“I didn’t ask for this, you know. My lists and plans were working just fine until this trip.” She spoke out loud and felt an irreverent pang. Lying to herself was one thing, lying to an all-knowing God made her flinch. She slowed the car. The tangled foliage on the sides of the black tarmac stretched on for miles. She scanned the road for any kind of sign. A dingy white rectangle hung in the distance.
“Look after nature.” Margaret squinted at the sign as she sped past. “That’s helpful.” She reached into the glove compartment and fumbled for the map. I need to pull over, but these blasted Irish roads don’t have shoulders.
A strange fur coat dropped in the middle of her lane.
She stomped the brakes and swerved.
The fur coat moved.
Margaret cranked the wheel again and sent her car into a spin across the wet pavement.
There was a sickening thump under the tires right before the car dug into the brush at the side of the road.
Her head flew back against the seat.
13
Margaret sat for a long time making sure she could still move all of her limbs.
Fragrant green branches pushed through the back seat window.
The passenger side opened after a few shoves.
Margaret’s pulse surged as she stumbled out into the drizzling rain. The car sat at an angle against the embankment. Which way did I come from? She wiped the rain from her face and felt a sting. I have an airbag burn. This is going to hurt much more when the adrenalin wears off.
The brown lump was a few feet from the car. Water beaded against its fur, and then rolled to the ground. Its eyes were squeezed shut and its mouth hung ajar.
I don’t see any blood. It must have died instantly.
“Poor little otter.” Margaret gave it a nudge with her foot.
With a whip of its tail, the otter sprang from the ground and gnashed its ivory teeth in an angry grin.
She shrieked and tumbled into a puddle, leapt to her feet and scrambled back towards the car.
The otter let out an earsplitting scream.
She dove into the passenger side and slammed the door.
The enraged otter stood on its hind legs, wavering back and forth, its beady little eyes staring right at her.
Margaret pushed the lock button.
The otter bellowed one final roar and then limped into the underbrush.
Margaret blew out a slow breath and pressed the heat switch. Lukewarm, cigarette-scented air blew from the vent. She grabbed her windbreaker and pulled it over her shaking frame.
The road stretched out a hundred feet in both directions before disappearing into curves of green.
She angled herself in the passenger seat to spot any vehicle coming from either direction, and then pulled out her cell phone. The best signal seemed to come when she held the phone against the ceiling and pointed it toward the road. She scrolled through her recent calls, nothing local, all the numbers were to the States. She pulled out a stack of loose receipts and a stiff business card dropped to the floor. She snatched it up and flipped it over.
A name, his name, printed in bright red ink across a tan background. The capitalized A in the business name seemed to throb with her pulse.
She flung it to the floor. No way would she dial his number. A sharp prick started at the base of her neck and spread down her spine. She fished around in her purse until she found a small bottle of painkillers. She took two and leaned back against the window. Soon her whole body felt stiff. At least the pain is subsiding. She watched the minutes flash by on the dashboard clock. I’ll go home early. It’s the only solution to this giant mess I walked into. I should have never agreed to go on a spontaneous trip. It was a disaster the minute I said yes. Clouds drifted through the air. Why, you don’t even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a while, and then vanishes. Margaret inhaled to relieve the pressure against her ribs. A tear slid down her cheek.
It was a normal day when she’d got the call about her father’s stroke. She remembered being with friends, laughing, talking about her plans for life. “It’s my dream job.”
“You can’t tell me you like working with Doctor Howard? He acts like a five star general.” Her friend sipped at a blended coffee drink.
“I guess you could call him militant.” Margaret picked at her blueberry pastry. “I like assisting on surgeries with him because everything has a place.”
“The man is organized.”
“I’m just getting started in life. My schooling is done. I’m through my residency. I work my dream job. It’s all turning out as I planned. Hold on, my phone’s ringing. Hello?”
“Margaret, you have to come home. It’s important. It’s about Dad,” Janet said between muffled sobs.
“Is he OK? What happened?”
“He had a stroke, Margaret. He can’t talk, he can’t even move. The ambulance just took him to your hospital.”
“I’ll meet you there. Can you drive yourself?”
“Glen’s coming home from work. He’ll take me.”
Her friends hadn’t been the only thing she rushed out on that day. Her life goals, the lists and plans she made, disappeared into the rear view mirror on the way to the hospital.
Am I angry at God for changing my plans?
Why, you don’t even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a while and then vanishes.
A soothing guitar melody woke Margaret from her thoughts. For a moment she stared at the number scrolling across her screen.
“Hello?”
“Meggy? Meggy, this is Donnell. Where are you?”
The phone fell from Margaret’s grip. It bounced against the center console, dislodged the battery, and slipped between the seats.
“Why do you keep doing this to me, God? I finally figured out life again, and you send me to Ireland where I get in an accident and the only person I can call is a guy who cheats on his wife?” A sob lodged in Margaret’s throat.
For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.
“How do I know you’ll work this mess out, God?” She cradled her head in her hands.
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.
“I don’t know if I can do this. I’ve done so well sticking to a plan, until now.”
Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.
