by Allison Parr
I shrugged at Paul as Mike wrapped his fingers around mine and marched us onto the dance floor. A handful of other couples swayed back and forth; no grinding to be seen here, not where everyone knew everyone else’s parents. I draped my hand over Mike’s shoulders and breathed in the woodsy aroma. “What a sweet way to ask me to dance.”
“You didn’t want to dance with him.”
I couldn’t help it. A smile burst out of me and I reached out to touch his cheek. “Aw, cute. He made you jealous.”
He glared at me. “I am not jealous of Paul and the chip on his shoulder.”
I tried to wipe the amusement off my face. “Right. No. My mistake.”
Beyond Mike’s shoulder, I could see Paul turning to Lauren, a sly smile on his face. Whoa. He had totally just out manipulated all of us. Respect bloomed. “I think he just did that so he could get you out of the way before asking Lauren.”
“What?” Mike stopped dancing and spun me around so he could face the two of them.
I laughed even as I stumbled. “What did you think would happen?”
His head tilted as he scanned the crowd. “Where did they go?”
“Calm down. Your sister is a big girl. I’m sure she can handle herself.”
He scowled at me. “You worry too much about some things and not enough about others.”
I smiled and leaned my head against his chest. “Maybe.”
The two men started in on “Whiskey on the Jar,” an old Irish song that had somehow ended up in my music collection as a fifteen year old. Probably from my dad’s Thin Lizzy CD. Warmth seeped into me, followed by a slow tide of comfort and safety. I felt the solidness of Mike’s chest before me and the strength of the arms that encircled me, and I wanted to stay wrapped away with him, just like this, forever.
His words sounded like they’d come from far away. “You know what’s strange? You could have come here all by yourself. You have met the village, and seen the gravestones, and Kilkarten, and the cliff top on the coastal path. And I never would have.”
I stared up at him. In my mind, my heart, Mike had become utterly entwined with Kilkarten. He was right, though. If Patrick hadn’t died, Mike and I would never have met.
I couldn’t imagine being here without Mike.
And for the first time, I truly regretted Patrick’s passing. Not because I wished I’d never met Mike, but because I was so, so happy I had. Gratitude and guilt stirred within me. How many other ways it could have gone. I could have been three seasons into an excavation before Mike came to Ireland. What would that have been like? Would I have liked him so much then? If I hadn’t needed him to sign the papers and he hadn’t distrusted me and his friend Rachael hadn’t liked to matchmake, we could have met like two ordinary people and grabbed a drink in a bar. I bet it would have been wonderful—we had the same sense of humor, the same mentality about life—we ran on the same frequency.
But maybe we would have had our drinks and our fun and gone our separate ways after a while, passing with smiling masks like shallow and pleasant neighbors, who never bothered to see past the veneer. We never would have torn off those masks and opened old wounds if we hadn’t been forced.
We danced through three more songs, until I spotted Kate, sitting at a table with Maggie and several other adults.
“It has to be weird for her.”
“Hmm?”
“Your mom. All these people she doesn’t know, but who knew her husband before she did. Like meeting characters out of a fairytale. They weren’t supposed to exist.” I slowed to a stop. “You should ask her to dance.”
“You don’t mind?”
I smiled. “I can always ask Paul.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re hilarious.”
I laughed and handed him off to his mother, whose face lit up. I dropped down at the bar next to Lauren, whose hair poofed out like a cartoon character’s. “I thought you were dancing with Paul.”
She snickered and took a sip of her drink. “Yeah. Verbally. Mentally. Think he hates all of us.” She thumped her beer down on the counter and looked directly at me. “But I like you. You’re good for Mike.”
Was I?
“But he’s still sometimes too much, you know? Like earlier. It’s not his land. So I was thinking.”
A touch of unease crawled up my spine. I turned so I could see Mike. He was smiling at his mother, and I saw her laugh. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen Kate O’Connor laugh. “Oh?”
