Smiling Eyes

by

© Ginger Hanson 2009

“What do you mean Mr. Maguire can’t do the parade?” I heard my voice ratchet into a screech, but I couldn’t stop it. “He is the parade! Him and Laura the Leprechaun.”
“It’s not Marty’s fault he needs a quadruple bypass,” his wife’s voice quivered, making me feel terrible about my outburst.
I leaned toward the vanilla scented reed diffuser on my desk and took a deep, calming breath.
“Of course not, Mrs. Maguire. And I truly appreciate your call. How is he doing?” I scribbled notes while Mrs. Maguire described her husband’s condition. “Tell him to take care of himself and not to worry about the parade. We’ll manage.”
I waited until I hung up the phone to moan softly, drop my head into my hands, and sink down to the desk top. Halfway through my probationary period and this happens. If I mismanage the St. Patrick’s Day parade, I can kiss this job goodbye. Too many people had criticized the Chamber of Commerce for hiring me. I’d been a stay-at-home mom for ten years and my critics doubted I could handle the job of director.
Yet, how could I regret the years I’d spent raising Josh even if my public relations experience became outdated while my ex-husband spent too much time with his pretty coworker?
“Why are you banging your head on your desk?”
“It’s closer than the wall?” I raised my head to see Millie in the doorway, her cocked eyebrows begging for an explanation.
“Mr. McQuire is in the hospital so we have no one to march in the World’s Shortest St. Partrick’s Day parade tomorrow.”
“We still have Laura.”
“That’s a relief.” I rolled my eyes. “A little dog dressed as a leprechaun cannot be the only participant in our parade. No matter how cute she is. Anyway, St. Patrick holds her leash. And there’s Mrs. Tucker.”
Luckily, I hadn’t been in charge of the parade last year when Laura demolished Mrs. Tucker’s kiosk of homemade dog biscuits. “I reassured her yesterday Laura will be restrained at all times.”
“We need another Irishman.” Millie folded her arms over her chest and stared at the ceiling.
I let the silence drag out because I knew exactly which Irishman my assistant meant. Finally, I caved. “We haven’t spoken in two weeks.”
Millie gaze shifted to me. “Yeah, and if you don’t hurry up and apologize, Mona Ringback will move in and Patrick’ll be gone forever.”
I slumped into my chair. Millie was right about who needed to apologize. And Patrick was right–I had become too lenient with Josh since the divorce. How can Patrick be a true father if I refuse to allow him to discipline my son?
Patrick was a steady, hard-working man. If I didn’t trust him, why had I agreed to marry him? I had reached for the phone countless times, wanting to call him, but my courage failed each time. Marty’s hospitalization gave me the perfect excuse because Patrick was the only Irish male I knew.
More to the point, he was the only one I might be able to convince to wear that huge green hat, green vest, and green tee shirt on such short notice.
“Okay, I can do this.” I reached for the phone. Millie gave me a thumbs up, closing the door softly as she left.
“Patrick’s Auto, may I help you?”
The sound of his voice reverberated through my body, leaving my mouth dry and my soul full of longing. “It’s me.”
Silence settled between us. My heart seemed to pause, awaiting his response.
“Are you calling to apologize or because Mr. Maguire is in the hospital and you need an Irishman to march in your parade?” There was a note of amusement in his voice and I remembered the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. It gave me the strength to continue.
“Both” I took a deep breath. “But mostly to apologize. I was wrong, you’ve been a better father to Josh than his own dad. He needs you. But most of all, I miss you...I love you...” I stuttered to a stop.
An ominous silence met my confession. My heart pounded and I clutched the receiver with a damp hand. I had never felt so vulnerable in my life. Had my stubborn streak cost me Patrick?
“Here’s the deal. I’ll be your one-man parade on one condition.”
I hoped for forgiveness, but I prayed for a date.
“We get a blood test this morning and we get married after the parade.”
His words sent my heart into a soaring somersault. A St. Patrick’s Day wedding! I smiled so wide, my mouth hurt. “Okay, but remind me to send a dozen green roses to Mr. Maguire.”

The End