The Cork Contingency

by R. J. Griffith

  “I’m refusing payment as your tour guide, Meggy. Spending time with you is payment enough.” He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers.

  Her heart beat a staccato as she reached her hands behind his neck and kissed him back.

  “Ahem.”

  Margaret and Donnell looked up to see a man in a black suit looking down at them, one bushy brown eyebrow arched.

  “Oh, excuse us.” Margaret grabbed her purse from the floor and stood.

  “Calm down, Meggy, I don’t think Owen will throw us out.” Donnell stood and extended his hand to the other man.

  “I don’t remember you ever taking a girl out to a church before, how’ve you been?”

  “I’m still traveling back and forth from the States.”

  “And your Da?”

  The air inside the chapel felt tight. Margaret eased down the aisle and left the two old friends talking. She went out the door.

  The men’s voices faded into the background.

  She stopped at the iron gates. Which way did we come in? She looked down the streets, but everything looked the same, and she couldn’t remember where to turn. That kiss still had her head spinning. What is going on with me? She lowered herself down next to four headstones.

  Time had erased the etching, leaving thin slabs of nameless stone standing against the elements.

  Margaret stretched her legs out. She felt the bite of blisters on both feet now. I wonder if I should slip my boots off and see how bad they are. A slice of sunlight broke through the gray sky above and warmed the top of her head. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the worn stone, and breathed in the scent of wet earth, tree blossoms, and a freshly lit fire. She loosened her hair from its bun and it fell past her shoulders. She ran her fingers through the ends and thought about the kiss.

  “Meggy,” Donnell called. He waved at her from the doorway. He jogged the short distance to her, then crouched down and braced his forearms against his legs. “You’re so pretty with your hair down.”

  Margaret struggled to meet his gaze.

  “Are you OK? Do you want to go back to the car?”

  “No, I mean, yes. “ Margaret searched for the right words in her head. I don’t have time for a relationship. We are too different. You’re making me face feelings I’ve hidden for so many years. She gave up and waved at her feet. “I don’t know if I’ll make it back to the car. I think I have blisters and I feel exhausted.”

  “Just around the block a ways is a chemist. They’ll have something for your feet.”

  “A chemist?”

  “You know, a drug store. We’ll get you bandaged up and then find a place for lunch. Does that sound OK?”

  Margaret nodded.

  The building held a vintage charm from the outside and stood proud with its oak sign, along the row of shops. Margaret snapped a few photos and then hobbled through the glass front door onto shining wood floors. A hint of lemon cleaner drifted on the air.

  “Here, I found them.” Donnell came up to her.

  The woman rang up the purchase.

  Outside Margaret sank down onto a backless wooden bench, unzipped her boots and rolled down her socks. She choked back a gasp when she spotted her tarantula-black, hairy legs and swiftly yanked her socks back up.

  11

  “Let me see you blisters. The way you gimped here, they must be bad.”

  “Actually, I’m feeling much better.”

  “You’re an RN, right? What happens to blisters that don’t get taken care of?”

  “I won’t get gangrene, Donnell. I just overemphasized the matter, had an emotional moment, and now I’m fine.” She swallowed and pasted on a smile.

  “Fine, huh.” He grabbed her foot and propped it against his knee.

  Margaret winced, and then hid her face behind her hands.

  “You sure are squeamish for a nurse.” He tugged at the toe of her sock until it pulled off.

  Why couldn’t I have fallen and gotten a head injury?

  His rough hand turned her foot to the side and he gently bandaged the oozing blister. He placed her foot on the ground and repeated the process for the other foot.

  “You know what they say, nurses make lousy patients.” She tried to chuckle, but kept visualizing her Sasquatch legs.

  “I’m done. You can look now.”

  Margaret uncovered her eyes. Two bandaged heels on two hairy legs. She shoved her feet back into her socks and boots. “Didn’t you say something about lunch?”

  “Yeah, it’s back toward the English Market. Can you handle the walk?”

