The Wild Mountain Thyme

by Kathryn Scarborough

  Jim left the attic room, making sure that the door locked behind him, and went in search of Megan. As he walked slowly down the stairs, his mind raced with thoughts about her and their relationship, as new and meager as it was. If Seamus hadn’t been “Mr. Into-your-Face-and-Fix-it,” his life would be a lot easier to take right now.

  Since he’d come to Ireland, he’d felt his usual, take me or leave me demeanor slipping. He cared now, cared about what Megan thought about him anyway.

  He turned the corner and saw her sitting on the top stair of the third floor. He stopped. Her back was rigid and straight, but her shoulders trembled slightly. Jim took a big breath, trying to calm the turbulent thoughts in his head.

  He sat down next to her on the stair and she gave him a sullen look for a moment before she turned again to stare at the wall.

  “Hi.”

  She said nothing.

  “I’m sorry if I got you rattled. I was excited about what was going on in my mind. That’s something that doesn’t happen to me, you know. I’m usually a really cool and controlled guy.” He hoped his smile took the sting out of his crazy behavior, if she would look at him and see his smile.

  Megan laughed ruefully. “You mean when you aren’t conversing with leprechauns.”

  “Right, when I’m not conversing with leprechauns. Why don’t you go get dressed and I’ll take you to the bar for a nightcap?”

  Megan took a deep breath as though trying to resolve something in her own mind.

  “All right, be right down.”

  “Good, I’ll wait for you right here.”

  She got up and walked with purpose up the stairs and the room door closed with a thud.

  “Ya know, boy-o, I popped down to St. Ignatius and lo and behold if Father Smith wasn’t there listening to confessions. Now, why don’t you and the lovely Miss Kennedy go there and talk to the man and post the banns? What do ya say?” asked the little leprechaun as he made a friendly jab in Jim’s arm. Seamus produced a tiny Irish harp and began to sing.

  “The time has come to part, my love,

  I must go away.

  I leave you now, my darling girl,

  No longer can I stay.

  My heart like yours is…”

  Jim turned on his best intimidating stare. “Beat it.” His voice growled and bounced off the walls of the stairwell and off Seamus as well. The leprechaun puffed out his chest and brought his chin up high.

  “Beat it, smart-ass. I’ve had it. You’re supposedly my guardian angel, but all you’ve done is make my life very complicated. And when the big stuff comes along like helping me find out if someone’s about to pounce on Megan, you take off with the it’s not my department bullshit. Well, I’ve had enough. It’s not my department. So beat it boy-o, and don’t come back.” Jim took his thumb and forefinger and flicked the leprechaun off his puff of invisible air. The little green clad figure tumbled head over tail and then disappeared.

  Jim laughed quietly as he watched the leprechaun’s quick descent. He wished he could share that scene with someone—with Megan—but of course, Megan already thought he was crazy.

  “Just what are you laughing about?” Megan had returned to catch him in the act of chuckling to the thin air.

  “Oh, nothing. Are you ready for that drink?” he asked, eyeing Megan’s tight jeans and midi sweater appreciatively. He should be thinking about or doing something else, he told himself.

  “You’re not too tired, are you?” he asked as they started down the stairs.

  “Well, I think I’ll survive one whisky.” She laughed quietly and her laughter poured down his spine like fingers stroking his bare skin.

  Jim turned his head and willed himself to get his libido under control. Things would get out of hand unless he had the fortitude to master his emotions. He could do it. He’d been the strong silent type his whole life and now wasn’t the time to change personalities.

  Idly, he put his hand at her waist and led her into the bar. He stopped her for a moment and looked around. A new man was reading some really old-sounding poetry, Beowulf or a poem maybe of the medieval era, at the end of the bar. Only a few customers remained, giving the area a quiet, lonely aura. Jim left Megan at a table and after ordering the drinks, he took a moment to look around.

  Whoever the man had been, he’d disappeared. Jim nonchalantly went to the side door and peered out for a moment at the dark, ominous rain. He wished he could shake this feeling of dread, but he could smell the danger lurking under the veneer of quietly clinking glasses, soft conversations, and subtle wisps of tobacco smoke floating on the air.

  The last victim hadn’t been killed in this bar, but the murder was committed within a few city blocks of here.

  Jim saw a flicker of light across the dark, rain-drenched street. He leaned against the glass trying hard to catch a glimpse of whatever it was.

  “Mr. O’Flannery, your drinks are ready.”

  “Thanks,” said Jim as he took the two glasses and walked to the table where Megan waited for him.

  “What were you looking for?”

