by Allison Parr
I pulled out my phone. It didn’t take me long to find my favorite. “Most of them were fashion shoots, but this was the one that really made her famous. Happened right after she arrived in Paris, and she just went around seeing everything.” The series was my favorite, because for the only time in her career, Tamara Bocharov looked like an actual person—overwhelmed, lost and childishly excited.
“This one’s called The Gray-Eyed Goddess.” My mother wore a white, Greek-inspired dress, her blond hair bound back to intensify her gaze. From other photos, I knew my mother was posed around the Louvre, but this one focused on her face. “They used to call her that. But what’s funny—well, kind of stupid—is that they mixed their names. No one ever called her Athena, which is what gray-eyed meant. When they gave her a name it was always Aphrodite, Goddess of Love. Which was appropriate.
“I always thought that if I had to pick a Greek goddess to share attributes, I would be Athena. Wisdom and war. I understand that much more than love or Artemis and her hunting, or Hera, devoted to marriage and children.”
“Wisdom and war...” he repeated. “What about your dad?”
I’d laughed before, the few times I’d told this story, but it struck me now that I didn’t really find it funny. Just sad. “He was her lawyer. Turned out a contact lens company had been using her image illegally for years, so she sued.”
He studied me. “I’m guessing they didn’t just fall madly in love.”
I shrugged and examined the silver around Mom’s pupil, which faded into dark, crushed charcoal. “She was young and beautiful. He was older and successful. Tale as old as time.”
“Real beast?”
I snorted real laughter. “Married one too.”
“That sucks.”
“Ah, well.” I looked down at the picture for a long moment.
Mike didn’t move. Behind us, bursts of laughter spilled from tourists and cameras flashed brightly.
“I’m always so angry whenever I’m with them,” I finally said. “But the rest of the time, I worry. Isn’t that ridiculous? I think my father thinks my mother is silly and petty, and Mom thinks he’s abrasive and uncaring, and I kind of think they’re both right. And I shouldn’t worry, because it’s none of my business, and if they get divorced, wouldn’t that be a good thing if it’s what they want?
“My mother just emailed and said one of those reality shows offered her a judging position. But not all those shows are nice, so I worry she’s being exploited and they’ll make fun of her. And if Dad found out he’d be furious.”
“Would it make her happy?”
I turned around again, back to the serene water and gentle waving trees. “Is that what we’re supposed to base our decisions off of? What makes us happy?”
Mike caught my arm and turned me slightly, and then he smiled the crooked smile, my smile, and it said, you would make me happy.
And so I kissed him, and he kissed me, and I was happy.
“Natalie! Mike!”
We broke apart and found Anna waving at us. “Come on, we’re headed to the house!”
“Oh my God,” I muttered as she ran after the others. “I can’t believe she saw that.” Then I scowled. “I can’t believe she’d didn’t look the least bit surprised.”
Chapter Fourteen
After touring the house, we walked down to the lake, and later stopped in Cork at a Mexican restaurant Lauren had found online. We still returned to Dundoran by eight, since Anna had plans with a cohort of names the rest of us couldn’t remember.
The next week was an endless stretch of happiness. In the mornings and afternoons, I talked to locals about the surrounding land, visited nearby libraries and town halls and read newspapers and local publications. In the evenings, the O’Connor family took me in, and we’d either hang out at the inn or meet up with acquaintances or thrice removed relations in Dundoran.
And the nights, I spent with Mike.
That Friday, I met with Mrs. Harrington from three towns over when she was visiting her sister in Dundoran. She told me an incredibly exciting story about artifacts from fifteen hundred years ago that she’d found on their land. I was still bouncing when I went to meet Mike and Lauren, despite the sudden summer thunderstorm. I ran through the village to the pub, clutching my precious notebook close so no ink would be smeared or paper ruined by the rain. I shook myself off when I went inside.
People packed the pub. A band had set up shop in one corner and played traditional Irish music, and a handful of tables had been pushed aside to make room for dancing. I made my way over to Mike, and he handed me a Guinness.