“I trust You, Jesus. I trust You to get me out of here and to make sense of everything that’s been going on.” Margaret wiped her eyes with shaking hands. She leaned over and cranked the keys. The engine clicked, but wouldn’t start. She popped open the glove compartment and pulled out a silver packet. She unfolded the emergency blanket, wrapped it around her shoulders, and leaned back against the seat. I’ll just close my eyes until I hear a car coming.
14
Searing pain across her shoulder woke her. “Oh, no.”
The pungent smell of gas permeated the air.
She blinked.
The sun had dipped behind the treetops.
Margaret pushed her hand between the seats to retrieve her cell phone. The tips of her fingers brushed against the smooth plastic. She reassembled the phone and powered it up. The screen flashed. Ten missed calls, all from his number.
In less than an hour, this stretch of road would be dark.
A familiar guitar melody echoed through the cab of the car. She set the phone in the driver’s seat, her insides churning. Do I always run away when things don’t follow a plan?
With her mom’s death from cancer, she’d thrown herself into nursing. After her sister’s wedding, she’d thrown herself into caring for her father. And now, with Donnell’s betrayal, she was running away again.
“I trust You
, Jesus. I trust You to get me out of here and to make sense of everything that’s been going on.” She repeated her earlier words as if they were a sword of truth that cut through the stillness of the car. I have to face this. I will face this. She picked up the phone, pressed the call back button, and waited.
“Hello, hello, is that you Meggy?” Donnell’s tenor brogue broke the silence.
“I’ve, well…I’m not sure where to start, but two things first.” Margaret took a deep breath and gathered her courage. “I saw you with your wife today, and I’ve had a small auto accident.”
“Wife? Wait, what? You were in an accident? Meggy, where are you?”
“I don’t quite know. I’m fine,” Margaret’s voice quivered, “the car doesn’t work though.”
“I’ve been driving all over town looking for you, where are you?”
“I think I’m somewhere by a river outside of town. Donnell, this is important, we need to talk about your wife.”
“Meggy, you’re not making sense. Can you tell me any road signs you saw?”
“No. I remember a building with something about a scar and the name Lee. I don’t know.”
“Did you make any turns?”
“No, I just drove straight. Donnell we need to talk about…”
“Stay where you are. I’m on my way.” The phone went quiet.
Twenty minutes later, the high whine of an engine approached and a single orb of light pierced the darkness. The motorcyclist slowed to a stop next to her battered car. He pulled his bike up onto the kickstand and walked toward the car. The man bent low and looked.
Think, Margaret! Her heart thudded. What can you use to beat this guy off until Donnell gets here? She grabbed a pen from the glove box and brandished it at the window.
The man flipped his visor up and revealed a pair of familiar green eyes. “What are you planning to do with that? You going to write me to death?”
“Donnell!” She threw the door open and leaped out. “I thought you were a crazy person.”
“Americans and their television.” He pulled his helmet off, dropped it to the ground, and wrapped Margaret in his arms. “I was so worried.”
Margaret wanted to melt into him, to feel warm and safe. She pictured his wife and firmly pushed him back. “No, this is wrong. You’re a married man.”
He reached out to touch the airbag burns on her face. “Meggy, you’ve been in an accident. Let me take you home.”
She took his hand from her face. “Donnell, I don’t know what’s going on with you and your wife and why you would ever choose to…didn’t you realize what you’re doing, what we’re doing. It’s a sin and…”
“Margaret.” Her name rolled off his tongue.
“Donnell, it’s wrong!”
“Margaret Smith, you’ve taken a hard hit to your head.”
She shoved him. “This isn’t about my crash, Donnell, I saw you today at the coffee shop. I saw her. I know.” Margaret narrowed her eyes.
“I’m not married to Elaine, my brother is.”
“If you’re not married to her why were you both wearing rings and…” Margaret waved her hand in the air. “…why did you kiss her?” The last two words shot through her heart.
“Now, Meggy bird.” He slid out of his heavy black jacket and stepped toward her. “I have a brother who is the same age as me, who sounds like me, and is only slightly less attractive than me.” He dropped the jacket around Margaret’s shoulders. “Now that you know I have a twin, can I take you to the hospital?”
“A twin?” She tasted the words.
“That’s what I said.” Donnell pulled another jacket out of the bike’s side box and put it on. “I hoped your car would be drivable, but it’s a mess. Do you need me to go back and get my aunt’s car or do you think you can ride?”
“I’m fine.” He’s not married. He might think I’m a crazy person, but he’s not married.
“The bike doesn’t have much space, so you’ll need to scoot close and lean when I do. I’ll take it slow.” Donnell handed her the extra helmet.
The motorcycle looked like a crouching panther in the dusk.
Margaret slipped her leg over the wedge seat and scooted against Donnell’s back. The helmet smelled like his clove gum.
“Make sure you hang on tight.”
The bike roared to life.
Margaret looked back at the crumpled car pressed against the hill. God asked her to trust Him and His planning. She wrapped her arms tighter around Donnell’s middle.
“You ready?” he shouted.
