by Allison Parr
I kept babbling. “I’ve never been to Paris but I did a whole circuit of Eastern Europe—Prague and Istanbul and Croatia...”
A spark of genuine interest lit, and some of the tension drained from the car. “You ever get to Dubrovnik?”
“I loved Dubrovnik.” I turned to Mike. “It’s this gorgeous walled city with red roofs and these winding streets—”
Paul interrupted. “Did you walk the walls? See the Old Town?”
I nodded. “Oh yeah, of course. Did you go out to that island?”
“With the monastery?”
“Yeah. Okay, listen to this. We met the weirdest old man on the ferry...”
Mike didn’t seem to like the conversation going on without him. “We might go to Paris later this summer.”
Paul switched his attention to Mike as though I hadn’t been in the middle of a sentence. “You and her?”
Mike shrugged non-committedly.
Please. Though if Mike’s family invited me to go to France, I’d have a hard time resisting. Think of all the croissants!
Still, I didn’t really appreciate Mike using me as a chew toy to make Paul jealous.
I looked back at Paul. “Are you from Dundoran originally?”
“From Dublin. Came down to take care of my aunt since my mum couldn’t get away from work and I have the summer off.” His accent was gentle and lulling. “Came for the funeral and everything too.”
My hands twisted in my lap. In front of me, I caught a quarter of Mike’s profile as he looked toward Paul. A muscle pulsed in his cheek. “Look, man, I don’t know what your problem with me is. Did you want Kilkarten to be left to you?”
Paul scoffed. “What do I want with a heap of grass? Not like there’s anything interesting there.”
I leaned forward. “I beg to differ. There’s a whole freaking harbor.”
Paul glanced back. “Sorry, love. Forgot about that.”
My lips twitched at the endearment. Mike let out an unimpressed hmph.
The ride to Kilkarten had taken us out of the village and through rolling hills. The sun glided over the land, picking out a dozen shades of green, so many that I found my brain stunted by color and the inability to think of anything new to say. We passed a turnoff for someone else’s farm and a few sheep watched us go. A handful of miles later Paul took another turnoff, and the road rambled upward before leveling out. Green and blue stretched out before us, the water a flat line in the distance.
Paul threw the truck into park in a dirt lot next to the dead remains of a building. Ah, the O’Connor farmhouse, burned years ago when Patrick and Mike’s father were boys. “Here we are. Good old Kilkarten.”
A chill of anticipation swept through me, and I fumbled for the door and fell out of the car.
The air caught in my chest. This land was everything. Ivernis’s past, my future, Jeremy’s redemption. My eyes scanned as far as I could see, and I knelt and threaded my fingers through the grass. Here had been dark blue water. A calm bay; a drastic change from outside the cove, from the great Atlantic waves crashing against the shore, whipped by frenzied winds into white foam and spray. Here—right here—the water had only rippled, surrounded on three sides by land. Small ships sailed from Ireland to Britain. Traded for iron, introduced a whole age. Beneath me could be the skeletons of ancient curraghs. Buried in the harbor’s mulch could be coins fallen overboard, from Rome—even Greece—there could be anything fallen over. There could be a whole story buried here just waiting to be read.
I sucked in a deep breath and stood, searching for Mike, wanting more than anything in that instant for him to share my happiness. I thought that he, out of all the people in the world, would also be able to feel how wonderful this place was. I jogged to his side. “Mike, isn’t it fantastic?”
He didn’t seem to hear. Standing like that, with his spine straight and his gaze distant, he looked just like the lord of the land, surveying his kingdom.
Because, of course, he did understand how special this place was. He owned it. As far as he could see, until the quiet strip of blue, this land was his.
To cover my disquiet, I kicked off my flip-flops. “Race you to the ocean.”
He blinked, and his attention shifted back to me. “What?”
