Free Regrets Only by Nancy Geary Page B

she’d asked. He spoke little of Mr. Haverill but she pictured an older man in a cardigan sweater alone with a TV dinner. Did Stouffer’s even make an Easter version with traditional fixings? That he would be alone on a holiday seemed too sad.
    “He’ll go to his club for lunch,” Archer said. “Don’t worry. My dad was raised a Quaker. Although I don’t think he’s been to a meeting in forty years, the doctrine about no special celebrations seems to have stuck. We hardly celebrate Christmas. Easter’s a nonevent.”
    Lucy moved the salt and pepper shakers to make room for the mint jelly and returned to the kitchen just as Mrs. O’Malley removed the roasted leg of lamb in a massive cast-iron pan from the oven. The smell of garlic and rosemary and the exclamations of the hungry observers filled the air, even as the cook elbowed her way to the sideboard. “Tell your father the party’s over if he doesn’t get inside right now to make himself useful.” She held up a large carving knife.
    Lucy stepped out onto the porch, inadvertently letting the screen door slam shut behind her. Mary’s baby spit out his pacifier and started to cry. Archer and her father turned in her direction.
    “A ladylike entrance as usual,” Mr. O’Malley remarked.
    “Oh blarney,” Lucy said, imitating her father’s cousin who used the phrase as often as he could. She’d never understood what it meant but liked the sound of it. Walking over to her father, she hugged him. “I hope you’re not scaring him off.”
    “To the contrary,” Archer replied quickly. “I can’t remember when I’ve had such a nice holiday.”
    “Was it the traffic through the Sumner tunnel, the two-hour Mass in Latin, or the eye-burning incense? I want to keep track of what you love best.” Seeing Archer happy made her feel the same.
    “I’m hearing from this young gentleman what a pesky bugger you are.” Her father pinched her cheek.
    “Archer, what have you told him?”
    “How hard it was to get you on a date. How I had to beg, plead, and cajole, and make promises of all kinds of riches before you’d agree to be seen in my company.” Archer winked, knowing his description wasn’t too far from the truth.
    “You’ll fit right in around here if you keep fabricating stories,” Lucy replied. Turning to her father she instructed, “You’re needed to carve the lamb. Mum’s got the knife out already.”
    “Very well then.” He took a step toward the door but turned back to face Archer. “My one piece of advice on the women in this family is that it’s best not to disobey when they’re brandishing a weapon.” With that he disappeared inside.
    8:23 p.m .
    Most of the dishes had been cleared and the visitors had departed, leaving the O’Malley family still at the table too full and too content to get up. Mr. O’Malley produced a new bottle of Baileys and even Lucy, who’d never been a fan of Irish cream, enjoyed a few sips.
    On her lap, Tara had fallen asleep. Her head hung back and her mouth was slightly open, just enough to let drool run out onto her aunt’s shoulder. Despite offers to assist in moving her to a bed, Lucy had resisted. The chubby body and hot breath felt warm, comforting. As Tara sighed in a dream, Lucy hugged her closer. Next to her, she watched her sister-in-law feed little Aidan, as he lay cradled in her arms. He sucked vigorously, his jaw moving rhythmically back and forth. She could see the perfect fingernails as his tiny hands gripped the bottle and could smell the wonderful mixture of baby oil and talcum powder.
    “She’s made for motherhood,” Michael remarked to no one in particular. “If I get sent to the Market Basket at four in the morning for another bottle of Similac, I’ll lose my mind. But Mary’s patience is endless.”
    “No surprise there. She married you,” Mr. O’Malley chimed in.
    “I’m glad to see you finally recognize your wife’s many gifts,” Mrs. O’Malley said as she came in from