and they were at the clearing the table stage when Popsy mentioned Peter again. “Surely he’s done by now.”

“I left my phone in the car,” Sandra suddenly realized. “I’m just going to get it, and I’ll check to see if there’s any sign of that wayward husband of yours, too.”

Despite Peter’s absence and the heartache with Jack, Sandra felt better than she had in days as she walked out the front door. Her best friend was thrilled with the present and they were going to Ireland!

Sandra happened to be alone when she opened the front door of Popsy’s house. She was alone when she saw Jack and Lily hugging next to their cars. And she was desperately, painfully, and totally alone when Jack glanced over Lily’s head and looked at her.

“Sandy,” he called, and Lily pushed away. This was the first time she’d seen Jack since he’d told her he was leaving her, and now, so soon, here he was with Lily in his arms. For a moment, Sandra was frozen to the spot. She couldn’t run back into the house because they’d seen her. Dammit. Lily’s car was parked next to hers. She was incapable of taking a single step forward. To move was to acknowledge them and their love. She never wanted to see Lily again. 

Did Popsy know they were coming? Had Peter given them his blessing? Where was Peter? What should she do? In a desperate bid to get away, she made a run for her car. She’d just drive away and explain to Popsy later why she had to flee. But that didn’t work. Jack ran toward her, and before she got her door open, he managed to grab her arm.

“Please, Sandy,”

“No!” she screamed. “Get away from me, you bastard!” She tried to pry his fingers loose, but his grip was too strong. Then he managed to get hold of her other arm so he could look her in the face. She pulled hard and then shook to free herself.

“Stop fighting me, Sandra . . .” His voice was urgent, but it had a forced calm about it. When she glanced up for just a second, she could see Lily in the distance. Her eyes were red. She was crying. Good.

“How could you do this? You can’t just breeze in here with your new—” Sandra glanced up to be sure Popsy hadn’t followed her out. Then she continued a little more quietly, “Your new whore, and you can’t just walk in here without any warning.”

“Sandra, shut up!”

“Then let me go. If you’re here, I’m not. It’s that simple.” This time she did have the strength to look at him. “You think you can just saunter in here like nothing has changed?” She spat her words at him. “It’s not that simple, Jack Boy.”

“I have some very bad news. Would you please stop fighting me and brace yourself? You need to be here for Popsy’s sake. This is a lot bigger than you or me.”

For the first time, Sandra relented. Somehow he’d permeated her shield of hatred. It was bizarre to see him after the last few days. To be so intimate with every minute detail of his face and now to be so disgusted by that same face, felt odd. Standing this close to him was like coming home, and to be in his arms felt normal. But normal was gone, she reminded herself. Jack didn’t love her anymore. The new “normal” was standing twenty feet away, crying.

“What’s wrong?” She was acutely aware that she was close to tears herself.

“There’s no easy way to say this.” He took a deep breath. “It’s Peter. He’s dead.”

Part 2

Ireland

Chapter 21 

Life after Death

“You ladies here for a nice spring break?” the Dublin taxi driver asked Popsy and Sandra. They were both exhausted after their transatlantic flight. It was only seven in the morning Irish time but two a.m. by their body clocks.

    Popsy was a changed woman. In the three plus months since Peter’s death, she’d lost most of her
joie de vivre
and there’d been no real improvement. Now she was just a shadow of the woman she once was. It was going to take time, quite a lot of it, but for now Sandra would take care of her.

She made the effort to answer because that was their routine now. “Yes, we are. We flew in from Boston. My friend here was born in Ireland, so we’re back to see the old homeland, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I do, o’course,” he said. “We’ve loads of Americans passing through doin’ the same thing all the time. Where’s home in Ireland?”

Sandra glanced at Popsy, but she was in a daze, looking out the window at the early-morning traffic, so Sandra answered for her. “A place called Rathmichael. Do you know it?”

The driver nodded. “Yeah, it’s out the south of the city, just next to the Wicklow border. Does she have any family there now?”

Popsy remained detached. Sandra shook her head. “It’s just a sightseeing trip.”

Sandra took Popsy’s hand and squeezed it as they zoomed along. In the lanes next to them, cars inched forward, bumper-to-bumper, but they were in a designated taxi lane. Dawn was breaking and slowly the city was unveiling itself. Just like Boston, the February nights were still long and the days too short.

“There’s any number of ways to get you to Ballsbridge from here, but if I take the tunnel you’ll see nothing, so I’ll go down O’Connell Street. That’s our main thoroughfare—our Fifth Avenue, if you know what I mean,” the driver said.

Sandra was about to object when they whizzed past the entrance to the tunnel. It was obvious resistance was futile. Her experience told her to be careful that a
€40
ride didn’t become a
€140
ride. She’d suffered at the hands of swindling taxi drivers before, but this guy seemed to know what she was thinking.

“Don’t worry, love. It’ll work out much of a muchness on the money front. It’s just a chance to see a bit more of the city, like.”

“Thanks,” she said as she massaged her temples. “But we are a little tired after the trip.”

“I’ll have ye’ at your hotel just as quick, too.”

She nodded. Soon, she was happy he’d made the call because she recognized the wide expanse of O’Connell Street from photos of Dublin she’d seen on the web.

“We’re really here, Popsy,” Sandra said, trying to get her friend involved. Popsy nodded and looked out the window, but she remained in what had become her normal state of detachment.

