Devil's Mountain Read Free

love, how many years has it been? Thirty-five at least. You’ve a lovely husband, a lovely family.
    You need to let Jimmy go.”
    Ignoring her, my mother stared at me. “I know what I know, Caro. If you go through with this, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
    “I love him, Mama. I don’t care--”
    The door swung open and little Brendan barreled in, followed by the harried Orla. “Hiya, ladies. What a fantastic place, Caroline. The food is beautiful.”
    “Thanks. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
    Orla noted my mother’s red eyes. “Oh, sorry, are we interrupting?”
    I took my mother’s arm. “No, not at all. We’re done here, right, Ma?
    “Yes,” she said in a small voice. “We’re done.”
    The restaurant was hushed as we walked in from the bathroom, with everyone’s eyes on the small dance floor. The band played an old Irish love ballad. Bobby’s mother and father danced alone. Paul Connolly held Mary close as their bodies swayed to the music, his face buried in Mary’s silky black curls. The air was charged with their emotions, making it impossible to look away. The song came to an end. Paul lifted his face out of Mary’s curls, tears streaming.
    Fiona, Paul’s new wife, banged her drink on the table, grabbed a pack of cigarettes and stomped past the couple and out onto the street. Paul didn’t notice. His eyes never left Mary’s.

    * * * *
    The air was cool, crisp, and the sky a sparkling clear blue when the limo deposited us outside the church. My father offered me his arm, and smiled even, as we walked up the stone steps.
    We were early, the church still quiet, with only the florist there arranging the altar’s enormous flower displays. My mother, who seemed reconciled to this wedding going forward, once again became the efficient mother of the bride and led me into a small room off the entranceway to fix my veil, which she told me was crooked, and my lipstick, which she told me was too light.
    The florist, who for some reason failed to deliver mine and the bridesmaids’ bouquets to my apartment as ordered, had deposited them in this room. My soon-to-be mother-in-law was holding my bouquet in her hands.
    “Mary,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
    “My cab dropped me off early and I thought I’d fix my face before everyone got here. I was looking for the bathroom and I saw these. They are beautiful.”
    My mother grabbed the bouquet from her. “And the wrong color. I ordered deep blush roses, not pale pink. Oh, Caro, these won’t do. These won’t do at all!”
    “Leave them, Ma. They’re fine.”
    “You look lovely, Caroline,” Mary said in her soft, lilting brogue. She touched my veil.
    “I’m happy I was able to come. My son is a lucky man.”
    “Thank you, Mary. We’re glad you made it,” I said, almost meaning it. After her dance with her ex-husband last night, the mood changed. Orla ran after her stepmother, who came back to the restaurant with red eyes. Orla and Bobby had argued in the corner, my mother and Aunt Dorothy kept disappearing into the ladies room, and Paul had continued to stare at Mary like a lovesick schoolboy, despite Fiona’s glares. After dessert was served, guests made their excuses and the rehearsal party had ended more than an hour early. I couldn’t help thinking the night would’ve gone much smoother had Mary stayed up on her mountain.
    My mother was a woman possessed as she plucked the deeper pink roses out of the bridesmaids’ bouquets and stuck them in my own. She was almost done, when she pulled out a small purple flower.
    “What is this, Mary?”
    “I, uh...”
    “I’ll ask you again. What is this?”
    “Just a little something for luck, Nellie.”
    My mother tore through the bouquet. Petals scattered at her feet. “What else, you she-devil? What else did you put in here?”
    “Nothing, Nellie. ’Twas nothing.”
    “Nothing?” My mother held a small mud-colored heart in her palm. “Then, what is