The Cork Contingency

by R. J. Griffith

  Margaret could feel the bags forming under her eyes as her sister rambled on. Tonight she wanted to cling to the feelings she discovered in her heart, not listen to her sister prattle on about the price of pedicures while she angled around to what the fight was about.

  Margaret cut her sister off. “You sent me on a trip to Ireland by myself. I’m thirty-two and fully capable of carrying a can of pepper spray if I need to, besides I’m having a great time, and yes, I DID just say great. Save yourself the drama. Call Glen. Talk about it.”

  Silence crashed against the receiver.

  “If that’s the way you want it, Margaret. Enjoy your night.”

  Margaret looked at her phone to see the call had ended. Her plan backfired. She’d always been her sister’s emotional crutch. But you don’t just yank that crutch away from the lame person; you have to let them learn to walk again. She quickly re-dialed the number, but Janet didn’t answer.

  She groaned and rolled over in her bed. Not only were the feelings of euphoria gone, but she felt the telltale pounding of a headache coming on. She sank back into the soft pillow. A thought flashed against the canvas of her eyelids. Will Janet forgive me? And where was Donnell rushing off to so late tonight?

  9

  The next morning she stood in front of her open suitcase, looking at the neat stack of clean clothes. She never cared much about what her clothes looked like, but now she wished she’d packed something remotely attractive. She reached in and grabbed a wad of jersey that was smashed into the very corner of the bag. She pulled it out and gave it a shake. A small handwritten note floated to the floor.

  Dear Margaret,

  When I helped you pack, I noticed you didn’t have anything new for the trip. I sneaked in an outfit that was sitting in my closet. I thought it would be perfect for you, so try it on! This trip IS all about adventure.

  Love,

  Janet

  P.S. Check the outside of your case.

  The long-sleeved jersey dress had a cross front that tied at the hip. Margaret didn’t remember Janet ever wearing this dress. She ran her fingers across the heather-gray fabric. It felt smooth and soft like a favorite t-shirt. She held it up against herself, stepped out of her pajamas, and pulled the dress over her head. It hugged her waist and fell nicely past her knees. She swayed back and forth and the circle skirt swooshed through the air. She opened the outer pocket on her suitcase. Inside were brown suede knee high boots, and long navy socks.

  “Oh, Janet! I’ve been so mean!” Margaret reached for her cell phone and punched in her sister’s number. The call went straight to voicemail. She looked at the clock. Janet isn’t even up yet. She grabbed her Bible and sat on the little couch near her window. Hair and makeup could wait. She needed to spend time listening to what God had for her today. All these new feelings needed sorting out. She bowed her head, whispered a prayer, and then cracked open the well-worn cover of her Mother’s Bible.

  “Knock, knock.” Mrs. McCleary’s voice rang from behind the door.

  The Bible slid from her lap to floor. “I’m coming.” Margaret called, leaving the book in a crumpled heap. She crossed the room and pulled the door open.

  Mrs. McCleary was holding a tray of breakfast foods. “I didn’t see you downstairs this morning. You must have had a late night. Here are a few things to eat before you go out again. Is Donnell coming by later today?”

  Margaret took the tray. “I believe he is.”

  “Oh. That’s good.” Mrs. McCleary clasped her hands together. “He’s such a nice boy, my nephew, and he will make you a wonderful,” she faltered, “er, tour guide.”

  Margaret thanked Mrs. McCleary and returned to her Bible sprawled on the floor. Some of the loosened pages drooped from the book. She tucked them back and scolded herself for letting it fall. A small note card sat against the plush carpet. The words on it, etched in her mother’s smooth writing, stood out against yellowed cardstock. She lifted it from the floor and set it atop her Bible. Steaming tea in hand, she read the words.

  James 4:13-15

  Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.”

  Lord, I pray for my Meggy. I pray that she learns to give You control over her future instead of taking charge of everything herself. Thank You for my little girl. She is a gift from You, Lord.

  Amen.

  The thin pages of the Bible crackled as Margaret turned to the passage marked on the card. She read it through twice, and then slumped back against the smooth couch. Mom hoped she would be adventurous and let God lead the way. Margaret contemplated her past and searched for a time when she let God have full control. This trip couldn’t possibly count since Janet tricked me into going. Her heart ached. Had God used Janet to bring her to Ireland? How did Donnell fit into this? She laid her Bible down and said a quick prayer.

  She slid the long boots over the navy socks and checked herself one more time in the mirror. She couldn’t help but twirl. After one more swipe of mascara, she opened the door to find Donnell waiting in the hallway.

  Donnell whistled. “Wow, Meggy. You’re a sight.”

  “Thank you.” A smile broke across her face as they walked to her rental car.

  “I bet you want to know what we’re up to today. Don’t you?” He opened the passenger door.

  “No, this is your city, lead the way.” Margaret swallowed her previous concerns and determined to be adventurous today.

  “Are you sure?” He waved a crumpled piece of paper in front of her nose.

  “No. I mean, yes. I’m trying something new.” She closed her eyes against the temptation.

  “All right, then.” He stuffed the worn paper back into his pocket.

