Wellesley Wives (New England Trilogy) (30 page)

“More,” Rosie added. “I was twenty-nine last month.”

“That’s just the point,
chica
. The time goes by so fast. You must enjoy yourself, and you owe it to your husband. Someday, sooner than you think, Nat will be gone off with her man, so you must put your husband first and the child next.”

Rosie didn’t answer. She watched Natasha playing.

“I took care of you when your parents went away, and we had a great time. This will be the same, I promise.”

This much Rosie knew was the truth. Matilda was a terrific nanny. She was more than capable of anticipating Natasha’s needs.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never actually left her before. We’ve been together since the day she was born, and I didn’t realize it was going to be so hard.”

“No,” Matilda argued vehemently. “Don’t make it hard, Rosita. It is fine and normal. Mamas need time out, too. No crying now. You know she is in good hands, so go and have some fun.” Rosie was glad Matilda was still capable of being bossy when she needed to be. Rosie went over to her daughter.

“Okay, Nat. Mommy’s going to say good-bye now. You’ll be just great with Tilly. I know you’ve been looking forward to your vacation here.”

Natasha beamed from ear-to-ear. “We’re having a party as soon as you go, so you gotta go now, Mommy.”

Rosie thought her heart would break. “I’ll call you guys, and remember grandma will be home the day after tomorrow.”

“We’re gonna have another party then.” Natasha giggled in anticipation.

How could she worry about her daughter? It was obvious she was delighted with the change of scenery. Rosie forced herself to be stronger than she felt. She didn’t make any more fuss about being gone seven whole days. She just kissed Matilda and Natasha and got out of the house before she started to cry.

Back in her car, though, she let the tears fall. Nobody ever told her it would be this hard. Lots of her friends had gone on vacations and left their children behind. She’d never heard about them falling to pieces. Was it just her? Was she unhinged or perhaps too dependent on Natasha already? She felt panicky. Was she one of those clingy moms who didn’t know how to let go? Poor Natasha. That would be awful.

Maybe her mom was right and what she needed was another baby. She wondered how Marcus would feel about that. They hadn’t discussed it because learning to take care of Natasha had really been a full-time job. Rosie had been taking birth control pills since she stopped breastfeeding. The doctor had already told her she would have to stop by the time she was thirty and consider other forms. She wouldn’t think about it until after she got back, of course. The knock on her car window startled her.

“Lily, what are you doing here?” she asked as she rolled down the window.

“Hi, Rosie. I told Mom I would pop in to see if Matilda needed anything since she doesn’t have a car. What about you?” She leaned in. “Hey, are you crying?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I was just saying good-bye to Natasha. I didn’t realize how tough it would be.”

“I can only imagine. But you know the week will fly by, and you’ll be back refreshed and rested before Natasha even notices you’re gone.”

“I know. I really do. My head gets it, but my heart is breaking.”

Lily squeezed Rosie’s shoulder. “Look, I’m here. You know I would do anything for my niece. I give you my solemn word of honor that if anything goes wrong, I’ll step in. If she needs any help, money, medical care, you name it, I’m on it. I’ve got your back, Sis.”

Rosie looked at Lily. Really looked at her. They seemed to have so little in common. Not looking alike was only the tip of the iceberg. Their sense of values were at odds, just as their tastes in men, and their ambition levels. Everything, really. But here was some common ground—Natasha. She patted Lily’s hand. “Thanks, Lily. I know we’ve had our differences, but I do appreciate your support with Natasha.”

“Go. Have a ball. I can always call you on your cell, and you’ve left your contact details with Matilda and Mom, right?”

“Uh, no. I told them we’d be reachable by cell, and I’ll call them.”

“Oh, so you’re still going to that place. I don’t know why I’d assumed you’d changed your plans with everything that’s happened.” She pulled her hand back. “Okay,” she said, but the warmth was gone. “Well, you can call us and don’t worry; I’ll look out for Natasha.”

