Page 81 of Don't Tell Me How to Die

“You should have made it a week,” Lizzie said. “Connie Gilchrist swooped in like a hawk on a field mouse.”

“That’s exactly what your mom was afraid of. But...” she said, tapping the modest gold engagement ring with the tiny marquise diamond in the center, “it all worked out in the end.”

“Does Dad know that Mom—” I groped for the word.

“Set him up?” Lizzie said.

Beth laughed. “No. And he can’t. That was part of my promise to your mother. But she never said anything about keeping it a secret from you, and I think that it’s important that you know that when your father and I exchange our vows tomorrow, your mom will be the happiest woman in heaven.”

For the next two glasses of wine, Lizzie and I reminisced about the remarkable Mary Katherine Donahue McCormick—state champion track star, fearless biker chick, devout Catholic, loving wife, devoted mother, and all-around kick-ass human being.

“So,” Lizzie finally said, “have you come up with any candidates? Mom set the bar pretty damn high with Beth.”

“I don’t have anyone yet,” I said. “I was waiting for you to get back. I have a delicate question to ask you.”

“Ask me anything. Nothing is off-limits,” she slurred. She looked at her watch. “It’s only two a.m. in Donegal. The night is young, lassie.”

“Okay. How hot are you for this Canadian doctor, because if you were straight, you’d solve all my problems in a heartbeat.”

She practically spit out her wine laughing. “You’re batshit crazy,” she said.

“I know,” I said. “It runs in my family.”

She leaned over and hugged me. “I love you, Maggie,” she said. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together.”

They were the exact same words she had said to me that unforgettable afternoon with Mom at Magic Pond.

FORTY-SEVEN

There was no way I could tear myself away from Lizzie. I called Alex.

“The kids are going to need sustenance,” I said, “and you’ve been elected to pick up a pizza, feed them, and then be ignored.”

“No problem,” he said. “What are you going to be doing?”

“Lizzie is home, and the two of us are bonding.”

He laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“I believe I detected a hint of dysarthria in your voice.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re slurring your words. ‘The kids are going to need shushtenance’ was my first clue. My medical brain immediately started to wonder if you had a ministroke, but the party boy in me is guessing that you girls are well into your first bottle of wine.”

“One of you is right on the money, Dr. Party Boy. You figure out which one. I’ll see you later.”

“Hold on, pal,” he said. “I will eitherpickyou up later, or I’ll see you tomorrow. As good as I am at providing nourishment for their adolescent bodies, the kids still do better with two parents.”

It was an innocent joke, but it was a total gut punch.Two parents. I couldn’t speak.

“Did you hear me, Maggie? I don’t care if you and Lizzie get shit-faced, but promise me that neither of you will be driving tonight.”

“Promise,” I said meekly. “See you tomorrow. I love you.”

“What an incredible coincidence,” he said. “I love me too.”

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