I know I should just do as she asks. I’m being desperate, and this isn’t helping my cause. But my whole life is desperate right now. Siobhan needs to know the truth. To like me. It would make staying here less . . . lonely.
I take the sea glass out of my pocket and hold it out to her.
“I found this on my walk over here. I thought you might like it. You can add it to your collection.”
Siobhan eyes the red glass but doesn’t move.
“Maybe we can be friends?” I offer.
“Friends? Why?”
I shrug. “Honestly, because I don’t know anyone here, and I’m lonely.”
Siobhan thinks I’m a liar, so maybe offering her this bit of honesty might crack her hard exterior. I am lonely. The only person I know, Stephen, I ran away from. And Kieran is nowhere to be seen. If he remembers last night at all, he might even be hiding from me.
Siobhan digs in a bin and pulls out two CDs. “This is me.” She shoves a CD in my face. On the cover, a woman wears head-to-toe black, even her wild hair is black, and she’s clutching an electric guitar—Joan Jett. “And this is you.” This CD’s cover has a woman in a flowing white dress and soft curls—Celine Dion. “Get used to being lonely, Yank. We all end up that way in the end.”
Siobhan disappears into the back of the store, never taking the sea glass. Defeated, I walk to the register, putting the wig and boa back where I found them, but prepared to buy the sunglasses. It’s the least I can do. This was a bust with Siobhan. Not only didn’t I explain myself, but I’m pretty sure I made our relationship worse.
“I’ll take these,” I say to Clive, who’s giving me a pained expression, like I’m pathetic.
“I love your hair,” he says as he rings me up. “The unkempt style is totally in. And the glasses really do look gorgeous on you.”
“Thanks, Clive.”
“Your name’s Jane, right?” I nod, and Clive’s face brightens. “It’s a sign.”
“Take it from me—not all signs point you in the right direction.” I feel the sea glass in my pocket.
Clive leans over the counter and turns his book, Rip It Up and Start Again: Postpunk 1978–1984. Hiding inside is another book, Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility. “I love romance novels, too,” he whispers. “Have you read Austen?”
I shake my head. If I have, I don’t remember anyway.
“Bloody fantastic.” Clive fans himself. “People love Mr. Darcy, but most people are idiots. Colonel Brandon puts him to shame. Totally swoonworthy.” Clive takes the money for the glasses. “By the way, I’ve seen Celine Dion in concert twice in Dublin. Bloody brilliant.”
“Really?”
Clive glances in the direction Siobhan disappeared. “Don’t give up on her. She’ll come round. She called me a punk poser once and told me David Bowie would be ashamed of hanging on the walls in this place. I almost fired her, but I kind of loved her more for it.”
“Have you known Siobhan for a while?”
“Years. I make it a point to know everyone in town. Makes life . . . friendlier.”
“I wish Siobhan shared your sentiment.”
He leans over the counter closer to me. “If you push people away, they can’t hurt you.”
“But I don’t want to hurt her,” I whisper back. “I just want to get to know her.”
“I think she’s already been hurt enough. Some risks are just too big.” Clive hands me the sunglasses. “Did she really find you half-naked, trying to shift Kieran?”
“Shift?” I ask. He demonstrates kissing. “No! I wasn’t trying to . . . shift anyone. It was just a mistake.”
“You’ll get no judgment from me. I wouldn’t mind a bit of a shift with Kieran.”
When he says that, an idea dawns on me.
“So you know everyone in town?” I ask. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Kieran is today, would you?”
He hands me my change. “He’s working at Paudie’s.”
I remember Kieran’s hat. “The pub?”
Clive nods and winks.
“Thanks, Clive. I’m really glad I met you today.”
“Same here.” He offers me a kind look. “Just don’t tell anyone about my Jane Austen obsession. I have a reputation to protect.”
“I guess we all have something to hide.”
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Jane Austen,” Clive says, “it’s that if we told the truth all the time, there would be no stories worth telling.”