Rosie suddenly felt the need to leave. She started her car and nodded. “Thanks for everything. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Lily watched Rosie go. What kind of a fool was her sister? She had it all. A guy she loved and who loved her. Most important, everybody approved of the match. Marcus was handsome, a good provider, and a doting father. It was nauseating. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, Rosie had an adorable little girl. Natasha was so cute and smart, and everybody loved her. Now Rosie was going to risk all that for a quick thrill? Was the girl absolutely stark-raving mad? Her sister’s red BMW turned a corner and was out of sight, so Lily headed toward the house.

The truth was that Lily was sorry not to have Natasha for the week now. It would have been a great distraction and a perfect excuse to stay away from work. She would much rather have played with the little girl for a week than pretend she was sick. Maybe she’d ask her mom if she could “borrow” her niece for a night. That would be so much fun. Lily had a double bed in her second bedroom. Right now it was covered in Jack’s files, but he could move them for one night, and the three of them could pretend to be a little family.

Chapter 25 

Failte

Popsy sighed when their car pulled up outside the hotel. “Peter would have loved this.” It was Saturday evening, and they were bidding farewell to their driver of the last day and a half.

    “Thank you, Gerald. We had a fantastic time with you. Again, a million thanks,” Sandra enthused for the umpteenth time.

He’d whisked them everywhere they wanted to go. They knew it was going to be good from the moment they got into his lovely, comfortable Mercedes Benz on Friday. He wore a gray chauffeur’s uniform and cap and was the perfect gentleman from start to finish, but he also had that incredible Irish charm and the sparkle in his eyes that Irish men were famous for. His charm had sure worked on Popsy and Sandra.

“
Failte go Baile Atha Cliath
. Welcome to Dublin.” Those were his opening words.

“Aw shucks, I bet you say that to all the girls,” Sandra said and right away they were on the best of terms. They were in the back of the car, so most of their communication was either with the back of his head or the rearview mirror.

“I understand you want to head to the south of Dublin first, is that correct?”

Sandra leaned forward to talk with him, but then Popsy said, “It is. Can you aim for Ferndale Road in Rathmichael? I’ll direct you from there. Well, I hope I’ll be able to if things haven’t changed too much,” she said and smiled.

Sandra was silently thrilled. Popsy had all but given up communicating with strangers since Peter’s death, and she’d become accustomed to speaking for both of them, but it looked like Popsy had found her voice again. A good first.

He took them straight out to Rathmichael, where Popsy had grown up. She said the biggest surprise for her was how much had changed.

“Do you still have any family out here, madam?” Gerald asked.

“I’m afraid the only family I have in these parts are in Shanganagh Cemetery. That will be our next stop.”

He gave a sympathetic nod. “I wonder if any of the old neighbors are still here.”

“I very much doubt it. When I lived here it was all fields around us. We didn’t have any neighbors for miles. Things have changed drastically,” she said, looking out the window. “Where I remember old country roads, now you have motorways. Where we had big rolling hills to explore, somebody has put up thumping big housing estates.” She didn’t sound too thrilled but Sandra was just happy to hear her talking again.

“Oh, Popsy, look at that little church. Was that there when you lived here?” she asked.

“Honey, that church was there when St. Patrick was here,” Popsy said, which made Sandra laugh. “You think I’m joking? I’m not. I remember doing a school project on it when I was seven or eight. Let’s see . . . The church you’re looking at is a rebuild. It’s only about two hundred years old. I think it was built in the early 1800s, but they have records of a church being on these grounds going back as far as Norman times, so that’s around 1170, the time of Saint Patrick. They even believe the founder of the church may have been a religious man called Bishop Mac Toil. His death is recorded in the records at 550AD, so I guess he built it before that. It’s pretty safe to assume this church was first built in the late 500s.” Popsy stopped and laughed at herself. “Funny, the things you remember,” she said and looked from Sandra to Gerald. Sandra was stunned into silence and was staring at Popsy in open-mouthed wonder. Even the driver had gone quiet.

“Now that beats Banagher. I’ve been out here millions of times and I never knew that,” he said. “Late 500s, you say? I’ll remember that.”

Sandra snapped out of her shocked silence. “There’s that saying again. What’s Banagher? And why do you want to beat it? I don’t get it.”

