Love, Luck, and Little Green Men: A Contemporary Romance

by Diane Kelly

  It’s almost as if shoemaking runs in your blood, he’d said.

  I found it difficult to breathe as Seamus continued. “Female leprechauns do exist, but they are rare indeed. They result only when a male Leprechaun mates with a female human during the festival of Bealtaine. Problem is, since we Leprechauns are so small, most human females don’t find us attractive. We have the hardest time getting laid.”

  “I don’t think you’re unattractive,” Tammy told him, her blue eyes twinkling.

  Seamus grinned at her. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “What’s Bealtaine?” I asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Bealtaine is an ancient, mystic Celtic celebration,” Brendan explained. “It represents the time when the Celtic sun god, Belenus, reaches manhood and the Earth Goddess reaches womanhood.” He went on to say that, as the legend went, the god and goddess meet when the sap is rising in the trees and the blossoms are opening. They become consumed with passion and unite under the moon and the stars until dawn breaks the sky. The goddess becomes pregnant, signifying the return to life, the return to the light of summer from the darkness of winter.

  Seamus chimed in. “These days, Bealtaine is just another excuse to have a party.” As if the Irish needed a reason to drink and make merry. “The tradition is to light communal bonfires, which represent the sun. Jumping through the fires is supposed to bring people good luck.”

  “When is Bealtaine?” I asked the little man. “What time of year?”

  “Bealtaine is celebrated in early May on the night that falls halfway between the summer solstice and the spring equinox.”

  Assuming this crazy little man were telling the truth and all female Leprechauns were conceived during Bealtaine, then if I were a Leprechaun my birthday would be approximately nine months later. I counted to nine on my fingers as I mentally did the math. Nine months from May is . . . January.

  My birthday was January 27th.

  My heart did a little skip. Coincidence, I told myself again. Nothing more than another coincidence. Then why was a cold sweat breaking out on my back?

  “There’s lots of lovemaking during Bealtaine,” Seamus continued. “In fact, it’s nothing short of an orgy. Some couples even agree to remove their wedding bands and the restrictions attached to them for the night of the Bealtaine celebration.”

  “They cheat on their spouses?” I cried. “That’s awful!”

  Seamus shrugged. “Kipling refers to Bealtaine in his poem A Tree Song. He says, ‘Oh do not tell the priest our plight or he would call it a sin, but we have been out in the woods all night A-conjuring summer in.’”

  “Fires and orgies?” Tammy waved her hand dismissively. “Sounds like the plot of a low-budget porno. Or a show you’d see in Vegas. One of those sexed-up Cirque du Soleil acts.”

  Despite the odd coincidences, I refused to give credence to Seamus’ tale. It was all so outlandish, wasn’t it? And if it were true . . . No, I wouldn’t go there. Nonetheless, I was curious to see what he’d come up with next. “If female leprechauns only result from a male Leprechaun mating with a human female, how do male Leprechauns get born?”

  “Janey Mack, didn’t you take sex education in school?”

  “Sure,” I said. “But we didn’t cover the genetics of fairies.”

  Seamus settled his hands on his knees. “Okay. Here’s how it goes. The Leprechaun gene is linked to the Y chromosome, the male chromosome. So all Leprechaun offspring are male, except those conceived during Bealtaine, as I explained earlier. Since female Leprechauns are rare, most Leprechauns result from matings between a male Leprechaun and a female human. Pure-blood Leprechauns, ones whose father and mother are both Leprechauns, are rarest of all, but pure-blood males have much greater magical powers than your everyday Leprechaun.” He wagged his eyebrows at me Groucho Marx style. “If you and I mated, we could produce very powerful sons.”

  Brendan stiffened, his eyes narrowing at Seamus as he stepped up behind my stool. If I didn’t know better, I’d interpret his actions as possessiveness.

  “What about me?” I asked. “What powers do I have?”

  “Hate to disappoint ye, but ye got none. The magic gene is also linked to the Y chromosome. Female Leprechauns are simply carriers.”

  “So I’m powerless?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Figures.” Damn. Even in the magical, mythical realm of fairies, I had no control. Didn’t that suck.