“I was thinking... You can dig Kilkarten.”
A thousand needles pricked my body and I swung back in her direction. “Wait, what?”
“Anna and I talked it over. If there’s some lost city there, we want it uncovered.”
I gaped at her. “But... I thought it wasn’t a democracy.”
One of her brow’s winged up. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Just... Have you talked to Mike? I thought all three of you had to agree.”
“Oh, yeah, that. Well, it is a democracy. It’s not Mike’s decision.”
My heart seemed to be pounding at twice its normal pace. “You can’t make him sign.”
She smiled. “Oh, yes, I can.” She raised an arm and hollered over the pub’s noise. “Mike! Get over here!”
My head whirled even as every second passed in slow motion. I charted Mike’s path toward us with each step he took.
Lauren and Anna wanted me to excavate Kilkarten.
I could see the whole future spread out, a future I’d turned off months ago when Mike first refused to sign. I could see the dig, the discovery, the report. The articles in journals, the news segment I’d dreamed up for mainstream media.
And then I heard Mike’s voice in my head, saying he would never let me excavate Kilkarten, because of “personal reasons.”
Now the real Mike stopped before us, beer in hand, smile on his face. His gaze kept touching mine. “What’s up?”
I placed my hand on Lauren’s arm. My voice came out faint. “Lauren, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
Mike looked back and forth between us. “What’s not a good idea?”
Lauren pushed off her bar stool. “Natalie’s excavating Kilkarten.”
Mike swung a surprised look my way. “No, she isn’t.”
Lauren crossed her arms. “Yeah. She is.”
Mike looked at me. “What’s she talking about? You can’t dig.”
“That’s right.” My head felt like it was floating off. “You said that. But I don’t know why not.”
He stared at me. “Because.”
I beseeched him with my gaze. Because why?
Lauren’s voice was unyielding. “Mike, you’ve been saying ‘because’ since I was fifteen. It’s not going to cut it anymore.”
“Dammit, Lauren!”
Several people looked our way. Anna caught sight of us and hurried over. “What’s going on?”
Mike’s jaw and fists clenched. “I’m not having this conversation here.” He turned and walked out the door.
Lauren’s mouth fell open and then tightened into a white line, and she strode after her brother with clenched fists. Wide-eyed Anna followed in her wake.
I hesitated a moment before also pushing out through the heavy wooden door. While the pub stayed brightly lit, mist hung throughout the rest of the village, and when we stepped onto the path leading back to the inn, the white fog faded out the swaying cypresses and the sea. Goosebumps rose on my exposed skin.
Ahead of me, Lauren caught up with her brother’s longer strides. “You can’t just walk away from this conversation.”
He stopped abruptly and turned back on her, crossing his arms. “It’s not going to happen.”
Lauren mirrored him. “Oh, yes it is.”
“It’s not your choice to make.”
She scoffed. “And who made it yours? Or do you think you have more sway than the two of us? Because I’m pretty sure Anna and I are also on the deed.”
“Nothing happens to the la
nd unless all three of us agree.”
“Or unless we vote.”
Mike’s voice shot up. “This isn’t a fucking democracy!”
Lauren’s fury matched her brother’s. “Yeah? I don’t know why you think your say carries more weight in this family than mine and Anna’s. You’re barely even here. You don’t know what this family is—”
Mike’s eyes narrowed into slits. “I have always been there for you.”
“What, with money? Since when is that a cure all? Can you plaster green paper over broken hearts or use it for company? Do enough zeroes cure loneliness, or keep your sister in school, or your mother from depression?”
Mike spun around. “I did what I had to do to keep us going! Where were you when Dad died? Were you making arrangements and comforting Mom and finding out about gravestones and life insurance? No, you were crying in your room!”
Her eyes widened and her face turned splotchy. “You still want credit from ten years ago? I was fourteen!”
