by Allison Parr
Energy sizzled through me. I sucked in a deep breath and then tried to play it off casually. “You don’t have the accent.”
He faked one immediately. “Come on, love. Give a bloke a chance.”
My breath caught and my cheeks flushed, but not at the accent. No, it was Michael O’Connor calling me “love” that made my pulse race.
He scowled. “Unless you have something against redheads?”
I reached out and touched an auburn curl. “Not at all.”
He looked up at me and I realized how close we stood. I cleared my throat and stepped back. “So did you say anything when Anna mentioned Paul’s attractiveness?”
“I got in trouble because I said, ‘Don’t you have a boyfriend?’ and she got all pissed and ran off. Apparently they broke up because I made her come to Ireland.”
I smiled up at him. He looked kind of adorable when he was worked up over his sisters. “I take it you find fault with that version of the story?”
“Lauren’s the one who insisted we come. Called me up the second Patrick kicked the bucket and demanded I call it in as a family death to Coach and we take a vacation. Besides, it’s good for Anna to be away from him.”
I raised my brows. “You ever get tired of trying to control people?”
He sat up. “Not like it ever works.”
I rolled over. “You shouldn’t, you know. With your family.”
“Thank you,” he said dryly. “For that solicited and appreciated piece of advice. And I support them, I don’t control them.”
“Even your mom? Or do you have a tendency to forget she’s the parent?”
“I’m an adult. I should contribute.”
“And let me guess. You’ve been an adult since your dad died. You don’t have to try so hard to be perfect.”
He looked out at the sea. “That’s where you’re wrong. I just left. I wasn’t perfect at all.”
So he felt like he’d abandoned them after his father’s death and tried to sooth it over with money. God, families were the worst. I plucked up a flower and tugged off its petals. “My dad used to take me to Leopards’ games.”
“What?”
I scooted so I also faced the water. Above us, birds cried out, swooping and diving through the air. “He was always in such a good mood. Football was so unlike the rest of my life...where everything was quiet and tense, and if people were angry they wouldn’t talk about it. At games, guys would just beat the hell out of one another. It was very...cathartic.”
I shook my head. “I thought the game was wonderful. Dad would get so worked up. I’m sure you know. I remember—I must have been twelve, thirteen—he picked me up and whirled me around in the air. The whole stadium turned before me. That’s what I always associated football with. Magic.” Warmth.
“Do you still go with him?”
“Oh, no. It wasn’t really about us. It was really him and my brothers, and I tagged along.”
“The thing that you said wasn’t really a big deal.”
“Right.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Shocked, I turned to face him. He’d sat forward, propping his elbows on his knees, while his arms hung loosely between them. He had the same intensity as when we’d first met and he’d denied me Kilkarten, an intensity I never would’ve imagined just from seeing him on the screen. I slowly raised my gaze to his. “Why not?”
He shrugged. “You didn’t want to go home in New York. You don’t want to have a home. You’re bitter about your family.”
I stared at him, stunned. “And apparently I talk too much.”
He laughed. “So? You know all about my family. Now it’s your turn.”
What did I say to that? I took a deep breath, feeling wobbly and light. “I had a great childhood. Everything I ever needed. Everything anyone could want.”
“But...?”
I shrugged. “My brothers are great. Peter’s married and lives in DC, and Quinn travels almost as much as I do. Evan—he’s only three years older—lives in New York, though. But I always feel like I want to see them more than they want to see me.”
“But you’re clearly not happy.”
A small butterfly, with the coloring of a Monarch but different patterns, fluttered nearby, coming to rest on a purple thistle. Tiny blue dots fringed its wings. “Well. My brothers—half brothers—don’t get along with our dad. He left their mom. And he’s not easy to like—stiff and stuck up and homophobic, even though he pretends he’s not, but he and Evan barely talk anymore. But I didn’t know how non-functional we were when I was little. I just knew how happy I was at the games.”
He twisted to look at me, a thinking smile on his lips. “Do you think my family’s functional?”
I nodded. “And warm. Angry, sometimes, but at least they’re not cold. And they like you. Isn’t that what this is about? Lauren said she wanted to come here to bond. They probably just want to spend time with you, not spend your money.”
He frowned and picked a flower too. “I didn’t even know I should be worrying about Mom until Lauren pointed it out. Now I worry all the time. Is she lonely? Unhappy?”
My shoulders rose and fell. “Maybe that’s just life. No one’s happy. Maybe everything gets stale and sad.”
“What, like we’re pieces of bread? No. I don’t believe it.”
“Why not?” I thought of my parents in their big, sad house. “Especially when we push our relationships past their expiration dates.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, you know. Love only lasts a handful of years. Like, four.”
Fierce lines creased his brow, and his gaze darkened. “That’s bullshit.”
I fell back down in the grass, the sky stretching endlessly above me. The sweet smell of the flower I’d torn up tickled my nose. “Why? It’s biological. You mate, raise young together, and then go your own ways after the kids can take care of themselves.”
“We’re not animals.”
