The Parting Glass. Emilie Richards

afraid Megan’s not going to show up, aren’t you?”

      “It crossed my mind.”

      “Megan lives up to her commitments. To the point of mania, as a matter of fact. It’s something the two of you have in common.”

      Jon knew them both too well. Niccolo couldn’t stop a smile, but he sobered quickly. “She’s afraid everything will change, that I’ll wake up one morning and realize I made a mistake, only I’m too good a Catholic to admit it.”

      “Megan? She has a superhero ego. I can’t believe that.”

      “Strong ego, yes, but she’s just not sure how to go about being married. And Megan hates being unsure about anything.”

      “Just Megan? Or you, too?”

      Niccolo thought the question was insightful, but he wasn’t surprised. He and Jon had become close friends in the two years they’d known each other, and Jon was a master at uncovering secrets.

      “I’ve never been married, but I plan to work hard at it,” Niccolo said.

      “Whoa there. Not too hard, or you won’t have any fun. It’s not a job, it’s a relationship.”

      “She deserves the best. A hundred percent. Two hundred.”

      “She deserves a man who’s enjoying himself.”

      There was a commotion at the door, and Niccolo turned. A distinguished-looking man with silver hair was helping a plump, attractive woman through the doorway. For a moment Niccolo stood absolutely still; then he turned back to Jon. He cleared his throat. “Jon, come with me, will you? I’d like you to meet my parents.” He glanced at the doorway again. “And my grandfather.”

      Jon was a good enough friend to understand the significance of those words. He clapped his hand on Niccolo’s shoulder. “Do you believe in omens?”

      “I’m too Catholic not to.”

      

      Megan had refused a limousine. Didn’t understand the point, didn’t want the fuss, and refused to spend the money. Neither she nor Niccolo was ever going to be rich. There were better uses for their dollars.

      She had refused rides with family, turned down Jon’s offer to ferry her in a friend’s fire-engine-red convertible, refused everything, in fact, except the simplest solution. She, Peggy and Casey would ride to the church together in Casey’s car.

      She just hadn’t reckoned with a flat tire.

      Now the sisters stood outside Casey’s house and stared forlornly at the evidence.

      “There’s debris all over the roads from the wind. I guess I drove over something on the way back from the saloon,” Casey said.

      “Yeah, like a railroad spike. That tire’s a pancake.”

      “And I sold my car,” Peggy said. “I hitched a ride over here from Uncle Den.”

      “Charming.” Megan kicked what was left of the tire, most likely doing permanent damage to her ivory pumps. “I don’t suppose either of you wants to change this?”

      “In this dress?” Casey looked down and shook her head. “Not a chance.”

      “We’ll call a taxi,” Peggy said.

      “This isn’t Manhattan. Nick will be married to somebody else by the time one gets here.” Megan kicked the tire again, shoes be damned. “Maybe somebody’s still left at the saloon. Casey, can you find out?”

      Casey dug in her purse for her cell phone and made the call. They all stood perfectly still, waiting until she flipped it closed and shook her head. “It’s a miracle. They’re all on time for the wedding. Everybody but us. Jon’s already there with Nick, and I’ll bet his phone is off.” For good measure she punched in more numbers, with no success.

      “Do you know your neighbors?” Megan looked around. “You must know somebody by now.”

      Casey inclined her head to the left. “They’re out of town.” She inclined to the right. “I’m taking in their mail and papers.” She nodded to the house across the street. “They’re on the wrong side of one of Jon’s cases and about to move to a secure location. And the house next to theirs is empty.”

      Megan peered around her, mind whirling. Casey and Jon had purchased one of Niccolo’s Ohio City renovations. The house, a brick Colonial Revival with classical detailing, suited the busy couple perfectly, and best of all, it was only four blocks from Niccolo’s house on Hunter Street.

      “Okay, let’s hike it, then. We’ll get Charity.”

      Her sisters groaned. Charity, Megan’s dilapidated Chevy, was renowned for its bad temper. Charity only began at “home.” The joke was rarely funny.

      “Got a better idea?” Megan demanded.

      “Well, we’ll see if Charity feels at home at Nick’s. If she doesn’t, maybe your neighbors will be more helpful than Casey’s,” Peggy said. “Let’s march.”

      Megan started down the sidewalk at a fast clip. She heard her sisters behind her, but she was on a mission now. She had said she would marry Niccolo, and it was too late to call off the wedding gracefully.

      They tramped in silence, three women in ballerina length silk dresses and hair whipping in the accelerating wind.

      “It’s going to rain,” Casey said, a block from Niccolo’s house. “God, I hope we get to the car before it does.”

      “It better not rain!” Megan marched on.

      They turned down Hunter, and Megan could just see Charity at the end of the block in front of Niccolo’s—her—house. “Lord, let her start.”

      “This really is a red-letter day. That was a prayer,” Casey said. “Megan’s praying.”

      “I’ll have you know I’m in tight with the Lord. I had to be to get married in the church.”

      “At least temporarily. Did Father Brady faint when you joined him in the confessional?”

      “Father Brady is nicer and apparently more optimistic about my soul than you are.” Megan was afraid to look at her watch. They were cutting this close, and it was going to take some real time to repair all the wind damage.

      The raindrops started just as they got to the car, but Charity started with the first turn of the key.

      “Do you believe in omens?” she asked Peggy, who climbed in beside her.

      “I’m too Irish not to.”

      

      Megan double-parked Charity at the curb, but she didn’t turn off the engine. The small parking lot looked full and altogether too far away from the entrance she planned to use. St. Brigid’s had a side door just past the sanctuary that led to a stairwell. One flight up there was a room where the brides usually dressed—and now she fervently wished she’d decided to use it. Once upstairs and ready, she could make her entrance through another stairwell into the narthex and eventually up the aisle to meet Niccolo and Father Brady.

      Too bad she hadn’t packed her hiking gear.

      “We can do this.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll leave the key in the ignition. The neighborhood’s tough enough that maybe somebody will steal her. Once they see what they’re into, they’ll park her somewhere nice and safe until I can find her again.”

      “We’re still fifty yards from a door,” Casey said from the back seat.

      “It’s only sprinkling.”

      Peggy wiped the foggy windshield with her fingertips. “You know what? You’ve lived here too long. By anybody else’s standards, that’s a downpour. And you hate getting wet.”

      “Megan,”