My head whipped back and forth as they shouted, but at this point Lauren stormed off. Anna stopped long enough to hiss “Good fucking job” at her brother, before running after Lauren.
We stood alone on the hill. “I’m sorry.” The fog swallowed my words, and I tried again. “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t realize this would happen.
He said nothing.
“So...what happens now?”
He turned to me with a twisted smile. “Why? Want to know if your dig’s actually going through?”
“Mike.” I took a step closer. “That’s not what I meant.”
He took a deep breath and pushed his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. Do I screw up our family forever by refusing to allow the excavation? Or do I sign, and then risk...”
“Risk what?” I asked, when he didn’t go on. “Mike, what’s so wrong with digging at Kilkarten?”
He pinched the skin between his fingers, furrowed his brow and breathed out. His lips parted as he began to say something. I held my breath.
And then he paused and the wrinkles on his forehead disappeared. His eyes widened and focused on me. “There’s one other way.”
I shook my head, not following him.
“You could tell Lauren you’re no longer interested. Then it doesn’t matter whether I sign or not.”
My stomach fell away. “But—then I have no chance at excavating Kilkarten.”
“You never had a chance at it.”
“No, I didn’t, not in the beginning—but now I do.”
We faced off, that awful truth between us.
His jaw tightened. “And if I said I wouldn’t sign? That you’re still not going to excavate, so it doesn’t matter one way or the other?”
“But that’s the thing.” My voice floated out, and I felt like the words and thoughts were detached from me emotionally. “You would sign. Because you don’t want your family to hate you.”
He took a step forward. “Do you want to put me in that position?”
I shook my head slowly, feeling like I was in a dream. Or a nightmare. “No. But that was always the reason. That was always why I came to Ireland.”
“Natalie—”
“Don’t.” I took a step back and my hands came up. “Just—I need to think. I just need a minute to think.”
So for the first time since that night that at the dolmen, we slept in our own rooms. Or didn’t sleep. Instead, I tossed and turned for hours. After midnight, Mike knocked. I sat up, gathering the blankets to me and shivering. The moon hung low and large in the sky. I didn’t answer.
Instead, I lay back down in the dark and watched the moonlight slide across the ceiling. My heart didn’t stop beating. I thought about writing to Jeremy or Skyping Cam or my mom, but this had to be my decision.
I just had no idea what the right choice would be.
I didn’t know how you made that decision.
* * *
I felt like I’d barely closed my eyes before I was awake again.
I still didn’t have an answer, but I knocked on Mike’s door anyway. I needed to talk to him about this. Or at least see him.
But he didn’t answer. I didn’t find him downstairs, either. So I pulled on my running gear, ran through my stretches and headed outside. The mist hung over the hills, fading out the swaying Cypresses and the sea, and raising goosebumps on my arms and bare legs. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the fresh, grassy air, and started jogging. I’d be warm soon.
But I’d barely started when I saw a figure obscured by the fog.
It was Lauren, coming in from the path to the village. She still wore last night’s black dress, her hair piled up in a messy bun. My mouth parted. “Oh.”
She flushed furiously and lifted her chin. “I was out for a walk.”
Hey, if that was her story I wouldn’t challenge it. “Sure. I’m just...going for a run.”
I couldn’t help it. My mouth quirked and a snort slipped out.
She scowled at me. “What?’
I shook my head.
She jutted out her chin. “Go on, ask.”
I didn’t really need to ask. “You slept with Paul last night?”
She stared at me, and then she laughed until she pressed her hand to her head. “Yes.” She fished a clip from her purse and put up her curls. “It’s not that weird, is it?”
“No. I mean...you’re not that related.”
“Oh, God.”
I smiled wryly.
She let out a breath. “So, did Mike calm down?”
“Um. That’s something we’ll probably have to talk about later. I haven’t really talked to him since last night.”
She made a face. “I sort of forgot that this might, uh, have ramifications for you too.”
She didn’t know the half of it.