“Well, we’re not plants.”
He frowned at me. “Okay, what about swans? They mate for life.”
“They also fly.”
He stared at me like I was insane. “So—you don’t believe relationships last past four years?”
I toyed with the grass. “Of course they do. I just don’t think we’re biologically meant for life-long monogamy.”
“My parents had the best relationship in the world.”
I shrugged as best I could from my prone position. “I’m not trying to argue. And I don’t expect you to agree with me.”
He looked offended. “But you think I’m being naïve.”
That was awkwardly uncomfortable enough that I sat upright and cleared my throat. “I don’t think you’re naïve. And I’m not anti-relationship. I actually think it’s a very—nice—idea, but it’s also encultured. I mean, I’m not surprised you believe in it—your community is very, uh, conservative, with traditional values—”
“Nat. You’re being offensive.”
“I’m not trying to be offensive, I’m just saying, I studied anthropology—”
“Which is not a golden ticket to judge people.”
“I’m not judging! I just—I’m trying to point out that you have a bias—which is normal, everyone has biases, it’s part of being human—but it’s important to recognize your bias and understand when it comes into play—”
He stood. “Well, maybe part of your bias is that your parents have an unhappy marriage so you don’t believe there could actually be happy ones.”
“Below the belt.”
His gaze dropped below the belt, and I flushed when he raised his eyes again, hot and steady. I cleared my throat and looked away. “And, okay, probably a valid point.”
“So do yo
u also not believe in love?”
I shrugged, wishing we’d never started this conversation. “I believe in oxytocin and vasopressin. I believe in attraction and attachment.”
“But you don’t believe in forever.”
I also came to my feet. The wind played with his hair and pulled tendrils of mine loose. “I believe in having a solid enough partnership that you stay with it because it’s better than being lonely and you want to be part of a solid family unit.”
“Because it’s better than being fucking lonely?”
“Mike, don’t take me out of context—”
“I don’t think I am. You don’t believe in love.”
“I think people fall in love, I just don’t think it sticks. Why do you care? This should not be such a big deal.”
He massaged his shoulder like he’d filled with too much tension. “I think it’s sad.”
I prepped myself to run. “Well, maybe I’m sad, then. Let’s head back.”
Chapter Eleven
I didn’t see Mike again until early evening the next day, after I’d returned from meeting up with a historian in Cork. The woman had been very informative and interesting, and while she’d given me several new insights into the county’s history, I wasn’t sure it would be directly helpful for learning more about Ivernis.
I ran into Mike when I was heading up to my room—or more accurately, he ran into me, stepping out of the library as I passed. I halted, worried that he might still be mad at me from the night before. Instead, he grinned at me. “Gibbons.”
“What?”
“Gibbons are monogamous. And they don’t fly.”
I smiled. “I forgot gibbons. I saw a pair at some zoo in California.” They’d swung around on their long, flexible arms, playing and flirting until the female had grown bored and climbed a tree. The male had followed, trying to get her attention and generally making a nuisance of himself as she tried to get some peace. Still, after a while she’d given in and they’d gone tree swinging again. Cam and I had watched, rapt, for half an hour. “You looked that up?”
He shrugged as though it was nothing. “I look everything up. My sisters think I’m a space shot, but I’m actually very well informed.”
I raised my brows. “You can be a well-informed space shot.”
He grinned again and leaned against the wall, closing the space between us until I could feel the heat from our bodies. “Come to dinner tonight?”
“Um.” I seemed to be having trouble finding oxygen. “Okay.”
He leaned forward and my breath caught. He drew his thumb slowly over my cheekbone and my heart stuttered to a halt.
He straightened, that charming grin taunting me. “Sorry about that. You had an eyelash.” He placed his hands in his pocket and sauntered down the hall.
I had to lean against the wall to regain myself, and he’d just turned on to the stairs when I pushed upright and shouted after him. “Michael O’Connor! My eyelashes are nearly invisible!”
Only laughter answered me.
* * *
We went out to dinner at O’Malley’s, the one nice restaurant in the village center. It was half empty when we arrived, but after twenty minutes every seat was taken.
“News travels fast,” Kate said without looking up from her menu.
I had to agree. Every person craned their head our way, from a table of weathered old men in low hats and heavy jackets to a group of girls Anna’s age. Only the smallest children seemed to be clueless, crying loudly as their parents failed to pay attention to them.
It only took fifteen minutes before the first person approached, and the noise level dropped noticeably. Mike tossed me a quick smile as a middle-aged man cleared his throat beside Kate. “Mrs. O’Connor?”
She lowered the menu. “Yes.”
He tipped his hat. “I’m Eamon Murphy. Knew your husband when he was a lad.” His gaze flitted toward Mike. “You’re the image of your dad.”
Kate smiled politely. “I believe he mentioned you.”
“Good to have O’Connors back in town again. Doesn’t seem right without you.” He waited.
Kate waved toward them. “My daughters, Anna and Lauren. My eldest, Michael. And this is Michael’s friend, Natalie.”