  Her fingers itched to grab it. She chose to worry the strap to her purse instead.

  Donnell pulled in front of the coffee shop.

  “I think I’ll stay in the car,” Margaret said.

  “All right, then. What can I get for you?”

  “I’ll take a latte and one of those pastries.” She rummaged through her purse for loose euros, but came up empty. “I changed my mind, I don’t want anything.” The thought of entering and paying with her debit card overcame her desire for caffeine.

  “It’s on me this time. I’ll get our pastries in separate bags,” he said in a teasing tone.

  She started to refuse, but he closed the door and dashed off. The note in her mother’s Bible came to mind. She wrestled with thoughts of God, her Mom, and her own way of living. A knock on the car window startled her.

  Donnell stood there, balancing the coffee and pastries, waiting for her to open the door.

  “Hop out. Besides getting food and drink, this is our stop.”

  Margaret regarded her boots with a wedge heel. At least I’m not stuck in stilettos again. She stepped out of the car. “OK.”

  “You don’t sound, OK.” He mimicked her voice. “No, I really am. I am ready for an adventure,” she said, choking on the last word. In her boots, she was close to eye level with Donnell. A few silver streaks brushed back from his temples and disappeared into his ruddy hair. She took the coffee and pastry. “What are you looking at? Is my mascara smudged?”

  “I’m looking at the same thing every man in the coffee shop window is looking at. Meggy, you are a beautiful sight.” He offered his arm.

  Margaret shuffled the coffee and pastry so that she could slide her hand into the crook of his arm. He was wearing a light coat and she could feel the strength in his arms. “Donnell, what is it that you do for work? Besides take lost women around on tours of your hometown, that is.”

  “I’m a freelance mechanical engineer. I just got off a project when your si…” He took a huge gulp of coffee. “I finished a proj
ect and came here.” He glanced at something in the distance.

  “Were you going to say something about my sister?”

  “The one you told me about yesterday? No.” He took another gulp. “I flew back to Cork because I had some loose ends to tie up.”

  “What did you have to tie up?”

  “Family stuff, don’t you worry about it. It’s something I’ve put off for a long time and need to deal with.” He cleared his throat again. “I want to know about you, Meggy. I bet your dad had a time keeping the boys away from you.”

  She laughed hard. “I’m afraid you have me confused with Janet. I’m no catch. I didn’t have time for boys in high school. I graduated a year ahead so I could go to college and get my RN a year earlier. Keeping the scholarship depended on good grades throughout or they would drop me.” Margaret sighed at the memory of all the late nights during her residency, and sleeping on empty gurneys. “I graduated at the top of my class and worked in surgery until my dad had his stroke. Now I’m just a spinster living at home and taking care of my dad. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s where God wants me.” She looked up at the road ahead of them. She took a bite of her apple blackberry pastry and waited for his reply.

  “Do you think God sent you to Ireland?”

  She listened to his steady stride against the pavement and mulled over his question.

  “Margaret?”

  “I do. I don’t know why, though.” She wanted to tell him about the note she found in her Bible.

  He slowed his pace. “Meggy, I think you’re here for a reason. When I took the job and flew back to Ireland, I felt God’s hand in it.”

  Margaret turned his words over in her mind. What’s the job he flew back for? “You know, I almost didn’t come. Somehow, I lost my passport between the line and the security check. But then it appeared in my bag.”

  His eyebrows raised and he nodded. “You know, the last woman I took about town had a tiny dog who tried to bite me whenever the woman let it out of her purse.”

  Margaret chuckled. “You don’t like dogs?”

  “Not the ones that resemble rats with collars. Gum?” he pulled out a pack of clove gum from his pocket and offered her a piece.

  “No thanks, I still have coffee left.”

  He shrugged and popped a piece into his mouth. It smelled like pumpkin pie. “Today we begin our walking tour of the great city of Cork.” He swept his arm across the sky.

  “Don’t tell me you just decided this now.”

  “I’m taking you touring and you’re walking. Doesn’t that sound like a plan?”

  “How can you live your life this way, never knowing when you are going or coming back and…”

  He dropped her arm.

  “Hey wait up, you can’t walk off. You have my keys.”

  “I’m just throwing away my rubbish.” He pushed his empty cup and bag into the can. “Meggy, you can trust me.” He stepped toward her.

  Margaret remembered how he had taken her itinerary and stuffed it in his pocket. They visited Charles Fort yesterday, which was on her list, so he had to be following some sort of order.

  “Hold on,” she said placing her hand against his broad chest. “I need time to form an opinion.”

  “Maybe make a checklist, get a committee.”

  “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being methodical.” She dropped her hand and started walking again.

  “If we were all created the same, Meggy, the world would be a boring place to live.” His tenor voice smoothed the wrinkles in her mood.

  Margaret felt the truth in his words.

  “Hey, we’re here.”

  The sign above the doors read, “Cork Butter Museum.”

  Margaret snapped a picture of the building and strode past him to a set of towering cardinal doors.

  Closed for Maintenance.

  “They must have installed the lamps too low,” she said. “Quick! Call the guards. Tell them to bring lots of toast.” Margaret chortled.

