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MRS. O’SULLIVAN WATCHED Francesca slather mayonnaise on the fifth BLT sandwich she’d assembled on her own. Mrs. O’Sullivan was impressed by the fact Francesca had grilled the bacon herself. She didn’t think Francesca knew how to turn the oven on.
As her only child, Katherine Thompson spoiled Francesca. Then, on Katherine’s death, when Mrs. O’Sullivan stepped in as a surrogate mother to a hurting twelve-year-old hurting and craving love, she couldn’t help but pick up where Katherine left off. Francesca was lost and broken, and Mrs. O’Sullivan couldn’t help but spoil and love the girl she’d considered a daughter since birth.
Mrs. O’Sullivan studied the girl who, in the past few days, donned the expression of young love on her face. She’d seen the exchanged looks between Francesca and Tommy. A new phase of womanhood was dawning in Francesca’s life, and Mrs. O’Sullivan felt the tugs of anxiety. She was out of her depth. Motherhood certainly had its challenges.
Peter Thompson wasn’t going to be pleased, and he’d blame Mrs. O’Sullivan for Francesca cozying up to Tommy. He was Francesca’s father but left the parenting to Mrs. O’Sullivan. The moment Peter found out his daughter was associating with a known felon he was bound to overreact. Optics was everything for Peter Thompson, who put his firm, his reputation over Francesca’s interest.
It hadn’t always been that way. When Katherine died, Peter became as lost and broken as Francesca. Instead of turning to his daughter for comfort, he turned to his work. Working eighty-hour weeks, kept Peter from dealing with the hole in his heart left by Katherine’s death and made him drift further away from Francesca.
That Francesca was looking for a male influence in Tommy was obvious to Mrs. O’Sullivan, but at seventeen, Francesca’s relationship with the older Tommy was bound to cross boundaries she hadn’t before, and Mrs. O’Sullivan wasn’t sure how to handle it. Mrs. O’Sullivan was entering uncharted waters and where the heart was involved—especially a young heart—the outcome was unpredictable.
“Would you mind taking these sandwiches to Mr. Scott, Mrs. O? I’ll take these to his son. He’s somewhere out there,” Francesca tilted her chin toward the grove, “Cutting down dead trees.”
“I don’t know what you’re up to with the boy, my girl, but you best be careful. He has a tainted past.” Not to mention his sexual expertise rivaled Francesca’s naiveté, Mrs. O’Sullivan thought. “And you know how your father is about you taking up with boys from ... outside your circles.”
“Unless you tell him he won’t find out. Daddy’s never home. He’s either working, traveling for work, or entertaining. You won’t tell Daddy, will you, Mrs. O? Please don’t. If he finds out about me seeing Tommy, he’ll put a stop to it.”
Mrs. O’Sullivan wiped her hands dry on the apron tied around her thick waist. Long, thick lashes haloed eyes that were coal-black and aware. Mrs. O’Sullivan was, as she often said, older than Methuselah, but her face bore none of the marks of a sixty-year-old. She had a delicate, fine-bone face with a small mouth and upturned nose.
“I won’t tell your father—for now—if you tell me what you’re up to with the lad.” Mrs. O’Sullivan let Francesca squirm for a moment. “If you don’t want me talking to your father, you will tell me everything, young lady.”
Francesca stared into the wide, dark eyes of the woman who’d stepped in as a surrogate mother the day her own was buried. Francesca loved Mrs. O’Sullivan, turned to her for motherly comfort and advice, but in matters of the heart, she doubted the older woman would be helpful. Mrs. O’Sullivan had been single for too long, and Francesca doubted she knew what the love of a man felt like anymore. The proof was in the fact Mrs. O’Sullivan couldn’t see Mr. Scott’s deep-seated affection for her. If Mrs. O’Sullivan was blind to that Francesca didn’t think she’d be able to understand how she felt for Tommy. Francesca believed Mrs. O’Sullivan would dismiss her feelings for Tommy as naïve infatuation, but it wasn’t like that for her and Tommy.
“What are you up to with the lad? I’m waiting, missy.” Missy meant you fessed up and told nothing but the truth—or else.