  Margaret stood. The bandages cushioned her heels. “My feet feel much better. Thanks.”

  Donnell led her up town to a bistro they passed earlier in the day. The cloud cover overhead looked sketchy, so they seated themselves inside next to the window looking out at the street. The waiter brought their salads on a silver tray.

  Margaret loaded her fork with lettuce and popped it into her mouth.

  “Do you own any pets?” Donnell asked.

  She held her finger up as she finished chewing, then swallowed and said, “No, but I like dogs a lot. I always thought I would get one after school finished, and I got established at a hospital, but that never happened. I just couldn’t find the time for it. What about you?” She took another bite.

  “Not any more. My da use to let me keep random animals I found for a week or two and then make me let them go. When we were driving through Texas and got a flat tire, I tried to convince him to let me keep the tarantula I found.”

  “Tarantula?” Margaret couldn’t breathe, her eyes watered, she took several long gulps of water. “That’s interesting,” she said, her voice squeaking.

  “He’s a good man, my da, but I don’t think he’ll ever get over my mam.” Donnell tore off a piece of buttered beer bread. “Once, several years back, I asked him why he didn’t just re-marry after the divorce.” Donnell deepened his voice to mimic his father’s tone. “McCleary men are faithful no matter what. The first time I saw her, I knew she was the one. That didn’t change when she divorced me.”

  “Wow.”

  “He got me thinking about what it means to really love someone. Ah! I shouldn’t be rambling on about myself so much. How’s your salad?”

  “Excellent.” She looked at the empty plate. She couldn’t recall tasting any of it.

  “How about we take a driving tour of Cork until the rain hits? That way your feet don’t get worse and we can see some more countryside.”

  The waiter set their sandwiches in front of them on cobalt plates.

  “I’d like to do some driving. How about you be the co-pilot for a while? Do you have a list we could follow?” Margaret asked.

  Donnell wrapped his mouth around his oversized sandwich and took a bite.

  Margaret looked down at her own Rueben sandwich. She ventured a nibble. The bittersweet flavor of the rye bread melted into the savory corned beef and sauerkraut. “Mm, this is so good.”

  “How about I tell you the destinations one at a time? It would be a compromise.”

  They finished their meal and Donnell helped her hobble back to the car.

  “Where to first?” Margaret started the car and pulled out onto the road.

  “Let’s follow the river out of town.” Donnell directed her through several backstreets to the main road.

  Crimson buds hung from deciduous trees lining the river.

  They passed under a bridge as the road widened.

  “That’s the River Lee over there.” Donnell pointed to the right. “We’re going to Berryscourt Castle first. You’ll take this turn coming up now.”

  They wove down a quiet road flanked by trees.

  The tall stone structure stood out against the sky.

  “That’s huge.” She gazed up.

  “Berryscourt is a sixteenth century castle with an intact tower house. Over the years they’ve restored much of its original design, even the orchard.”

 
Margaret parked the car and they both stepped out. Pain shot through her feet. “Ouch. I don’t think I’m going to last long walking. Could you take a few pictures for me?” She handed Donnell her camera. She slid back into the car, pulled off her boots, and tossed them into the back. A wedge heel is still a heel. I don’t know how Janet does this every day. Oh, no. I still haven’t told her how sorry I am. She pulled out her cell phone and listened to her call go straight to voicemail. Is an apology on her answering machine enough? She shut the phone. I’ll try her a little later.

  Margaret folded her hands in her lap and shot up a desperate prayer. Jesus, please help Janet forgive me…And please help this thing with Donnell…Help me to understand why You brought him into my life. Thank You for Your love, Jesus. Amen.

  She walked around the car and slid into the passenger seat, drawing her legs underneath her. She smoothed the jersey skirt across her lap and wished her mother were here to help her sort things out.

  “Hey.” Donnell opened the driver door. “Did you miss my driving?”

  Margaret cocked her eyebrow and suppressed a smile. “That must be it. Where are we heading next?” she asked through a laugh.