Margaret bobbed her head. The cold wind tore at her knuckles and nipped at the back of her neck. She leaned closer into Donnell, feeling pain creep into her arms and legs. By the time they pulled into the bed and breakfast parking area, Margaret couldn’t move her limbs.
Donnell slid off the bike, pulled off her helmet, and gathered Margaret into his arms.
He’s not married. Jesus, all this time You knew he wasn’t married.
“Come on, Meggy, let’s get you inside.” The gravel crunched under his boots. “And Meggy, I do need to confess to something.”
15
Mrs. McCleary rushed from the house. “You found her, praise Jesus, you found her.”
“I think she might need a ride in the white van. I should have just taken her to the hospital.”
“No,” Margaret moaned. “I’m just scraped up, stiff and sore. No broken bones. I just want to rest for a while.” She braced against the flood of pain as Donnell carried her up the flight of stairs.
“All right, Donnell, set her on the bed. I’ll bring tea up.”
“I have to tell you something, Meggy. It’s important.” Donnell’s voice rumbled as he placed her onto the rumpled down comforter.
“Your sister hired me to take you about Cork and show you the sights. I was gone yesterday because I needed to tell her the deal was off. I wanted to tell you sooner, Meggy. I tried to tell you.” He kneeled down and reached for her hand. “And then today when you disappeared,” he kissed the back of her hand, “I wondered what I would do without you in my life. Meggy, I…”
Margaret laid her hand against his unshaven cheek.
The door pushed open and Mrs. McCleary pursed her lips. “Hasn’t Margaret gone through enough today, Donnell? Go make yourself useful in the kitchen. Let the poor girl get cleaned up.” Mrs. McCleary shoved her fists onto her hips and glared at him.
He rose to his feet still holding Margaret’s hand. “What I’m saying is…”
“Donnell, what did I say? Let the girl get cleaned up. Go. Now.” Mrs. McCleary sidled between Margaret and Donnell.
Donnell nodded to his aunt and dropped Margaret’s hand. “I’ll be downstairs in the sitting room, if you need anything.”
Mrs. McCleary scrutinized Margaret. “Can you move enough to take your things off or do you need help?”
“I’ll be OK. Thank you for the offer. I’ll let you know if I need help.” Margaret stood, hobbled to the bathroom and turned on the tub water.
“I’ll put together a tea tray and bring it up,” Mrs. McCleary said.
Margaret gingerly removed her soiled clothing. A sharp pain shot through her right shoulder when she tugged her shirt off. Pinpricks danced across her skin as the water closed around her scratched arms and legs. But the deep ache in her chest came from something entirely new.
Why would Janet pay him to take me touring? Margaret lathered up a cloth with lavender vanilla soap and ran it down her arm. If he was being paid, why didn’t he just tell me in the first place? Did she pay him to kiss me? She dunked her head under the steaming water. The burn across her face throbbed in protest. Margaret cried out when she broke the surface.
“You all right, dear?” Miss McCleary’s voice came from the other side of the bathroom door. “I brought you some soft clothes to change into. Sometimes the guests leave things and never claim them. Usually I just give them to charity, but for some reason I hung on to this one.”
“Are you sure you don’t need to go to hospital?”
Margaret clenched her teeth against the pain. “No, everything is superficial. I’m just sore.” She wrapped up in a plush towel and perched on the edge of the tub. Wisps of steam rose from her body. “Could you get me some pain reliever?”
“I’ll be right back up with it.”
“Thank you.”
Mrs. McCleary pulled the door shut
Margaret eased into a standing position. On the bed lay a long sleeved rose-colored tunic and navy leggings. She slid the smooth tunic over her tender skin. The leggings took more effort. Margaret perched on the edge of the bed and pushed her feet through one at a time. She started to comb her fingers through her damp curls but stopped when pain dug through her shoulder. “Is Donnell still downstairs?” Margaret asked Mrs. McCleary when she entered the room.
“Is Ireland green? That lad’s been pacing across my floor so much, I’m afraid I’ll have to put in new carpeting.” Mrs. McCleary placed the pain medication into Margaret’s palm.
“I think you should tell him to go home for the night. The longer I lay here, the more I realize how much it hurts to move.” She swallowed the pills and laid her head against the pillow.
“You get your rest. I’ll let Donnell know.”
Mrs. McCleary’s steps were heavy as she exited the room.
Margaret woke sometime later and watched the glowing lights of the clock flick from four fifty-nine to five AM. Regardless of how many times she turned over in the night, her body felt as if it was in a vice. If I don’t move around soon, I’ll turn into a statue. She pulled herself upright and rubbed the muscles in her neck.
The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the door. Mrs. McCleary is up.
Grasping the handrail, she shuffled down the stairs. A velvet rope closed off the breakfast area. She must still be cooking. Margaret turned toward the hall and wandered past a wall covered in family pictures. A young Mrs. McCleary smiled down at twin toddlers in her lap. I wonder which one is Donnell? She walked further down the hall and stopped at a picture of Mrs. McCleary and what must be Donnell holding a mechanical engineering degree. His sienna hair looked darker without the gray flecks in it. She ventured into the small sitting room at the end of the hall.
The Cork Contingency Page 8