As I walk up the basement stairs, I hear him sing at the top of his lungs. Siobhan yells from the back of the store. “Seriously? The song from Titanic? Shut the hell up, Clive! You’re a disgrace to everyone with a Mohawk!” But he only gets louder.
Outside, I take the door next to the blue one. Clive may think the messy look is in, but even though it pains me to admit Siobhan is right about one aspect of myself, my hair needs help. Inside the salon, two older women notice me and simultaneously say, “You’re here for a haircut.”
The sign wasn’t lying. I better control my thoughts, or I’ll be back in Limerick before the night is through.
CHAPTER 8
Paudie’s Pub is crowded when I walk inside. People fill the wooden tables and booths, some looking at pictures on their phones, others at maps of Ireland. Some are just laughing, drinks in hand. It’s warm and instantly infectious. The walls are stone. Old pictures make it feel like someone’s living room. There’s even a lit fireplace. The best part? I can’t find a single TV.
I walk through the crowd, watching people interact, eavesdropping on their conversations, checking for lingering eyes. But no one notices me. Even Kieran, who’s busily cleaning glasses and pouring beers behind the bar, doesn’t look up when I sit down.
He seems tired today, back in his casual clothes—a green-and-blue striped Rugby shirt and jeans. His hair messy. Something shifts when I see him. A calm I haven’t felt all day comes over me. It’s as if I was drifting, and suddenly, I’m anchored. It makes sense, considering that he helped me, gave me a safe place to stay, and money. He’s my reminder that this might all work out OK. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay him.
I nonchalantly take a seat at the end of the bar, wedging myself on the only open stool between two groups of people chatting.
Kieran wipes down the bar, his eyes fixed on it, and says, “What can I get you?”
“I hear it’s popular to drink Murphy’s instead of Guinness in this part of Ireland. I’ll try a Murphy’s.”
At the sound of my voice, Kieran startles. His eyes come to attention on me, but I can’t read his expression. For a second, it’s almost like he’s surprised, then that turns into nerves—or embarrassment—but it fades quickly, and the charm comes back. “Your purple hair.”
“You remember?”
He rubs his temples. “Vaguely. Something about wanting to look like a badass so people won’t mess with you?”
“Exactly.” While I’m glad he remembers the excuse I gave, it means he probably remembers more—like what I was wearing . . . or not wearing. I put on my new sunglasses to hide my nervous appearance. “What do you think? Clive says they’re very glam-punk.”
“So you’ve met Clive.”
“I’m making it my mission to befriend your sister.”
“Von?” Kieran says. “You’ve met her, right?”
“She’s a bit prickly, but that can change.”
“A bit?” He stifles a laugh.
“I know she’s not happy I’m staying at the cottage.”
“She’ll deal with it.” Kieran wipes spilled beer from the bar. “We have an agreement. She owes me.”
“I’m sorry if I caused a problem between you two.”
Kieran fixes his gaze on me. “You’re not the one who caused it.”
“Either way, I’ll fix it. I promise. I can be charming when I need to be.”
“I’m well aware of this.” Kieran rolls his eyes. “Just don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t happen, Bun
ny.”
When he uses the nickname he made up last night, my stomach jumps. Visions of our half-naked bodies on top of each other bombard me, like little embarrassment bombs going off within me. Heat flushes down my body all the way to my toes.
“Is this where you work?” I ask, pushing the images from my head.
A customer orders a Carlsberg, and Kieran fills a pint glass with beer.
“Sometimes. When the owner needs extra help,” he says over his shoulder as the beer foams over the top of the glass. He sets the full pint on the bar and smiles at the woman, who blushes.
I clear my throat. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a twin?” I ask.
“It never came up.” Kieran flashes the same devious expression he gave me at the hospital, making me think there are a lot of things he hasn’t told me. But then again, I can’t criticize him for keeping secrets when I’m doing the same. Worse, really. He’s keeping secrets. I’m lying about who I am.
