by KT Webb
I sigh, thinking about what the letter asked me to do. Grandpa had to know the funeral would be around the same time as the plane was due to take off. Now, I’m faced with a decision. On the one hand, grandpa told me his greatest regret was not making amends with his family, on the other hand, I have no interest in making amends with mine.
“I’m not going to be able to make it, dad.”
“Blake, please don’t let what happened between you and your sister keep you from saying goodbye to your grandpa.”
I look at the key lying on the bed next to the plane ticket. Without a doubt, I will do as my grandfather asked.
“No, I’m not. Trust me when I say grandpa would not want me to cancel my plans to attend his funeral.”
Again, I didn’t bother to offer any farewell, I simply disconnected the call. It takes less than a millisecond for me to decide to power off the phone and toss it to the side.
With a million things racing through my mind, the one that stands out among them is replying to my grandfather. He’s dead, I know. But, it feels right to respond to his letter. I grab my laptop, open my blog site, and create a new blog.
To Grandpa:
I’m not happy with you right now. You’re dead. Not only are you dead, but you were also dying, and you didn’t tell anyone. Did you ever stop to think that maybe I’d have wanted to be able to talk to you about the trip you’re sending me on? I’m sure you considered the possibility. You knew it wouldn’t change the outcome either way.
I can’t be mad at you for dying. You had no more control over it than anyone else. The part that upsets me is rather than receiving the news from you, I had to hear from my father. I know you’ve wanted me to make amends, or at least forgive them, and move on. Someday, I may be strong enough to forgive them, but right now, I can’t see myself moving on. Forgiveness is different than acceptance. You taught me that.
I’m mad at you because you’re asking me to do what you never found the strength to do yourself. You want me to make things right with the family you left behind. The family that you may not have forgiven or accepted for whatever caused you to move in the first place. You want me to do what you couldn’t; what you know I’ve not been able to do myself. If this is one of your final attempts at teaching me a lesson, I’ll play along. I’m just not happy about it.
Two days from now, I’ll be on a plane heading toward Ireland. I guess I can’t be mad at you for that.
With Love,
Blake
“You have to be joking. Why would Brion Molloy send his granddaughter here?” I demand.
My mum, Aoife Fitzpatrick, shrugs her shoulders while holding the letter she’d received from the owner of the bed and breakfast. She hands me the message to look it over again. It’s concise and to the point. Mr. Molloy is dying, and he’s entrusted his twenty-two-year-old granddaughter with the family business. Of course, we always knew there would come a time when the absent proprietor would pass on, but we assumed he would leave the business and property to his son or one of the brothers he’d left behind in Ireland.
“I can’t help but wonder why he would leave all this to someone who is basically a child,” I huff.
Ma chuckles at my description, “You know, it wasn’t too long ago that you were a child. I’d be careful categorizing someone who will soon be my boss.”
“I’m a grown man.”
“If you have to tell people that, you might want to re-evaluate the truth in your statement,” she grins at me.
I know she’s teasing me, but it doesn’t keep me from feeling slightly offended. I’m a few months past my thirtieth birthday, I own a thriving pub, and brew my own beer. This Blake Molloy is barely an adult, she makes a living by freelance writing and writes travel blog posts for various companies. What does she know about owning and operating a bed and breakfast? What does she know about Ireland?
“Anyway, Gannon, Brion has requested that I pick her up from the airport when she arrives. You know how I feel about driving in the city, I’d much rather you go fetch her.”
I knew she was going to ask me to do this. As much as I want to be a good son and do right by my mum as my father taught me, every bone in my body immediately protests the request. I hate Dublin International Airport more than anything. Every single day, thousands of tourists flood through customs hoping to catch a bloody leprechaun. I’ve not encountered a single tourist who comes to Ireland for anything other than the stories of shamrocks and little people. It’s one of the many reasons I rarely venture into the highly commercialized cities. I’m a proud Irishman.
I was born and raised smack dab in the middle of Ireland. Kinnitty has been home to my family for generations. The furthest any of my relations tended to venture out was Tullamore. I’ve got everything I need in that tiny town. All of those things only add to my irritation at the idea of having to stand in the busiest airport in Ireland, holding a sign for some little girl trying to fulfill her grandfather’s dying wish.
Of course, I know the Molloy name well. They’ve lived in Kinnitty just as long as my family, the Fitzpatrick’s. But having the same name as someone in another country doesn’t make a family. Time, love, and support make a family; Brion Molloy left his family behind and never looked back. I have a hard time swallowing the idea that his granddaughter will be any different. I wasn’t around when all that happened, but things like that leave a mark on a small town.
“Ma, do I really have to? Couldn’t you send one of the Molloy’s who still holds an ounce of tolerance for the man who abandoned them?”
“Gannon Donal Fitzpatrick. I don’t ask much of you, son. But I am asking you to do this,” Aoife Fitzpatrick stood her ground with both hands on her hips.