Gerald laughed. “Sure, how would you know? ‘That beats Banagher’ is another way of saying ‘isn’t that amazing.’ Banagher is a place. In fact, I think there are two of them. The one I know is in Offaly, in the middle of Ireland, but I think there’s another in Northern Ireland, too. Very nice town by all accounts, but I have no idea how the expression came about.”

“Stop,” Popsy almost shouted, and Gerald hit the brakes.

Popsy leaned forward and reached over Sandra to push her electric window down. She stared at the large, white house nestled in a web of enormous old oaks standing back about a hundred yards from the road.

“Is that it?” Sandra whispered.

Popsy nodded. “Yep, that was home.”

“Lovely home, madam.”

“It does still look majestic,” Sandra said. “But is that a car park out front?”

“Looks like it’s being used as an office building now,” Gerald ventured. “There are too many cars for it to be a private residence. Would you like to go in? I could ask for you, if you like.”

Popsy cowered back into the seat and shook her head. Sandra took her hand.

“It’s okay. They wouldn’t mind, especially if it’s not even a private home anymore.”

“No, let’s go. I have wonderful memories of the big old kitchen with its jet black Aga—that’s a range to you, Sandra. Also, the bright morning room filled with sunlight and flowers. No, I don’t want to go in there now to see people sitting at desks, staring into computers in what used to be my childhood playroom. My memories are better than that.”

Sandra had written off her years with Jack because of their breakup. Yes, their last year together had been acrimonious, but the times before had been good. She would do well to take Popsy’s example and choose to remember the good times. Lock them away and keep them precious. They were hers and they were real and they were good. It made her feel a little better.

“Gerald, would you take us to Shanganagh Cemetery now, please?” Popsy asked.

Sandra had been a little nervous about Popsy visiting the grave of her parents so soon after Peter’s death, but her worries were unfounded. Her parents were long-deceased, and she was calm when she found the gravesite they shared. It had been a few decades since her last visit, and she looked happy to be back. Sandra watched her friend like a hawk for any sign of anxiety, but her fears were unfounded. If anything, she seemed at peace.

Popsy looked around. “It’s nice here,” she said.

“I guess—as graveyards go. I’m not in any hurry to move into one, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” Sandra kept it light, and Popsy smiled.

“It’s just, I was thinking about how Peter chose cremation over burial. I think I’d prefer to be buried so my people could come visit me well into the future, like I’m doing now.”

Sandra just nodded. It was the first time Popsy had spoken about Peter so freely. Was she beginning to accept that he was gone? She’d been worried about dragging Popsy to Ireland while she still seemed so depressed and disconnected but it was looking like her fears were unfounded.

Usually, when Sandra had a problem, she would ask Popsy, or in the past, Jack. Those options were gone, so she’d had to get more resourceful. She took all the advice she could get from the fount of all wisdom—the internet—and it hadn’t led her astray. The experts insisted it was good to “move on” after a death and a change of scenery was a great idea. It also went through issues like talking about the dead and using the past tense, which Popsy was doing. This was all good. It seemed Popsy was recovering.

“Would you like me to leave you alone with your parents?” Sandra asked.

Popsy shook her head. “There’s no need. They’re not here anymore. It’s only their tired, old bodies. I know their spirits are with me no matter where I am, just like Peter’s.” Popsy touched her parents’ headstone and bid them goodbye. Then she took Sandra by the arm, and they walked out of the cemetery together.

On Friday night, they’d stayed in the hotel to dine. Even with the morning nap they were still pretty exhausted and happy to take it easy. The restaurant in The Four Seasons was excellent. It was perhaps a little quieter than Sandra would have liked but Popsy seemed pleased. They agreed that Saturday would be spent wandering around South County Dublin, going to all the places that Popsy had gone to when she was young.

Gerald had told them the really good shopping was in a place called the Dundrum Shopping Center, but that hadn’t existed when Popsy was young, so she had no real interest in seeing it. She’d wanted to revisit places like the adorable little villages of Monkstown, Dalkey, Killiney, and the town of Dunleary, as well as Blackrock, because that was where she’d hung out with her friends when she was a teenager. The pier in Dunleary was also part of her special memories, and she was determined to walk it.