Eyes locked on the pins in concentration, Seamus swung the ball back, stepped forward, and let her rip. His right foot swung dramatically behind his left during his release. He actually was pretty graceful.
“Go, Twinkle Toes,” I said, clapping.
“Come on, baby,” Seamus yelled as the ball hooked. “Cruise in the pocket! Cruise in the pocket!”
Cruise in the what?
Wouldn’t you know it? It was a devastating, pin-crushing strike. Seamus pumped his fist and high-fived everyone as the kids went crazy.
What the …? Who knew the old codger was a good bowler?
I was up next. My ball made a lot of noise, but instead of a strike, it was a four–ten split that I missed completely on my second roll. Worse than that, I received nothing but crickets from the kids.
“I thought you said you played this game before,” Seamus said, licking the tip of the pencil he was using to keep score.
“Granddad is better than Daddy. Granddad is better than Daddy,” Shawna called out to everyone.
“That really was awesome, Granddad,” Brian said. “Who taught you how to bowl?”
“A nice American fella I met when I first came to this country from Ireland,” Seamus said.
“Wait, it was a tall guy, right?” I said. “White wig, wooden teeth? George Washington?”
“‘O beware, my lord, of jealousy,’” Seamus said, holding up the pencil. “ ‘It is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds on.’ ”
I held my hands up in defeat.
“Now he’s busting out Shakespeare? Okay, okay. You doth win, Father. I know when I’m beat. You’re firing on all pistons tonight.”
We cut the cake and sang “Happy Birthday” as Fiona and Bridget blew out their candles. I scanned the kids’ faces. They seemed happy. Sugar-crazed and binging around like pinballs with all the treats and dance music, but happy. A large contingent of safe, content, well-adjusted kids.
I thought of what the woman had said outside the armory.
At least for one night, my babies won’t die.
Exactly, I thought. What else was there? I couldn’t hav
e said it better myself.
That’s when someone pointed it out. The eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the corner of the disco-pumping bowling alley.
“I wonder where Mary Catherine is right now,” Fiona said as I handed her the first slice.
That did it. The party was over right there, right then. Though the music still raged, the laughter stopped as everyone looked down at their bowling shoes.
At least they weren’t looking to me for the answer. Because for once, I didn’t have the slightest clue.
CHAPTER 95
AT LONG LAST, the dreaded moment had arrived. It was packing-and-cleaning day at the Bennett vacation compound.
Sunday was still two days away, but with Mary Catherine still AWOL, I thought it best to start the herculean task of moving my family back to the city as early as possible. I thought getting my guys to get their stuff together was going to be like pulling teeth, but I was in for a surprise.
Not only had Mary Catherine devised an effective system for the care, organization, and cleaning of everyone’s clothes and possessions, she had taken pains to teach it to the kids. In no time flat, the guys were working the dishwasher and the washing machine and rolling their little suitcases out into the hall one by one like a troop of seasoned business travelers.
If anyone was having trouble finding their stuff, it was yours truly. I was under my bed, scattering dust bunnies as I looked for my flip-flops when my cell phone rang. Still on my belly, I managed to retrieve it from the pocket of my shorts.
“Yeah?” I said into the hardwood floor.