As we slipped out the front door, Mary Catherine called over her shoulder, “Ricky, finish up dinner. Your great-grandfather will be here in a few minutes. He can get everyone organized. We’ll be back in thirty to forty minutes. Less if I have to call an ambulance for your father.”
Mary Catherine’s lilting Irish accent didn’t make these sound like a series of orders she expected to be carried out precisely. But both the kids and I knew that when she used that tone of voice, she was on a mission. In this case, it was our newest hobby: riding mountain bikes.
You might ask, Who buys mountain bikes when they live in Manhattan? The answer is, anyone who wants to work up a sweat without going forty miles an hour on a racing bike.
We collected our bikes from the basement and took off. Within twenty seconds of riding behind Mary Catherine, I knew we were headed to her favorite bike trail, which runs along the river next to the Henry Hudson Greenway. It was an easy trail to get to from our building, and if she wanted to work out hard—which she obviously did—this was the spot. When Mary Catherine got like this, it was all I could do to keep up as she pedaled with wild abandon. And God help any poor tourist who happened to step in front of her.
I was huffing and puffing a little bit as I pushed my Fuji off-road mountain bike to catch up to Mary Catherine. Between gasps for air, I managed to eke out, “Something you need to talk about? This isn’t just blowing off steam on the bike path. This is running your engine so hard you could blow a rod.”
That made her smile and slow her pace considerably. There really weren’t many people around. This was also where she liked to talk about sensitive subjects. It was about the only way we could be sure the kids weren’t listening in somehow.
Mary Catherine said, “Everything just seems to be happening at once. The wedding, the kids getting all sorts of new interests and making new friends, and Brian’s readjustment to life after prison. It’s a lot to take on.”
“No doubt. And you’ve done a phenomenal job.”
“I didn’t drag you out here for compliments. We both need the exercise. I’m going to fit into that wedding dress if I have to have my spleen removed.” Mary Catherine paused, then said in a serious tone, “I’d really like to talk about Brian.”
Even a smart-ass like me knew not to joke. “What’s up?”
Mary Catherine said, “He disappears during most of the day. Just slips out sometime in the morning and sort of reappears in the afternoon.”
I said, “I’ve been careful not to question him too closely. It’s important we show that we trust him.”
“Yes, but I feel like we’ve been walking on eggshells, maybe giving him too much leeway. He’s got to understand the rules we laid down when we allowed him to return home, the rules about making good use of his time. And I worry that he’s not making good use of his time. I worry that he’s breaking our trust.”
“I get it. But he hasn’t been out that long. He’s still readjusting. Let’s give it just a little time. At least a few more days. Then we’ll sit down with Brian and see what’s going on. How’s that sound?”
She looked over her shoulder and said, “Like we’re going to have to ride really hard for that to be okay with me.” She started pumping the pedals faster than I thought possible. If nothing else, this new hobby was going to shore up my aerobic ability. Not that I was planning to engage in any foot chases.
Chapter 6
We rode for about half an hour more, then returned home. It didn’t take long for us to store the bikes in the basement. We chained them in the storage area and gazed in amazement at the ten other bikes of various sizes locked up next to them.
I’d read that New York was in the top ten of US cities for biking. Certainly the dozen members of my immediate family helped contribute to that statistic.
I planned to stay in my sweaty clothes for dinner until Mary Catherine gave me a look.
“Oh, c’mon,” I said. “It won’t kill the kids to smell their dad once in a while.”
“I wouldn’t have a problem with it usually,” she replied, “but we’re having a guest for dinner.”
“If you start calling Seamus a guest, we’re never going to have a comfortable dinner again.”
“It’s not your grandfather. Jane has a friend coming over.”
“That’s nice. What’s her name?”
“It’s a boy.” She hesitated, then added, “A boyfriend.”
“You mean a friend who happens to be a boy, right?”
“You wish.”
I thought about it for a moment. “I’m not sure I’m ready for Jane to have a boyfriend.”
“Fathers never are. Yet the fact remains. We both need to clean up because the boy will be here shortly.”
“Is he from Holy Name?”
Mary Catherine nodded. “Allan Martin III.”
“Is his dad the hedge fund guy?”
“He is.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. This was a lot for me to take in. Jane was my third-oldest child, after Juliana and Brian. I’d come to terms with Juliana dating, and I thought I was prepared to deal with the other girls doing so too. Apparently I was wrong. I still had four even younger daughters. I hated to think what my future held.
Mary Catherine got cleaned up first, then I took a quick shower. When I wandered back into the kitchen, I was impressed to see how efficiently Ricky, my second-oldest son, had managed to pull together a spectacular spaghetti dinner and get everyone involved. I saw the table was already set, and my grandfather, Seamus, sat at the far end, sipping a glass of red wine, looking well dressed in his clerical collar.
“Comfortable, Seamus?” I asked as I strolled into the dining room.
“Aside from the sarcastic questioning, everything is great. How about you, my boy?”
“Peachy.”
Then the doorbell rang and I heard my normally reserved, incredibly smart daughter Jane squeal. An honest-to-God squeal. What is happening?
Young Allan Martin III turned out to be a nice-looking man who showed good manners as well. He shook my hand and looked me in the eye. He looked a little like his father. Tall, with blond hair and brown eyes.
Jane stood next to him like they were attached by some invisible, and extremely short, cord.
I noticed, though, that when Brian walked past Allan, he bumped the young man. It looked a little like an accident, but I wondered if there was more to it.
Then Mary Catherine and Ricky called out in unison, “Dinner is on the table!”
Chapter 7
Even if you’re used to dinner at our apartment, the sight of all thirteen of us could be overwhelming, though Allan seemed to take it in stride. And, of course, he sat right next to Jane.
I watched Brian, who quietly observed everything around him without showing much interest or emotion. He sat three spots from the end, hunched over his plate of pasta. It was a habit he’d gotten into during his months in prison, and correcting it wasn’t on my list of priorities at the moment.
My youngest, Chrissy, had taken to sitting right next to Brian at dinner, as well as at any other time. It was as if she was afraid her big brother might be taken away again. For his part, Brian seemed to appreciate the attention. Never said a word when she scooted her chair a little too close. He always took her hand when she slipped it into his. But tonight he seemed focused on Jane’s new boyfriend.