I couldn’t tell her no. This woman sacrificed so much for me. My father was murdered in Dublin when I was still a lad. He’d been there with some friends to celebrate his fortieth birthday, and they’d stumbled down the wrong alley. Ever since mum received that call, she’s done everything she could to raise me to be the kind of man my father would have been proud to call his son. I know it hasn’t been easy for her, but she never complained once.
“Fine. I’ll do it. But I’m not going to like it.”
She smiles in the sneaky way she does when she has something up her sleeve. I know she’s about to tell me I’m in for more than I bargained for.
“Good, and while you’re in Dublin, you should take her and show her some of the sights.”
I have to hand it to her, she’s sneaky. I shake my head at her as I feel laughter building up inside me.
“Fine, but we aren’t staying long. And I’m not taking her to the bloody Leprechaun Museum.”
I want to die. I’m standing in the airport, holding a stupid sign, waiting for the American girl I’m supposed to play tour guide for. At my mum’s direction, I booked two rooms at the Jury’s Inn near Christ Church Cathedral. According to my mum, it would be rude of me to simply pick her up and whisk her away to the middle of nowhere. She said the girl should at least get to see the city for a day or two.
I left my best friend, Patrick, in charge of my pub and took off. Of course, this girl is arriving with the rising sun, so we’ll have all day, all night, and part of tomorrow to explore Dublin. I stand by my word, I will not take her to the Leprechaun Museum.
Passengers have begun to funnel their way through customs, so I’m paying closer attention to the people around me. I see a young woman with oversized sunglasses, a short skirt, perfect black hair, and a sparkly cell phone in her hand complete with pop-socket. I pray that’s not the one I’m here to pick up. She stops to take a selfie, and I shit you not, the girl flashes the peace sign and “duck lips” popular with American girls on the internet. Please don’t let this be Brion Molloy’s granddaughter. I don’t think I could handle spending any time with a girl like that.
“Excuse me, I’m Blake Molloy.”
My attention is brought to a young woman much closer to me than the selfie queen, who is n
ow reapplying her lipstick. This girl is nothing like the other. It takes everything in me to keep my jaw from dropping to the floor. Strawberry blonde hair and piercing green eyes catch me off guard as I take in the sight of the woman I’m supposed to show around Dublin. I built her up as a pretentious American in my mind, now I’m faced with a beautiful woman with freckles and a button nose. Her hair is carelessly piled on top of her head in what girls refer to as a “messy bun”. Blake is wearing tight black leggings, an oversized hooded sweatshirt, and trainers. She’s gorgeous. I clear my throat and force myself to stop letting my nob do the thinking.
“I suppose you have luggage?” I do my best to sound irritated in order to regain some control over my own demeanor.
“I do. I have a few large suitcases.”
“Of course, you do,” I say as I hear mum’s voice in the back of my head telling me to be kind. “Planning to stay long are yeh?”
Well, being an asshole might suit me, but I can at least play a bit dumb in regards to her reasons for visiting. I wonder if anyone told her I’d be showing her the sights of Dublin, albeit under duress.
“Yes, I have some things I need to do while I’m here, and I don’t know how long it will take. I don’t have a return flight.”
Oh good, I don’t know why I was hoping she would reveal she only intended to stay a few weeks. It’s really none of my business, but just the idea of someone connected to Brion Molloy’s new life hanging around made my blood boil. I know she’ll be staying at the Molloy Bed and Breakfast, so it’s probably free for her to do so. If I ever wanted to visit another country, I’d be tempted to stay longer if the lodging was taken care of too. We wait in silence for her luggage to appear on the carousel. As soon as she sees her belongings, she dutifully hoists them off the conveyor belt. I’m mildly impressed that she hasn’t expected me to take care of her things. I lead her to the truck, where I offer to do the heavy lifting. Blake seems as unimpressed by me as I am by her. I’m going to either have to let go of whatever is pissing me off or become an excellent actor.
“So, Blake, what brings you to Ireland?”
“My grandfather.”
I raise an eyebrow at her brief response. Most Americans I’ve met are more than willing to tell anyone who asks all the things they planned to do while in the country. My pub is one of the two pubs in Kinnitty, so we have our fair share of tourists just breezing through, but I prefer to cater to the locals.
“Not much of a talker, are you?” I glance at her as she stares out the window.
“Well, you don’t seem to be someone who wants to talk to me. If you don’t mind, I’d rather enjoy the scenery.”
I try to sound carefree when I laugh, “What makes you think I don’t want to talk to you?”
Blake turns her face toward me. There’s something in her eyes that instantly makes me regret acting a muppet. I often have to remind myself that pretty girls are dangerous and only lead to heartache. They all leave, and this one isn’t going to be any different.
“I don’t know that you and I will be seeing much of each other, but I have a feeling we will considering the size of Kinnitty. So, I’ll be straight with you,” Blake adjusts her position, so she’s facing me in her seat. “First, you have yet to introduce yourself to me. I was expecting to meet Aoife Fitzpatrick at the airport, not a surly man who seems irritated by everything. Second, every time you look at me, I can tell you already want me to leave. And, finally, I’m a pretty decent judge of character, and I’m not sure I particularly like yours.”