I heard the thumps of several kicks. A foot smacked into my leg. I couldn’t tell if it had been meant for me or someone else.
“Ah, the archaeologist.” Eamon smiled, wrinkles spreading out over his leathery cheeks and brow. “I hear something’s dodgy with the excavation? You better fix that.”
This time, I was the kicker. Mike winced.
Eamon missed it, as he’d turned back to Kate. “We’ve all been very curious about you. Expected you to come back years ago.”
Kate’s fingers stiffened around her silverware. “Well. I didn’t.”
He didn’t take note of the shortness in her voice. “Lovely city, Boston. I can see why Brian wanted to visit, you know, though we always thought he would settle down here.”
I searched for something to diffuse Kate’s pained look. Anna beat me to it, speaking up in an exact mimic of her mother’s tone. “Well. He didn’t.”
Eamon chuckled, and the talk turned to more mundane things. By the time the food arrived, several other locals had edged up to our table. Everyone was very curious about Brian O’Connor’s life in America, though the curiosity was tinged with a wide array of other emotions—disapproval, excitement, disdain, hurt, vicarious interest. Kate did her best to give succinct explanations, but each time another person approached and asked, “Why didn’t he come home?” she tensed even more.
So it was a relief when we left, retreating to the inn where the only other guests in the parlor were a German couple and a family from County Meath. I figured I’d head to my room, but Kate and Lauren roped me into a game of Go Fish. I was torn, since they were probably only asking to be polite, but I couldn’t help myself. The warmth they radiated was addictive and bone-deep. Anna might be angry, Kate sad, Lauren stressed and Mike protective, but they weren’t cold. They felt warm.
I wanted to feel warm.
Mike, Lauren and I sat on the floor before the fireplace while Anna curled up against her mother on the sofa, watching as Lauren dealt out the cards. “We should see if anyone has any pictures of Dad. Aunt Maggie should.”
“Aunt Maggie?” Lauren sloppily picked up her cards. I sneaked a look. “Jesus.”
Anna sat straighter. “She is. She’s our only aunt.”
“I’m sure she has pictures.” Kate hugged her youngest to her side, her voice just shy of normal. “Of course, she’s suffering her own loss right now, so maybe we should save that for later.”
“I’d think she’d want to look at them. Because Uncle Patrick’s probably in them too, right?”
“Laur, hold your cards closer,” Mike said in a beleaguered voice, like he’d told her time and again.
“Why don’t you just not look at them?”
“Because they’re staring me in the face. Besides, Natalie’s cheating too.”
My head flew up. “That’s not true.”
Mike grinned at me. “And she lies.”
I narrowed my eyes. His danced. Anna kept talking. “Well, we’re going to her house tomorrow, aren’t we? For the month’s mind thing. We can ask.”
“We’ll see.” Kate closed her eyes as she stroked her daughter’s head. “We’ll see.”
The evening went on. Somehow I ended up in involved in an intense discussion with Lauren and Anna on Girl Scout Cookie names. I was vastly outnumbered by Bostonian fools who thought Caramel Delights was legitimate.
“Hey,” I tossed at Mike, after we figured out the difference in cookie names came from which of the two Girl Scout baking companies produced it (thus destroying a satisfying
and endless argument forever), “isn’t it weird, then, that you ended up playing for the New York Leopards? Didn’t the Patriots bid on you?”
Lauren groaned. “Oh, sore subject.”
“What? They didn’t?”
Mike looked aggravated. “They did, they were just too late. What was I supposed to do?”
My mouth flapped open. “So would you rather be playing for them? Would you leave the Leopards?” I felt personally betrayed.
He laughed. “No. Not anymore. They’re my family.”
“Actually,” Anna put in from the couch, “we’re you’re family. They’re just a bunch of dudes who knock people down.”
I excused myself around nine, when Kate started yawning. Back in my room, I spent the next hour writing emails. I started with Cam and Mom, but the O’Connors’ relationship made me send notes to each of my brothers. When I came back from Ireland, maybe I’d see if we could all get together for dinner.
And then a new email popped up. And I stopped breathing.
The subject line was innocuous. The sender was Dr. Henry Ceile.
Dear Ms. Sullivan,
I hope you’ve been well. I see you are in Ireland working, once more, on one of Dr. Anderson’s projects. I am about to begin excavating an Iron Age site in Ulster, and I would like to extend an invitation to join me as one of my site managers. I would be happy to meet with you and speak about this opportunity.
Best,
Dr. Henry Ceile
I was still staring at it when someone knocked on my door and it swung open. I looked up to see Mike.
“Hey,” he began, and then stopped and frowned. “You all right?”
I waved at the computer, too stunned to speak, and Mike came over to read it. “What is this? A job offer?”
“Yeah. From this guy who’s never gotten along with my advisor. He’s trying to poach me!”
Mike couldn’t smother his smile. “Are you interested?”
I almost choked on oxygen. “In working for the devil? No way.”
“Why not? You’d at least get to work on a site in your field.”