The Perfect Love Song by Patti Callahan Henry Page A

“Follow me.”
    Jimmy walked behind her until he stood over a case of at least fifty diamond rings. “Oh, I guess I should have given this more thought. I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t know anything about . . . this.”
    “That’s why I’m here,” she said, slipping a key from a chain and opening the case. She placed a black velvet tray full of rings on top of the counter. “Do you have a budget?”
    “Yes,” Jimmy said and quoted the exact amount on his first paycheck.
    She smiled. “You sound firm.”
    “I am because I have to be,” he said and smiled.
    “Great. Well, here are the princess-cut solitaires. Or would you like oval or with baguettes?”
    “Are you speaking English?” he asked, but smiled.
    “Let’s start here—tell me what you see on her hand.”
    “A diamond.”
    “All right. Anything more specific?”
    Jimmy stared at the tray, the diamonds becoming one mass of glittering confusion. He closed his eyes and tried to picture Charlotte, where he’d ask, what it would mean to her. His eyes flew open. “Okay, I’ll be proposing in Ireland over Christmas. Does that help?”

    She laughed. “Yes, yes, it does.” She reached inside the case and pulled out a single ring. “This is called a Claddagh ring.”
    Jimmy looked down at the platinum ring—the heart with the hands surrounding it, the crown above the heart, and a round, brilliant diamond set into the center of the heart. “Yes,” he said, without knowing the word had formed itself and been spoken. He looked at the woman. “Yes, exactly yes.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

    We live our stories over and over in every
generation, at the edge of every sea.
    —MAEVE MAHONEY TO KARA LARSON
     
     
     
     
    C harlotte stood at the entrance to the Verandah Nursing Home with Kara. This was the place where Maeve had once lived, where Kara’s life had been changed by a single story. That is one of my favorite things about life changes—how they don’t always occur in the place and space we think they should occur.
    Charlotte placed her hand on Kara’s arm before she opened the door. “You think Jimmy is okay?”

    Kara released her hand from the doorknob, her other hand holding boxes of shortbread. Handmade garland was draped over Charlotte’s forearm. Kara shivered. “Of course I do. Why do you ask?”
    Charlotte shrugged. “You know he’s never been alone on the road—he’s always had Jack and the band.”
    “You talk to him every day, right?”
    Charlotte nodded.
    “And he seems fine?”
    She nodded again.
    “Then what’s wrong?”
    Charlotte fiddled with the garland. “I can’t name it. I don’t really know.”
    Kara brushed pine needles from Charlotte’s hair. “You just miss him. It’ll all be fine.”
    “Yeah.” Charlotte forced a smile and opened the door to the nursing home. “You’re right.”
    When the two of them entered the home, they were, as usual, overcome with the scent of disinfectant and baby powder. They walked back to the living room where the residents were watching Miracle on Thirty-Fourth Street .
    Mrs. Anderson looked up from her puzzle and smiled at Kara and Charlotte. “Well, well, look who the cat drug in,” she said with a lisp.

    Charlotte looked at Kara and whispered, “I’ve never understood that saying—‘what the cat drug in’? What does that mean?”
    “I think it means that they didn’t expect us.”
    The remaining residents turned. Some waved; others ignored them. Mr. Potter stood up in his walker and half-walked, half-rolled toward them. “Hello, ladies. I’m assuming you came to see me.” He smoothed back the four hairs left on his head and winked.
    “Well, I know I did. I’m just not sure about Kara here, what with her being engaged and all,” Charlotte said.
    Mr. Potter laughed and then spoke in that rough voice that told of his smoking years, of a scarred throat. “Well, what gives us this pleasure today?” he asked.
    “We brought garland for the living room