I took off. It must have been two miles until the sea, but it slipped away beneath my bare feet in a blur of grass and sky and the occasional impressionistic blur of flowers. I glanced behind and saw Mike gaining. His legs were longer than mine, and he had to be just as used to running as I was. Arms pumping in a steady rhythm, he caught up, and then passed. I summoned a burst of energy and ran flat out after him.
We went up a small hill, a gentle roll that disappeared under our long strides, and I almost lost my breath at the top. It slanted down steeply on this side, falling ten feet into a narrow strip of hard sand.
Mike turned with a grin. His chest rose and fell. “I win.”
I ignored him, dropping to a dangling seat on the edge of the small cliff, twisting my body so my arms were braced against the grass while my feet found small crevices in the stone. “What are you doing?” Mike demanded, grabbing for one of my arms, alarm passing over his face.
I tugged my arm away and beamed at him. “You only win once your feet are in the water. Rule of the beach.” I launched backward.
Exhilaration jolted through me as I fell, my stomach swooping out, Mike cursing above me. I landed with bent knees, stumbling as the pressure rushed through my bones. Mike, yelping, followed, but I splashed into the ocean before him, letting out a scream as the cold water hit my calves.
Mike landed beside me, hopping up and down in an unsuccessful attempt to keep out of the cold. I kicked water at him and splashes spotted his shorts. Outraged, he splashed back, and then leaned down and cupped a small wave my way in retaliation. I danced back. But the sea floor deepened and I stumbled, wheeling my arms as I tried to stop from falling into the freezing water.
And then Mike’s arm wrapped around me and hauled me forward until I pressed against his chest. My hands automatically wrapped around his biceps for balance, my face nestling into his throat. He smelled like salt and earth and I could feel his heart beating against mine. My feet and calves were numb, but the rest of me flushed with heat and headiness.
Heart pounding, I leaned my head back. The bright blue sky surrounded his head, his hair bright red in the afternoon sun, his face shadowed. His body breathed in and out with mine, each breath pushing me close against him. His arms dropped down to encircle the small of my back, and my hands slid up over his shoulders almost of their own accord. If I pulled up just the smallest bit, if I pushed up on my toes...
I kissed him.
His mouth moved against mine with the ease of long familiarity, as though we’d been kissing for years, as though this was a kiss that had been and would always be part of who we were. I could have stayed there forever, with the wind, the waves, the sun, Mike’s lips moving against mine.
But something caught my attention, some flicker of movement or color on the shore, and I looked over. Paul stood on the small cliff, watching us with crossed arms.
I pulled away and shoved heavy strands of hair out of my face. The wind had whipped it everywhere. “We better go. Paul is waiting.”
Chapter Nine
The next morning, I headed downstairs just past dawn. Kate O’Connor sat alone at a wicker table, her hand loosely clasped around a wide brimmed mug. She stared steadfastly through the alcove windows. The orange glow beat back the slate and coal, gradually lightening the sky behind the clouds and giving color back to the fields.
I wondered if she saw the sunrise or the past.
Eileen entered through another door, carrying a tray of white and blue porcelain dishes. “Here you go, love.” She set an omelet and hash browns before Kate, and then caught sight of me. “Ah, Natalie! What can I get you?”
“Good morning,” I said, sort of at both of them. Kate angled her body my way. “Um, just a cup o
f coffee, please. And maybe some shortbread?”
“How about a fresh scone now?”
My stomach rumbled at the thought of clotted cream and jam. “That would be wonderful.”
“Did you have trouble sleeping?” Kate asked after Eileen departed. “I know the time adjustment can be tricky.”
“Oh, I slept fine.” I’d actually slept perfectly, and woken with lingering dream fragments that featured her son. I tried to banish the memory and drum up something else to say. “Is this your first time in Ireland? Or did you meet—Mr. O’Connor—here?”
Kate smiled and took a long sip of her coffee. “No, I met him after he moved to Boston.”
“Why did he move there?”
