Page 53 of The Summer Club
But then Cora came along. With her glowing skin and swollen breasts, an undeniable beauty, even with that round belly peeking from beneath her cardigan sweater. Charley was besotted and Tish realized that the maternal push and pull she’d cultivated so carefully no longer held the same power. Now Cora did. And she saw it, in her own time of need, and seized upon Charley Darling. He was an opportunity. A family name of means who could support her and get her out of the hole she’d dug herself into. Seeing as her own family wouldn’t take her back, who else would help her? A loyal, loving, gentle man who looked with kindness on those less fortunate. Unable to feel the claws that were sinking into his hide as he looked into her cornflower-blue gaze and promised away his future.
Tish would never forgive Cora that selfishness. Robbing poor Charley of his talents and dreams. And Tish too, if she were sentimental; which she was not. But oh, the salt air was doing something to her.
Morty, she says. I need your help with Charley.
Outside the restaurant window, the boats rock quietly on the bay. The sun glints off the harbor. “Mrs. Darling? Your chowder.”
Ha! It’s not Morty. But her appetizer looks sumptuous. She thanks her server. As she savors each spoonful of the creamy chowder, her mind drifts.
The same year she and Morty were married, her youngest brother, Kieran, married his high school girlfriend just after New Year’s. She and Morty were living in the city and they drove the short distance north to Yonkers. The wedding was to be held at St. Mary’s and the reception afterward was at the Irish Community Center, just as all their siblings and schoolmates did. Tish was the only one in her family to marry anywhere else outside the neighborhood. “What do you mean, you’re not getting married in the church?” her mother had sputtered when she’d first broken the news to her.
“Mom, it’s not a big deal. You know Morty’s family is Protestant.”
“My God!” her mother had clapped both hands over her ears. “But that doesn’t mean you are.” Then, “Wait, Patricia Jean O’Malley, so help us, Lord. Tell me you’re not converting?”
“No, Morty’s family isn’t religious, like we are, Mom. Morty even said as long as I’m happy, he doesn’t care what faith I practice, if any.”
“If any?” Her mother had spun on her heels and out of the kitchen. Probably to pray for her.
To her mother’s horror, Tish and Morty were married at Central Presbyterian on the Upper East Side. It had been a silent but piercing thorn in their relationship since.
Kieran’s winter nuptials were the first time the family had celebrated a wedding in six months, which was saying something for her large extended clan. It seemed like forever since she’d seen her sisters and brothers. “You live so far away now,” her little sister, Imogen, had complained when she’d moved out.
“So far? I’m in Manhattan, Imogen. Not Minnesota.” But it sometimes felt she may as well have been in Minnesota. Her siblings rarely made the trip into the city to see her, despite many invitations to dinner or to come see the apartment, complaining of the slow trains and stops along the route. Since she’d married and moved, Tish missed her sisters and brothers. Now as they snaked their way along the Saw Mill River Parkway, it was her hope that Kieran’s wedding that evening would help make up for some of that.
She glanced at her husband in the driver’s seat, dressed in a brown wool suit. Earlier that day, when Morty had pulled his tux from the closet, Tish had shaken her head. “Honey, I told you it’s not formal like that. Weddings in my family are more like… parties.”
Morty had nodded. “I like a good party!” But Tish was a little nervous. Morty was gracious and down to earth with everyone, but her family was still so formal around him and it lent an air of discomfort on the rare occasions they gathered.
“Wear the brown suit,” she’d suggested. It was the most casual suit he owned.
Outside, the day was as gray as the cold Hudson River, but as they neared her old neighborhood her anticipation warmed her. Tish hadn’t seen her cousins, so many of whom she’d grown up with no different than siblings, in months. Her closest cousin, Nora, was expecting her third baby. Tish couldn’t believe it. They’d always talked about marrying and having kids at the same time, but while Tish went to Columbia Nora headed for the altar. Already it felt like Nora was a decade older and away, but still—they’d been like sisters their whole lives and Tish was eager to see her.
They had to circle the block three times to get a parking spot, but they somehow arrived on time. The ceremony was lovely, Kieran and Heather so young and excited, and the pews packed with familiar faces.
“Your brother sure has a lot of friends,” Morty remarked as the service let out and people streamed down the front steps of the Catholic church.
“Oh, most of the people here are family,” Tish said.
Morty’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re related to all these people?”
Tish laughed. “Wait until you get to the reception.”
The Irish Community Center was the hub of activity for the neighborhood and weddings were no different. The Irish folk band her father played in on weekends would be heading up the entertainment. “Harmonica,” Tish told Morty when he asked to be reminded. “My uncle plays banjo and my cousin Rowan the fiddle. They’re really quite good.”
They could hear the band as they walked up the sidewalk. Tish paused at the doorway.
“What is it?” Morty asked.
She reached for the button of his suit jacket and slid his coat from his shoulders. “You won’t be needing this anymore.”
Morty looked worried. “I won’t?”
Tish winked at him. “I hope you like dancing. I know you like beer.” The moment they swung open the door they were met with the sound of celebration.
Everything was as she’d hoped, at first. The feast was abundant: a buffet dinner of roasted pork with colcannon and a traditional beef stew. Meat pies. Soda breads and assorted jams. Boxty, miniature potato cakes. The elderly relatives lined up first, followed by the youngest. As Tish and Morty waited their turn in line, she pointed out the wedding cake: a three-layered fruitcake Tish knew to be laced with cherries, spices, and almonds, all soaked in whiskey, ordered specially from the neighborhood bakery. How disappointed her mother had been when Tish ordered from a bakery in Manhattan, that Morty’s mother recruited. “They make the best buttercream frosting,” she’d said. It was delicious. But it was not the traditional cake Tish had dreamed of.
The community center was packed to the gills and the insides of the windows filled with steam. After several rousing toasts and rounds of drinks, the folk band started up again and Kieran and his bride took to the dance floor. Tish grabbed Morty’s hand. “Come on!”