Francesca drew in a deep breath. “Tommy invited me to dinner last week, and since then, I’ve been helping him on the grounds. That’s all. That’s all,” she repeated when Mrs. O’Sullivan’s brow cocked higher above dark eyes.
“And what’s Tommy Scott’s interpretation of dinner?”
“A burger, onion rings, and the thickest chocolate milkshake I’ve ever had. We ate at a picnic table, under an awning lit up like a Christmas tree.” From the glow in Francesca’s eyes, Mrs. O’Sullivan deduced the girl had already stumbled into love with the rebellious Tommy Scott. “Afterwards, he took me to an empty field to...”
“Oh, Jesus, Joseph, and Mary.” Shock flew into Mrs. O’Sullivan’s eyes as the thoughts flashed in her mind of the wayward Tommy Scott with her sweet girl.
“To watch the stars and talk, Mrs. O.” Francesca didn’t mention the beer. Although she’d only taken a couple of sips and didn’t like it, she was certain Mrs. O’Sullivan wouldn’t react kindly to that piece of information. “It was wonderful, Mrs. O. We sat on the hood of his truck and...”
“And what, missy?”
“He held me. We did absolutely nothing, Mrs. O, and it was...”
“Romantic, wonderful, a night you will never forget.”
“Yes, that’s exactly how it felt.”
“Don’t sound so shocked, Frankie.” Mrs. O’Sullivan reached into the refrigerator for the pitcher of lemonade.
“Who knew doing nothing could be so amazing.”
“It’s how you do the nothing that counts. Get us two glasses from the cupboard, will you, darling?” Mrs. O’Sullivan walked the pitcher of milk to the table. “Your night with Tommy sounds very similar to the first night my Aidan courted me. My Aidan took me to the shores of the Irish Sea, but the sentiment was the same. We sat there for hours listening to the roll of waves lapping the shore, watching the stars. Strong, cold winds blew inland, making it fierce cold, but my Aidan kept me as warm in the chain of his arms as if we were sitting by a roaring fire. It was the perfect night.” Mrs. O’Sullivan’s Gaelic accent flowed into the words as she drifted back to memories.
“That’s how it felt with Tommy. He made me feel so special and loved, Mrs. O. There were none of the pretenses I’ve had to endure from the vain, self-important boys from the country club Daddy encourages me to date. Tommy was honest, unpretentious, and caring.”
“The boy tell you he loved you?” Mrs. O’Sullivan said, pouring lemonade over ice.
“No, that’s just it. Tommy didn’t say any of the nonsense the boys say an hour into the date to get into my...” Francesca stopped when Mrs. O’Sullivan’s jaw dropped. “Oh, Mrs. O, you know in centuries of evolution, boy’s overactive hormones are the only thing that hasn’t changed. They’ve had one thing on their mind since Adam was put on this earth.”
Mrs. O’Sullivan fanned herself. “Can’t argue with that, but I hope you haven’t fulfilled anyone’s needs.”
“Maybe one or two.”
Mrs. O’Sullivan crossed herself. “Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, we haven’t had the ... talk yet, Frankie,” she said, knowing she never would. Many failed attempts were proof Mrs. O’Sullivan would never bring herself to discussing the mechanics of baby production with anyone—let alone a young, naïve girl.
Francesca burst into laughter at Mrs. O’Sullivan’s saucer wide eyes and beet-red face. “I’m joking, Mrs. O, I haven’t done anything of the sort. I’m still a virgin. I’m saving myself for that special someone. I want my first time to stay with me for the rest of my life.”
Mrs. O’Sullivan huffed a breath of relief. “I hope it won’t happen until you’re well into your thirties.”
Francesca snorted a giggle. “Tommy said he wanted to get to know me better.” Francesca’s mind drifted to that night. So clear were her memories of Tommy she could smell him, see the brilliant, smiling, blue eyes, feel his arms chained around her. She felt his presence close to her. She heard the comforting sounds that filled the night as they watched the stars. Francesca was certain for years to come she’d relive that night in her mind with fond memories. “I felt so special when he said that.”
A smile creased one corner of Mrs. O’Sullivan’s mouth when the wave of memory of her Aidan hit her. “The boy is a romantic.”