Kieran leans toward me across the bar. “In truth, Siobhan’s sensitive about her . . . situation. I thought it best not to mention it. Better for you two just to meet and get on with it.”
I almost ask for more details but then decide now isn’t the time to pry.
I set my sunglasses on the top of my head. “So where were you yesterday? Other than a bar.”
“Pub,” Kieran clarifies.
“A pub.” I roll my eyes.
A few guys get up, and Kieran collects their empty glasses, setting them in a sink with soapy water. “I’m sorry I wasn’t around, but I had to go to Dublin for the day.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I’m the one invading your life.”
He wipes his wet hands on his jeans and offers me a menu. “This place is known for the fish-and-chips. Tourists love it.”
“No Jell-O?”
Kieran leans his forearms on the bar, his expression friendly. “You’ll have to go back to Limerick for that.”
I set the menu down. “How about a Murphy’s?”
“No Murphy’s here. Only Guinness.”
“I guess I’ll take one of those.”
“Are you sure you want alcohol after what happened to you?”
“What?” I say sharply.
Kieran seems surprised. “The mugging? You hit your head.”
“Oh . . .” I ease back in my seat, my heart pounding, and say the first thing that comes to mind. “The only therapy a Clevelander needs is beer. Takes care of all your pain at half the cost.”
Kieran laughs, and I try not to act surprised at what just came out of my mouth. It was like someone else took over my brain for a second. Like Clementine came back but then disappeared in an instant.
“Cleveland . . .” Kieran says. “Sounds like a grand place.”
I look away nonchalantly. “It’s in Ohio. On Lake Erie.”
“So you said.”
I change the subject. “How about that beer?”
Kieran pours a pint and sets the dark beer with creamy foam, perfectly filled right to the top, in front of me. “Slainte.”
I pick up the pint. “Pardon?”
“It’s an Irish toast. It means ‘to good health.’”
I hold the beer up to Kieran. To good health. To staying hidden in Waterville until I get my memories back. To remembering who I was, so I can be who I am again.
“Slainte,” I say, and take a sip.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s delicious.” After a few more sips, I set the pint down on the bar. Kieran crosses his arms over his chest, the devious grin I’ve come to recognize painted on his face. “What?”
“Nothing.”
I can tell he’s lying.
“What?” I say louder.
Kieran reaches for my face, and I freeze. He undressed in front of me last night, before I straddled him on his couch, but he’s not drunk now and, back in his casual clothes, Kieran is relaxed. It’s becoming on him, handsome in an easy, natural way. He lightly cups my chin, his thumb running gently along my upper lip. My stomach tightens, and my head feels weightless.
“You have . . .” Kieran shows me the foam he wiped from my face. I hide my mouth and clean the rest of it, wholly embarrassed.
“Happens all the time.” He laughs.
He leaves me be then, going down the bar and taking people’s orders, refilling beers, collecting money and tips. His charm is captivating, the way he can smile at someone, forcing him or her to return the gesture whether they want to or not. He’s smooth, effortless at times. But at other times, I think I see something different in him. Like maybe being effortless takes a lot of effort, especially the day after being drunk.
When my beer is gone, I hold up my empty pint to get Kieran’s attention. “I’m ready for another one.”
“Careful, Bunny. Those have a bite.”
“I can handle it.”
Moments later, he sets another full pint down on the bar.
“Slainte,” I say. “See. I’m practically a local already.”
Guinness has a milky quality upfront and a slightly bitter aftertaste, like dark chocolate. It’s absurd, really, that I can pick out the intimate tastes of beer, and I don’t even know if I’ve ever had one.
“So you said you’re studying business at Trinity College, but you don’t like it,” I say to Kieran.
“I didn’t say I don’t like it. I said it was boring.”
I take a big gulp of Guinness. “Well, what would you rather study?”
“It doesn’t matter what I would rather do.”
“Of course, it matters.”
He stands in front of me, his forearms resting on the bar. “You can change the color of Jell-O, but you can’t change what it’s made of.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
Kieran smirks, like he’s confusing me on purpose.
