married,” Geraldine said. “He wasn’t wearing a ring, but maybe men don’t in Scotland.” She took a leaflet
from the bundle. “Wyatt—does that sound Protestant to you?”
“I just love these shoes,” Hannah said.
At least Adam’s eligibility, for the time being, had been forgotten.
The best thing you could say about Clongarvin, Nora Paluzzi decided, was that it wasn’t as cold as New York in February. On
the other hand, it was a whole lot wetter. It hadn’t stopped raining since she’d arrived, and thirty-six hours of nonstop
driving rain were every bit as bad, in her opinion, as cold that cut right through to your bones.
But at least it wasn’t Dunmallon, where her parents had dragged her and Adam every summer, back to the farm where her father
had grown up. Dunmallon with its single petrol pump, sub–post office, pathetically stocked supermarket, and scatter of pubs,
all equally dreary. God, what a hole, everyone knowing everyone else’s business, or letting on they did. Everyone looked for
you at Mass on Sunday, and woe betide you if you were missing without good reason. Ma and Da delighted to be back there now,
God help them.
At least Clongarvin had some semblance of life about it, however parochial. The clothes in the few boutiques weren’t bad,
there was a halfway decent deli—although the prices had shocked her; had Ireland always been so horrendously expensive?—and
the two-screen cinema (two whole screens!) was actually showing movies that she’d seen in New York just a few months ago.
Not that she intended to make Clongarvin her home for any length of time—perish the thought. But it would do while she caught
her breath and planned her next move. And it might be fun to look up some of the old gang from school—Francine, Jojo, Leah,
Dee. She assumed at least one or two were still living here.
She walked into Adam’s tiny kitchen, which smelt of dog. The whole damn place smelt of dog—what had possessed him to get a
huge Lab in this tiny apartment? She took the box of Cheerios from the shelf above the refrigerator—the fridge, the fridge—and
shook out a handful. She shouldn’t eat, with dinner at Hannah’s just over an hour away, but her body clock was still all screwed
up from the trip, so mealtimes were either forgotten or totally confused, and she was starving right now.
As she crunched, the calendar on the wall caught her eye. Valentine’s Day coming up—big freaking deal. She was finished with
love and romance: been there, done that, got the divorces to prove it.
Mind you, she was a damn sight better off now than before she’d met her exes, neither of whom could live with the knowledge
that everyone fooled around in New York. Nora only wanted a bit of fun on the side; where was the harm in that? But the professor
had run for the hills before the ink was dry on the marriage license, and Dr. Paluzzi couldn’t hack it either, couldn’t turn
a blind eye, more fool him. At least she’d had the sense to marry men with lots of cash—and Nora had enjoyed her share from
the first divorce, and was looking forward to the next.
She wondered about the men of Clongarvin. She wondered if she’d find what she wanted among them while she was here. Just because
she was done with love didn’t mean she was done with men—far from it.
She closed the Cheerios box and replaced it on the shelf. She left the kitchen and went into the doggy-smelling bedroom to
make herself pretty for dinner.
“Does he look like you?”
Patrick shook his head. “Not in the least. He’s shorter and balder, and his eyes are blue.”
“And you said he’s younger.”
“Yeah, by three years.”
Leah’s hand rested on his thigh as he drove, her fingers stroking absently. He enjoyed how tactile she was—presumably from
force of habit, since her job involved so much physical interaction.
“I’m dying to meet this brother of yours,” she said. “The
from the bundle. “Wyatt—does that sound Protestant to you?”
“I just love these shoes,” Hannah said.
At least Adam’s eligibility, for the time being, had been forgotten.
The best thing you could say about Clongarvin, Nora Paluzzi decided, was that it wasn’t as cold as New York in February. On
the other hand, it was a whole lot wetter. It hadn’t stopped raining since she’d arrived, and thirty-six hours of nonstop
driving rain were every bit as bad, in her opinion, as cold that cut right through to your bones.
But at least it wasn’t Dunmallon, where her parents had dragged her and Adam every summer, back to the farm where her father
had grown up. Dunmallon with its single petrol pump, sub–post office, pathetically stocked supermarket, and scatter of pubs,
all equally dreary. God, what a hole, everyone knowing everyone else’s business, or letting on they did. Everyone looked for
you at Mass on Sunday, and woe betide you if you were missing without good reason. Ma and Da delighted to be back there now,
God help them.
At least Clongarvin had some semblance of life about it, however parochial. The clothes in the few boutiques weren’t bad,
there was a halfway decent deli—although the prices had shocked her; had Ireland always been so horrendously expensive?—and
the two-screen cinema (two whole screens!) was actually showing movies that she’d seen in New York just a few months ago.
Not that she intended to make Clongarvin her home for any length of time—perish the thought. But it would do while she caught
her breath and planned her next move. And it might be fun to look up some of the old gang from school—Francine, Jojo, Leah,
Dee. She assumed at least one or two were still living here.
She walked into Adam’s tiny kitchen, which smelt of dog. The whole damn place smelt of dog—what had possessed him to get a
huge Lab in this tiny apartment? She took the box of Cheerios from the shelf above the refrigerator—the fridge, the fridge—and
shook out a handful. She shouldn’t eat, with dinner at Hannah’s just over an hour away, but her body clock was still all screwed
up from the trip, so mealtimes were either forgotten or totally confused, and she was starving right now.
As she crunched, the calendar on the wall caught her eye. Valentine’s Day coming up—big freaking deal. She was finished with
love and romance: been there, done that, got the divorces to prove it.
Mind you, she was a damn sight better off now than before she’d met her exes, neither of whom could live with the knowledge
that everyone fooled around in New York. Nora only wanted a bit of fun on the side; where was the harm in that? But the professor
had run for the hills before the ink was dry on the marriage license, and Dr. Paluzzi couldn’t hack it either, couldn’t turn
a blind eye, more fool him. At least she’d had the sense to marry men with lots of cash—and Nora had enjoyed her share from
the first divorce, and was looking forward to the next.
She wondered about the men of Clongarvin. She wondered if she’d find what she wanted among them while she was here. Just because
she was done with love didn’t mean she was done with men—far from it.
She closed the Cheerios box and replaced it on the shelf. She left the kitchen and went into the doggy-smelling bedroom to
make herself pretty for dinner.
“Does he look like you?”
Patrick shook his head. “Not in the least. He’s shorter and balder, and his eyes are blue.”
“And you said he’s younger.”
“Yeah, by three years.”
Leah’s hand rested on his thigh as he drove, her fingers stroking absently. He enjoyed how tactile she was—presumably from
force of habit, since her job involved so much physical interaction.
“I’m dying to meet this brother of yours,” she said. “The
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