  “How do you feel about non-historical destinations?” He started the car down the road.

  “Sure.” She yawned again.

  “It’s a bit out of the way, why don’t you try to catch some sleep on our way there.”

  “I’m not too tired,” she said through another yawn. She laid her head against the headrest and closed her eyes.

  “We’re here.”

  She blinked and stretched. “Where is here?”

  “The finest zip line Cork County has to offer.”

  Zip line? Her heart thumped as she visualized plummeting to her death. She realized she was grasping her throat and dropped her hands onto her lap. That’s right, I’m wearing a dress! “Donnell, I wish I could, but I’m not dressed for it. I’ll watch you, though.” She laced her fingers together and waited for his reply.

  “Really?”

  “From the ground, of course,” Margaret added. She followed him through the gates and toward a platform towering in the sky. I bet that sways in the wind. Icy prickles raced up her spine.

  Donnell climbed to the top. He smiled and waved at her as the attendant harnessed him in.

  Her stomach dropped as he let out a whoop, threw himself from the platform, and sped away. At the end of the hair-raising ride, his expression was sheer delight as he returned to where she was standing. “Thanks for that Meggy. If you wanted we could come back here tomorrow so you could give it a try.”

  No way. Ever. But she didn’t say that out loud. Margaret flipped through her camera’s pictures of the day as Donnell drove back to the bed and breakfast. She came across the pictures he’d taken of Berryscourt. “Donnell…how is it that there are only shots of you and none of the castle?”

  “I’m in the pictures, but if you notice the stonework in the background is the castle. Oh, and that one there is the herb garden. The caretaker took that one.” The car swerved when he reached over and pointed at the screen.

  “Eyes on the road.” She squeaked.

  They arrived back at the bed and breakfast in time to see the last of the sun disappear behind the horizon.

  “You’ll be on your own until tomorrow afternoon.” He gripped the steering wheel. “I’ve been putting off a visit to my family.” He pulled the keys from the ignition and handed them to Margaret. “Do you think you can find your way around town now?”

  “Um, yes.”

  “Um?”

  “I mean, yes. I can. Driving around town helped me get my bearings.” I can find my way back to the coffee shop. Maybe if my hair is down and I wear sunglasses they won’t recognize me. “I’ll be praying for you tomorrow,” she said as they parted.

  Margaret perched at the edge of the bathtub and dangled her aching feet in a tub of warm water. She held the cell phone to her ear. Jesus, please let Janet be there. One ring, two rings, three rings…

  “Hi this is Janet and Glen’s house. Leave a message and we’ll call you back as soon as we can.”

  “Hey, sis. I wanted you to know that you were right. Ireland is amazing. I have so much to tell you I don’t want to do it on the…” a beep cut her off. Answering machine or no, I can’t leave this hanging between us any longer. She dialed again and listened to the machine pick up again.

  “Janet, I’m sorry for yesterday. I didn’t want to apologize over the machine but…” Beep. Margaret snapped her phone shut and laid it against the edge of the tub. Wedges and heels, I should have just been myself and worn sneakers. She pictured herself in the jersey dress with the long socks complimented by her ratty sneakers. Nope. She dried her feet off using one of the plush towels from the rack and padded over to her computer. Pressing the call button on her video conferencing program, she put a smile on her face. “Hi, Charlene, how’s Dad?”

  Charlene waved at the camera. “Hi, Margaret. I have great news; your dad fed himself today! He’s actually asleep in his chair right now. We’ve been working on so many things. I think I might be wearing him out.” A sweet expression settled over Charlene’s features. “I took care of my husband for so many years that when he passed away, I didn’t know what to do with all the time alone. Thank you for allowing me to do this.”

  She truly looks happy to be taking care of Dad. “Could you tell Dad that I’m having a great time? I’ll call back and talk to him tomorrow.”

  “I’ll let him know. You sure you don’t want me to call back when he wakes up?”