“A lot of people did, then. More jobs. More opportunity.” The cup’s steam formed a veil before her face, gentling her features like a camera’s soft focus. “But Brian always said, ‘I’m going to die in Kilkarten.’ Like it was a foregone conclusion he’d come back.”
Yet he hadn’t spoken to his brother for twenty years after he left. “He must have really loved it.”
“More than anything.” She finally turned to look at me, her ethereal features firming up with attention. “We’re going to see Patrick’s widow today. You’re welcome to come, but don’t feel obligated.”
I didn’t; I felt awkward. “Oh. Thank you, but I actually saw her yesterday.”
Her brows rose and the silence lasted just long enough to feel strained. “And how was she?”
“Um.” Honestly, you’d think I’d never written ethnographic papers for cultural anthropology classes describing all sorts of relationships and behaviors. “She was—not very talkative.”
Kate nodded and pursed her lips like she was about to say something, but she changed her mind and stared back out the window. “Did you like her?”
The question struck me as peculiar. “We didn’t spend enough time together for me to form an opinion.”
She nodded again, and let out a deep sigh. Then Eileen reentered with my scone, and Kate switched the topic to my schoolwork and interests and other parental inquiries, and the odd moment passed.
After breakfast, I walked to the village while the sun finished rising, through floating sheets of mist and the spray of the sea and long, sharp calls of birds. I caught an extremely bumpy bus that carried me to Cork, and chatted easily with eighty-year-old Mrs. Buckley, who insisted that Mike’s grandfather had never really meant to marry Mike’s grandma or been interested in Eileen from the inn, but that he’d really loved her.
Apparently Mike’s granddad really got around.
Cork felt like a massive city after several days in Dundoran, but I still wanted to stop every ten seconds and whip out my camera. I walked along the river, strolling across the bridge and admiring the colorful houses and the cathedral’s steeple. I got hungry again and settled in a tiny café for an hour, eating another scone accompanied by a mocha. I alternated between people watching and one of my comfort books on my eReader.
At ten, I headed over to Cork’s Central Library, located on the Grand Parade. I spent a happy afternoon buried in the stacks. I wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted, so I pulled everything that mentioned Kilkarten, the neighboring farms, Dundoran Village, local archaeology, Iron Age Ireland, Rome... I ended up with stacks of books. I could access the digital newspaper archives for free from the library itself, so I delved into old articles.
Libraries were dangerous places. Start researching one topic, and the next thing you know it’s three hours later and you’re reading up on family feuds from two-hundred years ago. I did pretty well at staying on topic, but I was surprised to find it near seven o’clock when I left. I ate at a South Indian restaurant while reading a copy of the local paper. I thought about calling my mom, but decided I’d shoot her an email when I went back to the inn instead.
I got back just as the sun set, and after grabbing my laptop from my room, headed down to the inn’s library. It was a cozy room lined with books and a small fireplace. Lauren sat at a round polished table in the window alcove, typing away on a laptop. She looked up when I stopped in the doorway, and pushed back some of the bright corkscrews that had fallen loose from her messy bun. “Oh, hey. You’re back from...”
“I went into Cork. Did some research.” I dropped down at her table. “Where’re your mom and Anna?”
“Oh, back at the cottage. I needed to get away and relax.”
I laughed sympathetically. “Long day?”
She sighed and shook out her hair. “You have no idea.”
I studied her. Lauren wasn’t very forthcoming, but she seemed smart and practical and down-to-earth. I had no idea how she felt about Kilkarten or if she fully sided with Mike’s excavation ban, but I wasn’t quite ready to ask her that straight out.
“I think Mike mentioned you were meeting your uncle’s widow? How’d that go?”
Lauren shrugged and closed the laptop. “It was an experience.”
“Was it awkward? Mike told me a little about your family dynamics.”
Her brows rose. “He doesn’t usually talk about our family. But, yeah, it made it awkward. Mom and Maggie were polite but cold, and it kind of felt like they were taking digs at each other.”
Kind of like when my dad and his ex-wife were in the same room. “Did you ask your mom about it?”