Actually, maybe she did. His whole family seemed to think we were a thing. “Hey—I just wanted to say, Mike really does care about all of you. And I don’t think it’s fair to say he isn’t trying, because he loves you all.”
“How can you defend him after you just—figuratively—stuck a knife in his back?”
Now, that was a bad analogy. Much too strong. Besides— “You were standing right there, Longinus.”
“What?”
“Um. Longinus? One of Brutus’s co-conspirers. Helped him assassinate Julius Caesar?”
She snorted, and then it dissolved into helpless laughed. “I’m surrounded by crazy people.”
They didn’t let you into grad school unless you were crazy. “I guess, because even though I’m, um, clearly in Mike’s bad grace’s right now—I really like him.”
Lauren shook her head. “You’re even more screwed than I am.”
“Trust me.” I stared out at the hills. “I know.”
* * *
When I came to the coast, I stopped. I stared out at the water, watching the waves roll in from the south, white crests so far below they appeared as pencil lines. I could understand where the fair folk came from when I stood here, in a small corner of the world where humans seemed foreign and strange and unnecessary. I closed my eyes, breathing in the salt and sea, the coolness of rain on the way and freshness of wind combing through the grasses.
I needed to let it all go.
“Nice view.”
I spun around. Mike stood there in running shorts and a Notre Dame sweatshirt. My chest spiked and swooped, unprepared and defenseless, and the raw emotion jolted straight through my body. My voice came out uneven. “I thought I might find you here.”
He fit here, in this wild place. This man who played by rules and regulations, who wore the same outfit as dozens of others, who was almost indistinguishable on the field with his gleaming hair hidden away. Here, he looked like an elemental part of the landscape.
He shrugged and walked up to the edge of the bluff.
I could have Kilkarten. Mike would sign, I knew he would. I could have everything I’d worked for these past six years. I could have Ivernis.
He was asking me to choose him over Kilkarten.
How could I choose him over my work?
My chest felt light and heavy all at once. A bubble formed inside it, too much oxygen, and my blood raced until my skin tingled and my thoughts flew in every direction. I tried to keep my breathing from escalating, but instead ended up taking lots of short, quick breaths.
I could hear the rush of the ocean, but it didn’t drown out his slow, steady footsteps behind me. I closed my eyes and breathed in the salt and earth. I licked my lips. “Okay.”
“What?”
I forced myself to turn, and I spread my hands. The wind whipped his hair into a maddened mess, and his eyes shone like polished bronze.
I swallowed. I felt sick and hollow. “Okay. I...withdraw my request.” It took everything in me to say that, and even so, a large part of me wanted to suck the words back in, to disavow them.
He searched my eyes. For once, there was no mask at all, no charm or stone, just a strange vulnerability. “Really?”
I nodded, hands squeezing my opposite elbows as I hugged my arms to myself. “I promise.”
He closed his eyes and seemed to expel all the worry and tension in his body. “Thank you.”
I nodded.
He looked back at me. “Why?”
“Why?” I repeated.
“You’re right. I would have signed. So why’d you give it up?”
I shrugged. “I, um. I thought I was choosing between Ivernis and you. And I could never choose a guy over my career. Over something I’d worked on for so long. Over what made me me. Because I wouldn’t want a man to somehow define me more than I defined myself.”
Before us, the waves crashed, a low, dull roar. Above, gulls screeched in a sharp counterpoint, swooped in and out of the moving fog. “But that’s not what the choice was. It wasn’t about me. It was about—being a good person. Being a good friend. And—I don’t know, I guess I thought about the pain. The pain you’d suffer versus the pain other people suffer if this went through. And if it doesn’t, my pain, Jeremy’s pain—yes, it will be personal, but it will be personal about a thing. A place. Not a loved one. And it will affect our professions—but not our families.” I shrugged and tried to swallow, but the soreness and tightness of my throat made it difficult. “And I don’t want to be a bad person.”