“Come on. I’m trying to get to know you,” I say. “All I know right now is that you’re a flirt with a potential drinking problem.”
“I don’t have a drinking problem.” And then he smiles at me, obviously flirting.
I take my sunglasses off the top of my head and put them over my eyes so Kieran can’t see my reaction. “I think I need another Guinness,” I say.
He soon delivers a new pint.
“I am sorry about last night, Bunny. I promise I don’t have a drinking problem. Last night was . . . an exception.”
“So what happened?”
Kieran gets a rag and wipes at the bar, though I don’t see any mess. “Long story.”
“My drink happens to be full. I’ve got loads of time.” But Kieran doesn’t reciprocate. He eyes the dirty rag in his hand. The flirting grin is gone. “You said you were in Dublin,” I say, encouraging him.
He nods.
“Something to do with your father?” But he offers no response, so I try a different tactic. “Why is he an asshole?”
Kieran wipes the non-mess on the bar. “The list is long. I won’t bore you with it.”
“I won’t get bored, I promise.” But Kieran stays silent. It’s deafening. “And you were dressed in a suit because . . .”
When he finally looks back up at me, the serious expression on his face gives me pause. Prying has done me no good lately. Have I learned nothing dealing with Siobhan? I can’t make Kieran mad at me, too. He’s all I have.
“It was a good choice to throw out the suit,” I say. “I like you better this way.”
“This way?” The tension eases in his body.
“Casual and slightly careless.”
“Is that how you see me?” Kieran asks.
“Am I wrong?” Irritatingly, Kieran shrugs off my question. “Well, Clive says I’m glam-punk. What do you see?”
“I can’t say. I barely know you.”
Taking off my sunglasses, I reach over the bar and pull on Kieran’s shirt to hold him still. “Just try.”
My shoulders square to his, the corners of my mouth pulled into a little grin. Kieran exh
ales like he’s begrudgingly playing along.
The space between us seems to lessen. Simultaneously, the air in the pub gets hotter and tighter. The stare we share is intense, almost palpable. Time seems to slow down. The more I want to turn away, the more invested I am in staying in this uncomfortable but utterly lovely feeling.
“Well?” I say.
Kieran moves first, sending time back into regular motion. “It doesn’t matter. It’s all Jell-O, Bunny. Looks are deceiving.”
Kieran goes back to work. My head swims. I’m not allowed to be disappointed. I’m the intruder. I want to know Kieran, but when it comes to sharing anything about myself, it’s a sham. Lies are all I have to offer, and yet I expect the truth. Or worse—I want Kieran to help me know myself. Until I can tell him the truth, I don’t really deserve his secrets. And he can’t tell me who I am . . . as much as I wish he could.
I leave my empty pint and twenty euros on the bar. The crowd has grown thick, people standing in what feels like every open space. I push my way through, searching for the door. The entire room feels heavy, like I’m walking through a swimming pool. My foot catches on a chair, and I stumble forward, bracing myself on a stranger.
“The Guinness really does have a bite,” I say.
My legs are unsteady. I want to be strong, but all I find are limitations. It’s infuriating. As if trying to remember my life isn’t exhausting enough? The world is pushing me down, fighting against me, and I can’t counter it.
My right foot catches on something again—my left. As I fall to the side, the irony that I can’t seem to avoid hurting myself, let alone anyone else, comes to full light.
Kieran grabs my arm before I topple over. “I warned you, Bunny.”
“It was supposed to make me feel better.” I look up at him. “But I don’t feel better.”
“You’re stubborn.”
“Is that all you see?”
“And slightly drunk.”
“You would know best.” I try one more time, hoping Kieran will be able to see a truth about me, something I need to know, like he did before. “Anything else?”
Kieran takes his time, thinking, examining, finding what I can’t see. How badly I want him to tell me everything.
“Come on.” Kieran leads me back to the bar. “Let’s get you a bite to eat.”
The Upside of Falling Down Page 7