Lauren nodded. “I tried to pry it out of her, but she wouldn’t tell me what the big deal was. Though I guess she did invite Maggie and Patrick to Dad’s funeral, and they didn’t come, so Mom thinks we currently have the high moral ground for coming out here at all. I don’t even know.” She shrugged. “But we’re going back for lunch tomorrow, to meet Maggie’s nephew, so it wasn’t an entire disaster.”
We spent the next hour chatting about innocuous things—mostly school. Lauren had just wrapped up her Masters of Public Health, and while that had no relation to archaeology, everyone in grad school had a small kinship. We had finals and capstones and defenses before panels or committees. We had undergrads and advisors and exhaustion and a deep disdain for everyone who kept telling us how much harder life would be in the “real world.”
It was Lauren who finally moved the topic closer to home. “Where did you grow up?”
“Just outside of the city.”
“So you’re actually a New Yorker. Leopards’ fan?”
“I’ve been a Leopards fan since I was little girl.” I relaxed back in the seat, loose and mellow. “There was a... I used to wear a jersey as my night-shirt. Dustin Jones, the QB before Carter. My dad got it for one of my brothers, and he forgot it at my house... God, they fought over who’d taken it when Evan couldn’t find it.”
“You must have really wanted it.”
I’d really wanted a present from my father about something he loved. That was the year I’d started doing my own laundry, because I didn’t want my mom to see it and make me give it back. Which, in retrospect, was pretty pathetic. “I was a weird kid.”
She laughed. “Weren’t we all.”
“Mike too?”
She wavered her head back and forth. “When we were little, sure. But after our dad died... He got really serious.”
“But now everyone describes him as charming.”
Her brows scrunched. “Don’t I know it.”
I blinked.
She sighed. “Sorry. More bitterness than I meant, there. I just wish he’d spend some time with this family. But—I don’t know.”
I suspected I did, if I saw the same things she did. That Mike’s charm was something of a façade, and that Lauren was worried about her brother. Hadn’t Mike said Lauren wanted their family to “fix” things? “Thus, the vacation.”
She smiled and waved a hand. “I’m forcing us to bond.” She paused. “So—just to clarify—how do the two of you know each other?”
I hesitated. “Did Mike mention the excavation at Kilkarten to you?”
She shook her head and frowned.
“I’d contracted t
he ability to excavate Kilkarten from your uncle Patrick, but when he died, the land went to Mike.” I felt like I was walking along a tightly stretched rope. “That’s right, isn’t it? The land was left to Mike?”
She transferred her gaze to me, just a hint of perplexity opening her features. “Well. I guess it wasn’t, really.”
I frowned. “Then why does he get to decide that the excavation’s cancelled?”
“Why did he decide that?”
“I don’t know. I know there’s some sort of family estrangement, but to stop it a month before the start date—to tell all the diggers and archaeologists and suppliers it would no longer happen after months of work... I don’t know. It didn’t really seem fair.”
Lauren’s poker face wasn’t as good as her brother’s, and I could see the unease in the furrow of her brows. “He cancelled the excavation? But—then why are you here?”
I shrugged. “I had the flight. My professor works here. And even if I can’t dig, maybe I can learn something from old records or by surveying the land in person.”
She nodded, her frown an exact mimic of her brother’s expression. “That’s weird.”
“That’s what I thought.”
We sat in silence for a moment, and then Lauren shook herself. “Well, I have no idea.”
“It’s okay. Anyway, I must still have jetlag. I should head up to bed.”
So we said our goodnights, but when I reached my door, I stopped, and turned to the one that faced it. It was just past ten, a little too late to go knocking on people’s doors.
Despite that, my hand reached out and tapped just below the dove decal on Number 12.
Chapter Ten
Mike’s door swung inward almost immediately. His eyes sparkled. “This is getting to be habit.”
Somewhere deep inside me, tendrils of heat uncurled and warmed my whole body. “Can I come in?”