  This guy had his story worked out, all right, and it made a modicum of sense even if it was total bullshit. But I wasn’t actually believing any of it, was I?

  Seamus’ eyed me intently. “I offered to bring the gold to you in the hopes you and I could hook up. I’ve been watching you, trying to get to know you, figure out how best to woo you.” He scowled then. “Frankly, you’ve been a huge disappointment. Much too tall, saddled with a kid. And if your height and baggage weren’t enough, your feckin’ dog wet me knickers.”

  “You can hardly blame Blarney,” I said. “It’s your fault for pretending to be a garden gnome.”

  “If you’re from Ireland,” Tammy asked, “where have you been staying?”

  Seamus tossed his head my direction. “In her backyard. In the tree house. I tried to check into a hotel, but they wanted a credit card or U.S. dollars and all I have with me is me Leprechaun gold.”

  My blood turned to ice. This guy had been living in my yard for days, only a few feet and a thin pane of fragile glass separating him from me? From my son? My parents? “How long have you been living in the tree house?”

  Seamus looked up in thought. “’Bout a week. Rode in your car, too. Climbed right in the hatchback when you went to the vet’s. Rode with you back to your shop, too.”

  This man, this odd stranger, had been in my car with me and Riley and Blarney and I hadn’t even known? My God! He could’ve slit our throats. My bones turned to noodles and I wobbled on my stool, putting a hand out to the counter to steady myself. This was too much. Way too much for me to deal with.

  Brendan stepped toward Seamus. “I think you should come home with me. We can talk more in the morning about your plans.”

  Brendan would know what to do with this guy. He seemed harmless enough now. After all, if he’d wanted to hurt me or my family he’d had ample opportunity. But he clearly needed psychological help. Brendan could get him the attention he needed.

  “I’d love to go home with ye,” Seamus told Brendan. “Me back’s sore from sleeping in that tree house, and I think I got a splinter in me bum.” He hopped down from the chair. “By the way, I owe you a wish.”

  “A wish?” Brendan cocked his head.

  “Goodness, chap. Have ye forgotten your Leprechaun lore? Ye catch a Leprechaun, ye get a wish. That’s the rules. Says so in Article Twenty-three, Section B of the Official Code of the Order of Irish Faeries.”

  “Wait a second,” I said. “Did you just say ‘Order of Irish Faeries?’”

  Seamus nodded. “That’s the official title for us Leprechauns.”

  And the same reference in that obituary from The Irish Examiner, the one that turned my mother white. Another coincidence. And only a coincidence. Right?

  But there were so many coincidences.

  Too many coincidences.

  All of this was too much to process. My head felt as if it were spinning. I needed time to think things through. Surely there was a logical explanation for all of this. I just couldn’t come up with one at the moment.

  “Brendan only gets one wish?” Tammy asked. “I thought you were supposed to grant three wishes.”

  “You’re thinking genies,” Seamus replied. “Those guys are pushovers. We Leprechauns aren’t that generous. With Irish faeries it’s just the one.” He turned to Brendan. “You better make it count.”

  “Are there any limitations?” Tammy asked. “Such as someone can’t wish for someone else to fall in love with them?”

  Seamus shrugged. “I’m not powerful enough to
make world peace happen or solve global warming. But other than that, it’s pretty open ended.” Seamus glanced up at Brendan. “You wouldn’t wish for Erin to fall in love with ye, would ye’? ‘Cause I can tell ye right now that would be a waste of your wish. She’s already in love with you.”

  It seemed as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. My skin tingled in embarrassment. I tried to laugh it off, but my laugh sounded as phony and forced as it was. I looked down at Seamus. “You may not know it since he’s wearing everyday clothes. But Brendan’s a priest.”

  “That may be,” Seamus said, an accusing gleam in his eye. “But that didn’t stop you from falling in love with him, did it?”

  Oh, dear Lord! This conversation needed to end. Now. I could feel Brendan’s eyes on me, boring into the top of my downturned head as if he were trying to read my thoughts, to learn whether it was true, whether I was actually in love with him. I hoped the blush on my scalp didn’t give me away.