  “Be careful the guards might be churning with emotion and come out to paddle you.”

  “We better leave before we get arrested for telling bad jokes.”

  “Do you want to catch a bus to our next stop?” he asked.

  Margaret looked skyward. The patchy clouds didn’t look threatening, but she knew better than to assume the weather would hold. “Do you think it will rain on us?”

  “Not until later.”

  “Let’s keep walking.” Margaret ignored the twinge at the back of her heel and walked on.

  Donnell stopped her in front of a large row of buildings.

  Cork English Market.

  “I couldn’t have you come to Cork and not see the market. There’s a lot of history here.”

  Margaret took a picture of the entryway sign. They walked through the archway into the market. Its vaulted ceiling reached up to the second floor. Each booth sold its own produce or product. It reminded Margaret of an indoor farmers market she visited a few years before.

  “The English Market started in 1788 and eventually catered only to the wealthy. During the Great Famine of 1845 the majority of the potatoes suffered blight. While the country starved, the English market sold healthy potatoes to the rich.”

  Margaret spied a booth selling chocolate in the far right hand corner.

  “Two fires and many years later, it’s a highlight of Cork with much better prices, I might add.”

  “Donnell! Hey, Donnell!” a voice called from behind a booth.

  Margaret nudged Donnell’s arm. “I think someone is waving at you.”

  10

  “O’Shay!” Donnell waved back. “Excuse me, bird, I’ll only be a minute.”

  “No problem.” I’m just going to check out the chocolate.

  The chocolate seller’s booth boasted lit glass cases filled with truffles, chocolate-covered nuts, chocolate-covered marshmallows, and even chocolate-covered fruit. Tall chocolate bunnies stood against the wall and stared out at visitors passing by.

  Margaret browsed the glass case, trying to pick a favorite. She gazed over at Donnell, still deep in conversation, and admired his profile. She snapped a picture of him talking to his friend. He still hasn’t given me a price for this tour. I’ll ask him in the car.

  “That yer fella?” The teenager held out a sample tray. Her auburn hair sat at the nape of her neck, pulled into a ponytail.

  Margaret took a sample and popped it into her mouth. The creamy caramel square melted onto her tongue and left her craving more.

  “Like, he’s fla.”

  Margaret had no idea what fla meant. “Thanks for the sample,” she said, backing away from the girl. She bumped into someone standing behind her. “Excuse me. Oh, it’s you, Donnell.”

  “You’re beginning to make this a habit, Meggy.” He ignored the leering girl behind the chocolate counter and grasped her hand.

  When they were well beyond the booth Margaret asked, “What’s fla? Like if I said that you’re fla.”

  “Handsome.” There was that dimple again. It only showed up when his smile grew broad enough. Then it was chased away again. “Meggy, we need talk about…” He ran his free hand through his hair. “um…catching the bus.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  He checked his watch and frowned. “You ready to bolt?” He pulled her back toward the door.

  Her feet made an unladylike clomping against the brick flooring. She tossed her trash into the can as they sped by and half tripped as they rounded the corner. “Donnell,” she panted, “slow down.”

  They rushed down the street and arrived breathless, just in time to watch the bus pull from the station.

  “Looks as if we’re walking.” He glanced at Margaret’s shoes, noticing them for the first time. “Can you walk in those?”

  “Yes, and apparently I can run in them, too,” she said feeling the bite of a blister forming on her heel. “I’ll be fine.”

  “All right then.” He looked at the sky. “It’s
not far from here.”

  They started down the street at moderate pace.

  Margaret ignored the blister gnawing at her heel and focused on keeping stride with Donnell. She ran her hand against the bumpy stone wall that followed the sidewalk.

  They rounded the corner and Donnell stopped short in front of an open wrought iron gate.

  Margaret gasped. “That building is amazing. It’s a church right?” She didn’t remember anything like this being on her list.

  They drifted toward the ancient stone building cutting into the sky.

  Margaret held her camera at an angle and snapped a picture of the towering cathedral.

  “Do you want to walk the grounds?”

  “I want to go in.” She said in a hushed tone.

  Carved stone angels watched from above, blowing on heavenly trumpets. A stone man holding a lamb stood at the door with his palm out. He was flanked by others in robes and various poses.

  She touched her fingertips against the cold stone, entranced by the details.

  The heavy wooden doors covered in cast iron scrollwork and round pulls stood open and beckoned them in. Hundreds of years of history soaked through her.

  They walked past benches roped off from the public. A monstrous pipe organ filled the loft. The silver pipes followed the curve of the circular window above.

  “Sorry we didn’t come when someone was playing,” Donnell said as he slid into an open bench. “The choir and acoustics, it’s indescribable.”

  Margaret sneaked her camera out and took a few pictures.

  “I brought you here because I wanted to show you the place I asked Christ to be my Savior. I haven’t lived an easy life, by any means, and I’ve said more than a few heated prayers to God, but He’s the one who’s in charge of me.” Donnell rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted you to know that because…” he paused and turned to face her. “I like you, Meggy.”

  Margaret scooted closer to Donnell, reached out her fingers, and gently brushed his hand. This must have been what Donnell was so hesitant to tell me.