What a coincidence. I had just been in a mood for more Guinness.
We ended up squished at a table with Lauren and Paul. Mike scowled at his cousin. “Don’t you have any other friends?”
Paul took a swig of his pint. “You think I want to be hanging about with a bunch of culchies?”
We didn’t need an Irish-to-American dictionary to know that Paul was being derisive; he alternated insulting adjectives with great fluidity. I actually considered it a form of language immersion.
Mike leaned forward. “So why are you still here?”
Paul’s eyes slid in Lauren’s direction for the briefest second, and he shrugged. “Someone’s got to see Aunt Maggie sorted. Knew you weren’t up to it.”
A muscle in Mike’s jaw ticked. “Look, Connelly—”
“So!” I said brightly. “Who wants to hear what I learned today!”
They all reluctantly turned to face me.
I launched into my story about Mrs. Harrington’s discovery. It had taken place ten years ago when they were making the basement for their new house, but still.
Mike frowned thoughtfully. “So what about all the other layers? If you’re going straight to Iron Age, what happens to the rest of time?”
It made me happy that he’d asked that, like he was an intelligent undergrad in my Intro to Archaeology class. “Well, that’s the big question, isn’t it?”
“Huh?”
I smiled and switched into lecture-lite mode. “The thing about archaeology is its destructiveness. You can’t repeat an excavation and see if you get the same results. You can’t go back and check the positioning of the bricks and stones you’ve already pulled up. We map and take pictures of every single layer—God, how we map—but you’re right. Here, I want to get to the first century, and that means I might be tearing up footprints from medieval manors or twentieth century farmhouses.”
I paused. “I don’t think there’s going to be a ton of really important artifacts. I mean, sure, if we come across a cist burial, that’s going to be an issue. But I’m betting this land has been farmland since the beginning, and the things we do dig through aren’t going to be unlike what you’d find if you excavated anywhere else in the area around us.”
Lauren frowned. “How do you even know where to dig?”
I nodded. “It’s impossible to actually pinpoint the harbor, since there’s so many possible points. Luckily, a coastal survey took core samples of the area three years ago, so we do know there was saline water here two thousand years ago. There’s also, interestingly, a dolmen—that’s a portal tomb, you know, the giant rocks marking burial sites—that is oddly far away from water, which supports water being here, which is why I believe the harbor city is so far inland. I think there was a tributary that silted up.
“But since the area’s so large, I’m bringing in a specialist to do an electrical resistivity survey first, which should tell us if there’s any large structures buried. Hopefully I’ll find quays, or—this is what I really want�
�a sunken ship. If there’s nothing found that way, we’re going to open units using a systematic sampling, and I’m sure that will find something. It has to.”
Mike regarded me with an unhappy expression. Shoot, I’d gone too far into grad mode. Time to rein it in and act like a normal human.
“Natalie.”
“Yeah?”
“But you’re not going to dig there.”
“Oh, right.” I flushed. “I know that. I just got a little carried away.”
Paul’s eyes narrowed at Mike. “Do you derive some twisted pleasure in parading around as the prodigal son, even as you cut off the village’s chance of bringing in major money?”
Mike looked outraged. “It’s none of your business what I do with my land.”
Paul leaned forward. “Of course it’s not. Of course it should be left up to a bunch of Yanks to decide what to do with a place they’d never seen and they’ll never see again.”
“This is my family—”
“But not your country, mate—”
Lauren slammed her hands on the table. “Will both of you just shut up?”
The mellow tenor and bass of the singers swung out into our small corner of silence. “No, nay never, no more...”
I took a deep breath in the long, tense stillness. “I just love this song!”
Paul flashed a blazing smile at me that was clearly really intended for the other two members of our party to notice. “Want to dance?”
I stole a glance at Mike as I whirled my finger at my chest. “Me?”
Paul smiled. “Won’t be the same as salsa in Ecuador or dancing at one of the super-clubs, but we have better music here.”
I laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m awful at salsa and can’t stand house music, so this sounds like a great alternative.”
Mike stood up abruptly. “I’ll dance with you.”
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.”