  “In case you haven’t figured it out,” Seamus added, “he’s in love with you, too. I was watching through the window when you two were dancing the other night, all flustered and googly-eyed over each other. Quite nauseating, actually.”

  Something in me snapped then. “Stop it!” My words came out in a shriek, my hands fisting at my sides. I hadn’t meant to lose it, but I was absolutely overwhelmed by that point. First Seamus brings my ancestry into question, then he lays bare my deepest, darkest secret. How dare the little freak upset me like this. I felt exposed and raw, angry and confused. And if he’d seen me dancing with Brendan, had he also seen me dancing later, when I was practicing my moves for the wet T-shirt contest? And if he did, would he tell Brendan about that, too?

  “My apologies, Erin,” Seamus said, removing his hat and dipping his head in contrition. “Didn’t realize my words would upset you so.”

  “I think it’s best we go now,” Brendan said to Seamus, escorting the little man to the door, all the while his gaze locked on mine, seeming to ask Is it true? Do you love me?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 19TH

  CHURCH LADIES

  My mom, dad, Riley, and I attended the eleven o’clock mass on Sunday as usual, opting to sleep in on the one day of the week when I didn’t have to wake up before dawn for work. I half expected a sizzling sound when I dipped my fingers in the holy water. In love with a priest. And maybe, just maybe, he was in love with me, too. If interfering with God’s workforce didn’t piss Him off, I didn’t know what would.

  Stella Nagley passed us on her way in, looking me up and down with a disapproving glare. Admittedly I’d primped a bit today, putting on a feminine, soft pink dress with heels, pulling my hair up in a girlie do, letting that one rebellious curl—the one Brendan always tugged on—hang free at my cheek. She, on the other hand, wore another of her bland, boring, nondescript dresses and a pinched expression. Was it wrong to feel the urge to dunk her head in the holy water?

  We’d just taken seats in our pew when I felt a tug on my sleeve. I turned to find Seamus climbing onto the seat next to me. Today he was dressed in a pair of boy’s elastic-waist khaki pants, a white button-down shirt, and brown loafers. The top hat, knickers, and buckle shoes were gone. He looked almost normal. Or as normal as a red-headed, pointy-eared little person can look.

  “Top of the mornin’ to ye.”

  “Back at ya’.”

  Riley glanced over to see whom I was speaking to, doing a double take when he realized the man was a red-headed, bearded dwarf. “Is that him?”

  I nodded. “Long story,” I whispered. “Turns out he’s harmless.” Bonkers, but harmless. “We’ll talk after mass.”

  Mass began. The altar servers proceeded up the aisle carrying the cross and candles, Brendan following behind them in his white robe looking powerful and masculine, like a rugged soldier in God’s army despite the dress. While his face was normally calm and serene, however, today his expression could best be described as weary and distracted.

  Having sat through approximately two thousand masses in my lifetime, each of which followed the same routine, my mind began to wander and I pondered the silly things Seamus had said yesterday. Me, a Leprechaun. Sure. Seamus travelling all the way from Ireland to bring me a pot of gold. Mm-hm. Right. What a bunch of nonsense. Complete and utter nonsense.

  Those sitting to the right of me stood to take a place in line for communion. I followed behind Riley as he stepped into the aisle, my hands clasped in front of me. In front of Riley, my parents stood side by side, my mother taking hold of my father’s arm to steady him, the epitome of wifely dedication. We inched forward as the parishioners in front of us received their communion and returned to their pews. Standing behind my tall son, I couldn’t see much ahead of me, couldn’t see Brendan standing at the bottom of the steps leading to the altar, though every cell in my body could sense his presence.

  After my parents received the body of Christ, my mother led my father off to the left, his feet capable of only a slow shuffle. The two bypassed the Eucharistic minister who held the golden goblet of wine, now Christ’s blood. I watched as they slowly made their way back to their pew together, just as they’d done for over fifty years now.

  Seamus claimed my Da wasn’t my father, but the mere idea was ridiculous. One look at my parents said it all. They shared a solid, unbreakable bond, a deep and abiding love. The suggestion that my mother would have betrayed my father—with a Leprechaun no less—was laughable, insulting even.