“This is the River Liffey you’re crossing, ladies,” the driver said. “It’s official, you’re on the south of the city now. Much posher.” He tapped the side of his nose and laughed. “On your right now, that’s the GPO, scene of the 1916 rising, and comin’ up on your left is the world-famous Trinity College.” Even Popsy seemed to engage a little at this point. They were making good time through the traffic. “Next on your right is our premier shopping district—Grafton Street. I’m thinkin’ you ladies might like to spend a few of your very welcome American dollars there. It’s where all the nice shops are.”

Sandra smiled at him in the rearview mirror. Popsy didn’t respond. The truth was, she had no idea what they’d be doing for the next few days. Not sure about Popsy’s ability to think straight, Sandra had brought enough money for the two of them. That meant sufficient funds to have a nice time and eat in a few good restaurants, but it sure wouldn’t stretch to a good old-fashioned shopping binge like the old days. She and Popsy were capable of blowing $20,000 in one day. Those times were gone now. And Peter’s death had thrown a crazy situation into even further chaos.

The life insurance company was refusing to pay out to C&J because it had already filed for Chapter 11, but Sandra’s lawyers were watching Jack very carefully to see if he got financial compensation. If he did, some of that was hers. Over three months had passed since she and Jack had split, and also since Peter’s death. It was unbelievable how time flew. She was still in The Celtic Crowne, but every day she feared a call or letter would arrive telling her she had to get out. These were not things to worry about this weekend, however. She and Popsy were going to have a good time if it was the last thing they did.

“Coming up on your left now is the Dail. It’s our seat of power, where all the ministers hang out, because God knows they certainly aren’t workin’ in there.”

Sandra knew all about Ireland’s troubled financial times. She heard they’d had the world’s biggest boom, followed by the world’s biggest bust in just a matter of years.

Sandra leaned forward and looked out the front window. “But things are getting better now, right?”

He took his right hand off the steering wheel and waved it as if to say “so-so.”

“Better is a relative term. We’ve had a terrible run of it, but yes, I think on balance things are better than a few years back. We need all the tourists we can get, I’ll tell you that much. And bring all your money.” He turned the car at the top of the street and Sandra winced.

“Sorry, I can’t get my head around how you guys drive on the left-hand-side. I keep thinking you’re going the wrong way.”

He laughed. “That’s The Shelbourne Hotel. You might like that place, two fine ladies like yourselves. You’ll meet a nice class of gent in there.”

Sandra turned to see the beautiful old façade of what was clearly a very grand hotel that was worth investigating, for sure. She sat back again because watching the traffic was making her nervous. Instead, she looked at the beautiful line of red-brick Victorian houses along the sidewalk. As they went from a shopping area to a more residential one, she saw large gracious houses with sash windows coming to life as the city woke up to another day. It was all very pretty.

“What’s your friend’s family name?” the taxi driver asked after a few moments.

“Heffernan,” Sandra offered.

“Well, if that doesn’t beat Banagher.” He laughed. “I’m a Heffernan! Look.” He pointed to his taxi driver I.D. displayed on the glove compartment.

“What’s Banagher?” Sandra asked.

“It’s a place, love.” A place. As if that explained the odd expression. “Howaya, cos?” he asked Popsy. “That’s a good one, now. We’re family.”

Popsy smiled vacantly at him.

“Tell me now, cos. Has anybody ever told you, you look like Goldie Hawn?”

To Sandra’s relief, he turned the car off the road and into the safe haven of The Four Seasons Hotel in Dublin’s leafy and very up-market area of Ballsbridge. Their arrival cut off the driver just as he was getting into any possible links to Hollywood royalty.

Sandra thought their impromptu tour had been nice, but she knew Popsy wouldn’t be capable of small-talk with their particularly sociable driver. She couldn’t get the door open fast enough. “Come on, Popsy. I’ll get the fare. You head into the warmth of the hotel.”

Boston was famous for its cold weather, but they’d exchanged an acceptable, cold New England for a freezing Ireland. The wind combined with the chill cut right through her. It was good to get inside.

Their suite was everything it had promised to be. They each had a separate bedroom with private bathrooms, and in the center was a charming drawing room. It was far too large for two single ladies, but what the heck? It was part of a package and reasonably priced. This Irish recession was good for the U.S. tourist.

As soon as their suitcases were delivered, the ladies took them to their respective rooms. Even though it was just after eight in the morning, they’d agreed to nap for a few hours to catch up from the jetlag.

Once she’d checked out her room Sandra came over and knocked on Popsy’s door. She stuck her head around. “How’s your room?” she asked, even though she had a pretty good idea that it was the same as hers.

Popsy was sitting on the side of her enormous bed, looking into space. “Yes, it’s fine,” she said, still with that vacant sound in her voice.

Sandra came in and looked around. “Yep, looks pretty much like mine. I think they’re really charming. We have a fabulous view over a large green garden, too. Did you see?” She walked over to the window. “I hear the bath running. Taking a bath before you go to sleep?”

Popsy looked at the carpet and nodded. Baths had become her obsession. She said she was permanently cold and only a bath could warm her. Back in Wellesley, Popsy had been taking up to five baths a day since the funeral. They’d sought medical advice and been told it was a manifestation of the grief and not the worst thing she could do. If it gave her some sort of comfort, let her go for it. It would pass. Sandra hoped the change of routine might help break her of the habit. Popsy needed to come back to reality soon. Naturally, she said none of this out loud.

“I’m going to order some Irish tea and a couple of their world-famous scones dripping in Irish butter. Will you eat with me?”

Popsy shook her head. “I’m not hungry, thanks.” Popsy was never hungry now. She’d faded to nothing since Peter’s death, but again, Sandra hoped the fresh Irish air might put some appetite back into her.