“He is, Mrs. O. I’ve never felt more special than I did that night.”
Mrs. O’Sullivan rose and crossed to the cupboard to get two plates, then reached into the refrigerator for the cheesecake. “Are you sure it’s not his good looks or his bad-boy image, which has you romanticizing the boy?”
“Sounds as if you speak from experience, Mrs. O. Was your Aidan, a bad boy?”
“Never you mind about my Aidan. We’re talking about you. Reach into the cutlery drawer for forks and the cake cutter.”
“He is gorgeous, and his hell-with-you attitude was what drew me to him, but as I’ve gotten to know him, I’ve found him thoughtful, caring, and honest. Many people I know aren’t half as honest as he is. Aside from his smoking, he’s perfect, Mrs. O. I wouldn’t change a thing.” Francesca set a fork on each plate, handed Mrs. O’Sullivan the cake cutter.
Mrs. O’Sullivan cut two slices of cheesecake and set them on Royal Doulton plates. “So, you’ll be stepping out with him again?”
“If that means going out on a date, then yes.” Francesca hesitated for a moment, debating. “I’ve been seeing him for longer than one week. It’s been two weeks. We’ve gone for walks in the park and the boardwalk. He even took me fishing a couple of days ago. Can you picture me fishing? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t think you’d approve of him. I know Daddy won’t, but I like Tommy, Mrs. O,” Francesca blurted out in a hurried flow.
Mrs. O’Sullivan could see as clear as day in Francesca’s mooning eyes she didn’t only like him. Francesca was in love. From personal experience, Mrs. O’Sullivan knew when love struck that hard, nothing anyone said or did would tear a woman away from the man she loved.
Her Ma tried—hard. Jemma O’Rourke desperately tried to keep her daughter away from the rebellious Aidan O’Sullivan. As hard as Ma tried to keep her daughter from falling in love with young Aidan, her misguided efforts only drove them closer together. She loved Aidan more than the stars were bright and made it clear to her Ma she’d have followed Aidan to the depths of the ocean.
Even after they’d married, her Ma tried her best to split them up. Her Ma often told her: He’s a useless, lazy git like your father who will only be good at mounting you whenever his hormones demand satisfaction, and drinking ale. But in the end, Aidan proved her Ma wrong. Aidan put food and a roof over her head. Aidan provided for her, showed his love and devotion for her when she couldn’t give him the children he wanted.
It took a special man to stick by a woman who wasn’t able to give him the brood of boys he wanted. It took a loving, faithful man to tell every woman in the village who questioned Mrs. O’Sullivan’s childless existence he was to blame.
God, she missed her Aidan every day since his death twenty years ago.
“When are you stepping out with Tommy again?”
“Tomorrow night. Tommy said he’s taking me on a picnic. I’m not sure where. He told me it was a surprise.”
The boy knew how to romance a girl. She’d give him that.
Mrs. O’Sullivan took a forkful of cheesecake. “I want to have a talk with Tommy before your date tomorrow.” She held a hand up to silence Francesca’s refusal. “Either I talk to Tommy or I talk to your father. Your choice, Frankie. I’m not going to give the boy the third degree. I just want to have a chat with him.”
“All right, Mrs. O. I’ll have Tommy come to see you before he leaves for the day. Right now, I’m taking these sandwiches to him.”
“Take him a piece of cheesecake too. After the hard day’s work the boy puts in, he needs sustenance. Fill up the thermos with lemonade. There’s a basket in the pantry you can use to carry everything.”
“I will.” Francesca pecked Mrs. O’Sullivan’s cheek. “Thank you for understanding and for letting me talk to you like I would with my mom. I love you, Mrs. O.”
Mrs. O’Sullivan’s eyes misted. “I love you too, you silly girl.”
“Mrs. O, you should take Mr. Scott a piece of cheesecake too. He loves your cooking,” Francesca said, stocking the basket with food and thermos.
Mrs. O’Sullivan stopped the glass of milk mid-sip. “He does?”
“He does. He loves everything about you.” Francesca darted out the kitchen door leaving Mrs. O’Sullivan with a confused look on her face.