  But how, then, did I end up with this flaming red hair, these crazy curls, this scattering of freckles polka-dotting my face, arms, and legs? Why did I stand only four-foot-ten when both my mom and dad were of average height? Since my mother had been forty-two when I was born, all of my grandparents were already in advanced age by my birth and passed away when I was still very young. Sadly, I didn’t remember any of them, but their photographs stood on the mantle over our fireplace. All of them looked like my parents, average height with dark, straight hair. I’d always chalked my looks up to recessive genes, but how long could genes remain dormant? What was the likelihood that red hair and fair skin would entirely skip two full generations?

  In front of me, Riley received his communion and stepped aside. I looked up, my gaze meeting Brendan’s. All questions of my genetics and ancestry instantly disappeared, replaced by an airy, hollow, unsatisfied feeling. Here was the man I loved, the man I wanted, the man I could never have. The man God was keeping from me, as if He’d imposed a long, drawn-out penance on me, making me ache for years to be with a man who could never be mine.

  If God were truly loving and forgiving, why had He imposed such a cruel punishment on me? He sometimes seemed more like the vengeful God of the Old Testament, the one who was always smiting one group or another for their misdeeds, forcing His people to wander in the desert for decades on end, turning people into pillars of salt.

  Best not to think too much about it. I was already doubting my heritage. No need to doubt my faith, too.

  Sometimes it’s best to simply believe.

  I closed my eyes as if to keep myself in the dark, and opened my mouth to accept my wafer.

  ***

  After the service, I introduced Seamus to my parents, telling them he was an old friend of Brendan’s from Ireland come for a visit.

  “So nice to meet you,” my mother said, shaking his hand. Was it my imagination, or did a wistful, melancholy look cross her face as she eyed the little man?

  My parents stepped outside to continue their slow trek to the car.

  I choked down my residual embarrassment from the day before and approached Brendan in the church foyer after the last of the parishioners bade him farewell. “How’d things go at the hospital?”

  Brendan had called me the evening before, catching me and Tammy in the middle of margaritas. After the crazy events at closing time, we decided an actual girls’ night out was exactly what we’d needed. Tammy had taken me to a bar in Sundan
ce Square for frozen, lime-flavored therapy. Brendan had taken Seamus to John Peter Smith Hospital, the public facility, for a psychological evaluation.

  “The doctors agreed Seamus is delusional,” Brendan said. “But, since he doesn’t seem to be a danger to himself or others, they won’t commit him. Until we can locate family or figure out what to do with him, I’m afraid we’re stuck.”

  Once again, I’d dragged Brendan into the mess that was my life. “I’m sorry, Brendan. I didn’t mean to make this your problem.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. He’s not bad company, really. Knows lots of good jokes and plays a mean game of poker.”

  First Tammy, now Brendan. My stalker was pretty damn popular.

  “Seamus is easy to talk to,” Brendan added. “He’s very perceptive. For the first time in years, I feel that I have a friend.”

  I put my hands on my hips and shot him a mock glare. “What? I’m not your friend?”

  “Of course you are, Erin. But it’s . . .” He glanced around the foyer, then finished, his expression intense, his voice barely more than a whisper as he looked into my eyes. “It’s different with you.”

  Different how? I wanted to ask, knowing at the same time it was the worst possible thing I could say. I removed my hands from my hips. “Well, I’m glad you have a friend, Bren.” And I was. Despite the fact that the men of the congregation loved him as their priest, despite the fact that Brendan was outgoing, accepting, and non-judgmental, other men had trouble seeing him as a peer, accepting him as a buddy. The cloth that separated the two of us also separated him from other men. While the male parishioners regularly sought his guidance and counsel, they rarely invited him to social events. Though he never expected them to be perfect, they could never seem to fully relax around him, to simply be themselves. As Brendan had pointed out, it’s not much fun to spend time with people who are on their best behavior.

  “The only other men who’ll hang out with me are fellow priests,” Brendan said. “And every time we get together they brag about the size of their-”