  “No, I need to get to bed,” she yawned, “It’s getting late here. Thanks again, Charlene.” Margaret closed her laptop and sank back against the headboard. “Charlene is enjoying herself. All these years, I convinced myself that no one else could take care of dad but me.” Margaret pulled the comforter up against her chin and laid her head against the pillow. Another thought floated about in her mind like a feather on the wind. Why didn’t Donnell visit his family earlier? She batted at it until sleep overcame her and she drifted into dreams.

  12

  The steaming trays of food smelled so good, Margaret couldn’t decide what to start with. She walked past the trays several times until she settled on a sliceable pudding and a few fried potatoes. She sat down and prayed.

  Mrs. McCleary bustled in with her apron covered in flour. She poured a cup of tea from the tall blue pot, and then turned toward the room.

  Margaret waved her hand.

  “It’s nice to see you here this morning, Margaret.” She gave a broad smile and revealed a tiny dimple. “Isn’t Donnell coming in to get you today for more touring?” She scooted the chair out and sat.

  “No, he said he needed to run into town and take care of a few family things.”

  Mrs. McCleary gave a long, slow sigh. “That boy’s suffered a lot. He’s been working it out these last few years, though.” She leaned across, making the little vase on the table dance. “It’s not my place to say, but that woman doesn’t even have the right to be in the same room with Donnell, not after she kicked his father and him out. Those two lads use to be thick as thieves and then she tears them apart. It broke my heart. My brother hasn’t come back to Ireland since he left.”

  “Is he your only brother?”

  “Aye. This place was meant for him, but he’s not coming back.” She took a careful sip of the steaming tea and leaned back into her chair. “But I don’t mind taking care of it.” Her gaze narrowed and she nodded. “So, now that you know where Donnell’s come from, you’ll know to be careful with his heart.”

  “I do like him very much.” Margaret hedged. “It’s just that I’m still getting to know him and…”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, all these feelings are new to me.” Margaret pushed the potatoes around her plate. “And I get the impression he’s not telling me something,” she said under her breath.

  “Are you worried you’ll lose your heart to him
?” The woman leaned in again.

  “I…I…” Margaret shoveled a bite of potato into her mouth. She needed space to think this subject through, preferably away from Mrs. McCleary. “I think I’ll run into town for a bit. If you see your nephew, would you give him my cell number?” Margaret pulled out a scrap of paper, scribbled down her number, and handed it to Mrs. McCleary, who seemed disappointed.

  The wipers chased away the light rain sprinkling against the windshield.

  Margaret recognized the turns all the way to the coffee shop. She gathered her nerve to enter the business and gently touched her hair to make sure it wasn’t frizzing. She slipped a pair of sunglasses on and cracked the car door only to shut it again. What on earth?

  Margaret pulled her sunglasses off and gaped at the couple sitting near the doors of the coffee shop. She hunkered down and peered out the car’s window. She wiped the precipitation from the glass and held her breath.

  Donnell leaned across the table and whispered something to the fire-haired beauty. The woman reached her hand up to his face. A golden band glinted from her ring finger. The woman stood and walked toward the counter. Her red, wavy hair cascaded down slender shoulders and fell at her waist.

  Margaret spied a golden band encircling Donnell’s ring finger, too.

  Why hadn’t Mrs. McCleary said something? Was she part of a conspiracy to trick American women into falling in love with their guides?

  A sob caught in her throat. Why do I care? He’s just a tour guide. “I care because I love him. God, why did you let this happen to me?” Margaret shoved the keys back into the ignition and wiped tears with the heel of her hand. She fought the temptation to look into her rearview mirror at Donnell and his wife. “How could have I been so dumb? Why did I let Janet talk me into all this?” She pounded her palm against the steering wheel. “What could have made me so blind that I didn’t see it coming?” The rain smashed against the windshield as she pushed the accelerator further to the floor.

  The little car sped from the city, past farms and rivers. The scenery took on an emerald blur.