The Lace Makers of Glenmara - By Heather Barbieri Page 0,24
thought it would do her good to get to know the place better.”
“Why would she want to do that? She said she was moving on.”
“Yes, but there’s no bus for a week, is there?”
No, there wasn’t.
“The poor thing needs a rest anyway,” Bernie continued. “She’s been traveling too long.”
“You make her sound like a stray animal. Next, you’ll be feeding her Fergus’s dog biscuits.”
“I can do better than that. No offense, Fergus,” Bernie said, adding, “I wonder if she’s running from something.”
“I could think of a few things: the police, Interpol—”
“There’s no need to be so suspicious. I meant memories, not criminal acts.”
“I was joking,” Aileen said, though she wasn’t entirely. She was beginning to find everything about the girl annoying. Just because her great-grandparents were born in Ireland didn’t mean she could instantly belong here. She was an American, American to the bone, pushing her way into their lives.
“She’s not a bad person.”
“It’s hard to say what she is. We don’t know her, do we?”
“I’m beginning to know her. She’s a good soul, always willing to lend a hand.” Bernie laid the words down carefully as a silver place setting, heavy, shining, true. “We have a connection. We like the same books—”
“If I’d known she needed a lift out of town, Rourke could have taken her,” Aileen said. “He was off to Galway this morning.”
“I didn’t think of that.” Bernie glanced away, her voice light, evasive. She was too good at making arrangements to have overlooked the possibility.
Aileen regarded Bernie over the rim of her cup as she sipped the tea, the distance between them larger than the span of the table, its oversize damask tablecloth brushing against her legs. Why was Bernie using the damask anyway? She never used the damask. It was for special occasions, christenings and weddings and funerals. Was she trying to impress the girl? Why? What was wrong with the everyday cloth, the one with the faded cabbage roses she put out whenever Aileen came to call?
Bernie didn’t seem focused on anything she had to say, but Aileen tried to push the conversation forward. “Sile took first in the feis.”
“She did?” Bernie asked as if she’d never heard about it before.
“Remember, she was upcoast, performing in the invitational?” Aileen’s prodding had an edge to it. Bernie should have remembered—Sile was her goddaughter, for heaven’s sake. Granted, it wasn’t one of the majors. If it had been, Aileen would have been there herself. She’d stayed home to keep an eye on Rosheen. (Bernie could have asked about that too. She knew how difficult things had been for Aileen lately.)
“The feis. Oh, that’s right.” Bernie’s mind was elsewhere. “Will Rosheen be dancing for the Glenmara title?”
“She’s not dancing now, remember? She specializes in carousing.”
“Yes. I’ve seen her around town.”
“Smoking, no doubt. The girl will blacken her lungs as sure as she’s blackening our name.”
“It’s not as bad as that, is it?”
“Bad enough.”
“She’s nearly old enough to be on her own.”
“So she keeps reminding me. To be honest, her outlandish behavior lets me consider the possibility of her being gone without it hurting too much. I wouldn’t mind an end to the daily battles.”
“She loves you. She just doesn’t know how to show it.”
“Neither of us is very good at that, always wanting to have the last word. But damn it, I’m her mother, so I’m allowed. To top all, she’s never right. If she were right, that would be one thing. But she won’t admit to any mistakes. She’ll argue herself blue in the face, rather than consider she might be wrong.”
“Sounds familiar.” Bernie gave her a knowing smile.
Aileen shook her head. “She’s far worse than I ever was.”
“They say each generation gets taller—maybe they get more argumentative too.” Bernie got up and looked out the window.
“Expecting someone?” Aileen asked.
“I thought Kate might be back in time for tea.”
Kate again. Kate. Kate. Kate. Aileen was a grown woman, but she felt as if she were in primary school, competing for the role of best friend. This was their time—hers and Bernie’s—just the two of them. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
“Do you think so? The lanes are narrow.” Bernie’s face was dappled with shadows from the play of sunlight on the lace curtains.
“We travel them all the time, and nothing’s ever happened to us,” Aileen pointed out.
“But it could.” Bernie sat down at the table again, poised on the edge of the seat in case Kate appeared.
“Yes, but it won’t.” Aileen knew what this was about. She’s not