The Parting Glass. Emilie Richards

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      Casey pushed through the crowd with a full plate of food and handed it to Megan. “You haven’t eaten a bite. This is fabulous. Both the Andreanis and the Donaghues outdid themselves.”

      Megan realized she was starving. “Nick?” But she needn’t have worried. She saw that Jon was hauling him to the bar to fill his own plate. Niccolo’s brother Marco was helping.

      “Having fun?” Casey said.

      Megan dug into the best manicotti she’d ever tasted. She wondered if Mrs. Andreani would share the recipe. It was probably too soon in their relationship to ask, considering that until just hours ago Niccolo’s mother hadn’t wanted to acknowledge her existence.

      “Is this supposed to be fun?” Megan said.

      “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

      A cousin with a full tray of Guinness stopped, and Megan took a pint, suffering a hug while she was at it. “How do I eat and hold this?”

      “I’ll hold it.” Casey took the Guinness.

      “I’m doing okay,” Megan admitted.

      “Everyone’s so happy you married Nick.”

      Megan had never realized the Donaghue clan had such remarkable taste. “Nick tells me his car is missing?” She watched her sister’s face. “Casey? I don’t think I like your expression.”

      “What did Nick say, exactly?”

      “That somebody had probably taken it away to decorate it.”

      “That’s the kind of thing people do for weddings, right?”

      “You know more than you’re saying.”

      “There are good times and bad times to discuss surprises.”

      “And there are good and bad surprises.” The band started a chorus of “Cockles and Mussels,” and over her head, drifts of white tulle swayed frantically when someone opened the front door. “This had better not be one of the bad ones,” she continued in a louder voice. “Just tell me that whatever damage you did to the car, soap on the windows, shoes on the bumper, whatever, can be quickly dispensed with once we’re out of sight.”

      Peggy arrived with Kieran in her arms. “What’s out of sight?”

      Megan’s heart squeezed painfully as it always did when she saw her nephew. “Hey, kiddo.”

      She tried to keep her voice low, although that made it inaudible. Kieran responded badly to noise and confusion of any sort, and now, in the center of the raucous crowd, he was eyeing her as if she were a stranger, although Megan had fed and rocked and changed him as often as anyone else in the world.

      Kieran had seemed perfectly normal at birth. When he was still an infant, Peggy had started medical school, and Kieran had been lovingly passed among family members who were thrilled by the chance to care for the little boy while Peggy attended classes and studied. But no matter how much time they spent with him, Kieran had never seemed to remember them.

      Peggy brushed his auburn curls with her fingertips. “Try saying hi,” she told Megan.

      “Hi,” Megan said warmly.

      Kieran stared at her, his cherubic face expressionless, then he focused his gaze just behind her. Megan turned to see what had interested him and saw a reflection of the swaying tulle in the bar mirror.

      “Hi,” Megan repeated.

      Kieran didn’t look at her. He seemed hypnotized by the movement. Just as she started to change the subject, he gave a lopsided smile, then reached toward the mirror. “Hi. Hi. Hi.”

      Peggy looked disappointed. “Better than nothing.”

      “He’s not quite two,” Casey pointed out. “Boys don’t talk as early as girls.”

      “But most boys know the difference between reflections dancing in a mirror and their favorite aunts.” Peggy sounded matter-of-fact. “Well, that’s going to change. When you see him again, you’re going to be surprised at the improvement.”

      Megan wanted to argue. She wanted to shake some sense into her sister. When Peggy had learned Kieran’s diagnosis, she’d quit medical school, perhaps forever, divorcing herself from a lifelong dream in order to devote herself to her son. Now she was taking Kieran all the way to Ireland to live with a distant cousin the family hadn’t even known about until two months ago. All so that she could somehow turn him into a “normal” child.

      Unfortunately, Peggy was the only Donaghue who believed this was the right course to follow.

      “He seems pretty perky, considering all the chaos in here,” Casey said.

      Megan knew Casey was trying to divert the conversation and supposed it was just as well. Peggy’s mind was made up, and all the discussion in the world wasn’t going to change it.

      “I think I’ll see if I can get him to eat something, then I’m going to take him upstairs for some quiet time. We’ll be back for cake.”

      Megan and Casey watched Peggy wind her way to the bar.

      “I still can’t believe she’s moving to Ireland,” Megan said.

      “Finish your food, Megan. The band’s gearing up for some set dancing, and you’ll be expected to give it a try.”

      Megan groaned. “You couldn’t head them off?”

      “They’re playing for free. Remember?”

      “Hand me the Guinness, would you?”

      

      Upstairs, Peggy settled Kieran on the living room rug with a quilt and a menagerie of stuffed toys. The apartment was plain but serviceable. Best of all, the modest rent came out of her share of the saloon’s profits. The Whiskey Island Saloon had been in the Donaghue family since its construction more than a century before. The three sisters were equal partners, and although nowadays Megan kept the food hot and the liquor flowing, both Peggy and Casey had pulled their share of Guinness along the way.

      “Tomorrow we’re going on a plane,” she told her son.

      He didn’t look up at her words. For months, before the battery of tests that had pinpointed Kieran’s problem, she had worried that his hearing was impaired. She hadn’t expected autism, so she hadn’t been prepared.

      The day she got the diagnosis would be etched forever in her mind.

      “Autistic disorder,” the specialist had said matter-of-factly, as if he were diagnosing a head cold. “Moderate, we think, although that’s not as easy to pinpoint as it might seem. It’s really a spectrum, Miss Donaghue. Generally those who suffer with it have problems understanding the emotions of others. They have difficulties with language and conversation, and they often fixate on one subject or activity. The prognosis depends on many things. Early СКАЧАТЬ