I’m beginning to rethink my opinion of Blake Molloy. This girl has more Irish in her than I’d initially believed. I am officially impressed. She speaks her mind and is unafraid of any consequences that may follow.
“You’re right. I haven’t introduced myself. I am Gannon Fitzpatrick. My mum, Aoife, is the caretaker for the Molloy Bed and Breakfast. She wasn’t feeling well this morning and asked me to come in her place,” I pause before addressing her other comments. “I hate to tell you this lass, but everything annoys me, especially when I’m forced to cater to tourists. After tomorrow, we won’t have to see much of each other if you steer clear of my pub whilst in my town.”
“What do you mean after tomorrow?” Blake is glaring at me in a way that indicates her stare could disintegrate me in the spot.
“Ma asked me to show you around Dublin before bringing you to Kinnitty. I’ve booked rooms at the Jury’s Inn.”
Blake huffs out a frustrated sigh, “That’s nice of your mother. I figured I’d come back another time to see Dublin.”
I smile as we pull into the car park at our hotel. There will be no need for the truck as we explore the city in our limited time, in my opinion, the best sites can be seen by walking the streets of Dublin.
“Listen, let’s start over. I think I may have misjudged you, and I’d like a chance to begin again. Can we do that?” I pray she says yes, so I don’t have to go home and tell my mum that I screwed up.
Blake considers me for a moment before giving me a firm nod and offering me her hand, “Hello, my name is Blake Molloy. I’m here for an extended period, and I can’t wait to see your beautiful country.”
“Nice to meet you, Blake. My name is Gannon Fitzpatrick. I’ll be your tour guide for the time being. Please don’t feed the locals, they tend to follow you around if you do.”
Her laughter is one of the most enjoyable sounds I’ve ever heard. That little button nose crinkles with her smile, making the freckles that much more adorable. I’d better keep my wits about me, or I’m going to find myself in trouble fast.
To say I find Gannon to be odd would be an understatement. He's kind of giving me whiplash. One minute he seems like a surly asshole, the next he's getting ready to go galivanting around Dublin with me. I have a whole list of places I want to see, but I know it won't be easy considering the limited time we have in Dublin. Luckily, it's early in the day. Once we've parked his truck, we head out into the street. It's too early to check into the hotel, so we may as well make the most of the day.
I glance at Gannon. He's one of those ruggedly handsome types. He has black hair and sparkling blue eyes. I can't say I dislike the closely cropped beard. I'm not sure how old he is but judging by the sprinkling of gray in his hair, he must be older than me. He talks to me like he thinks he's some sort of big brother figure, I don't need any of that. Maybe as I get to know him a bit more, I'll get a better idea of who he is. Right now, I'm just excited to see Dublin with a real Irishman.
"Where to first, Mr. Fitzpatrick?"
"Well, there are some definite must-see items on the list. Is there anywhere, in particular, you'd like to go?"
"I've always wanted to see the mummies at St. Michan's."
Gannon's eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch as though he's surprised by my response. I'm impressed by how quickly he recovers, it's almost seamless. I can't help but wonder what he expected me to want to see. There are several other places I'd like to visit, I wonder if any of them would be shocking to him. We start walking away from the hotel, heading down a winding street. It's mid-morning on a Wednesday, so there isn't much foot traffic.
"Are you hungry?" Gannon asks, glancing at his watch.
I hadn't realized how much time had passed since we left the airport, but as I look at my own watch, I discover it's nearly eleven o'clock in the morning. I haven't eaten anything that passes as real food since the airport last night. Of course, they fed us a few meals on the plane, but they were not very filling and didn't taste all that great. As though my stomach is responding to his question and my train of thought, it begins to make obnoxious noises.
"Now that you mention it, yes I am."
"Perfect, just up here on the left is the oldest pub in Dublin. The Brazen Head. They serve a full Irish breakfast," Gannon explains.
I have no idea what a full Irish breakfast includes, but it sounds like something I need in my life. Gannon takes my smile for the silent agreement that it is and veers
toward The Brazen Head.
It doesn’t look like much from the outside, so it’s hard for me to show any amount of excitement until we walk through the front door. Much of the first room is without a roof. There are tables and a bar under a partial roof to the left, then a larger enclosed area to the right.
“Huh,” I say looking around.
“It’s bigger on the inside,” Gannon says with a grin that tells me he thinks he’s made a joke I won’t understand.
“Thanks, Doctor,” I wink. “That’s right mister, I’m a Whovian too. So, suck it.”
He releases a surprised hoot of laughter and shakes his head at me. “What, pray tell, am I supposed to suck?”
His voice dropped an octave and those blue eyes darkened. I’m sorry, is he flirting with me? Where did mister cranky pants go? I’m not sure which Gannon I prefer. I look away quickly, knowing the blush has crept into my cheeks.