  Startled at the sound of Megan’s voice, Jim looked up. He’d been so far into his own thoughts that he’d almost forgotten her. Almost.

  “Just looking for that guy I told you about earlier.” Jim took a sip of his drink and then leaned back in the booth to gaze at her. “Look, I’m sorry I got so weird upstairs. I usually don’t get the willies like that unless it’s founded. Don’t look at me like that, Kennedy. It’s true. I can get these premonitions of doom sometimes.” He sat forward and took her hand in his. He took a deep breath, deciding after a short internal battle that he should come clean. Maybe then she’d think he wasn’t too crazy, just slightly nuts.

  “I knew something terrible was going to happen the day before my father died. I was eleven years old, and it paralyzed me so that I couldn’t leave my bedroom the whole day. My mother had our neighbor, who was a nurse, come in and take a look at me. I couldn’t explain to her what was happening any more than I can explain it to you now. I know that it’s only happened a few times to me and it happened again a little while ago. That’s why I acted like such an idiot.”

  “How did he die?” Megan squeezed Jim’s hand.

  He took a quick drink from his glass and released Megan’s hand to scrub his fingers across his jaw. “He died of a heart attack in the subway. He fell down and no one even noticed him for a while. He died, away from home, among strangers, and before anyone that knew him, could get to him. It was really hard to take. The police came to the house and told my mother. I was up in my bedroom, and I heard strange voices. That and the ‘feelings’ or whatever they were scared me so much that I hid in my closet. My grandmother came up and found me. She stood there and gave me the strangest look like I could have prevented it or something.”

  Megan was quick to comfort him. “Oh, I don’t think so. Remember, you were eleven. She was sure to be overcome with grief. I’m sure you imagined it, because you remembered how you felt the day before.”

  “Maybe.”

  Jim took another sip of his drink and settled his large frame back into the booth.

  Megan noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the skin around his mouth pulled tightly down. “Jim, let’s get some sleep. Try not to think of it anymore tonight. It’ll all seem brighter in the morning.”

  “Sure.”

  Jim threw back the last of the scotch and then helped Megan from the booth. They held hands as they wound their way up the stairs to the attic room. He seemed to draw comfort from holding her hand and Megan was glad of it. The poor man had appeared to cave in when he talked about his father dying. It couldn’t be easy for a boy to lose his father, especially when he felt it all too vividly before it happened. That must have scared him into the next century.

  “How old are you, Jim?”

  “Thirty-two. Why?”

  “Just wondered,” Megan answered.

  “You mean how many years it had been since my
dad died?”

  “Yes, I guess so.”

  “Twenty-one years, an entire lifetime. And then, sometimes it feels like it was yesterday. I still wonder sometimes if there wasn’t anything that I could have done.”

  “You mean as an eleven-year-old boy? Come on, you know better than that one.”

  “Intellectually yes, but…”

  “No buts.”

  “Right.”

  They’d reached the landing to the attic door and Jim stopped in front of Megan and held both her hands. He looked at her until she felt her toes curl inside her shoes. Those clear blue eyes pierced right to her heart.

  Jim cupped the back of her head with his hand and drew her to him.

  The kiss was slow and arousing. Then it became demanding. His tongue touched hers and every thought fled from her mind as sensations continued to cascade through her. Her hands pushed under his sweater to feel his broad, taut back. Jim pushed her gently against the wall next to the door, his body so close that she could feel all of him press against her. She clutched at him, pulling him closer. The feelings coursing through her were so new, the territory so uncharted, that they completely overwhelmed her. She broke the kiss. She looked into eyes gone all smoky blue, and the sight of it turned her tummy to jelly.

  “Yes.” She looked up at him with a burning behind her eyes. “I know. Maybe…no, you’re right.”

  Megan turned toward the door, her hand shaking so hard that the key refused to turn in the lock. Jim leaned around her, his big body still pressing against hers. His hand held hers as he turned the key in the lock. She turned then, into him and wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers.

  He held her, urging her into the room. He lay on the closest bed, and pulled her down to him. He stroked her back, his hands wandering under her sweater.

  She pulled her face away, holding his head in her hands. “Oh, Jim, I want—”

  He sat up and pushed away from her. He took a breath and then turned to her. “Megan, if I make love to you I won’t be able to leave. I’ll—”

  “No, Jim tonight…just tonight.”

  She kissed him again, trying to show him with her kiss all that she felt for him, but would never tell him.

  He moved both hands down to her bottom and pulled her against him. She arched into him, pulling him closer.

  The kiss seemed to go on and on, the heat building until it crowded out every other thought in her mind.

  Again, Jim broke the spell. He turned slightly and pushing himself up, he braced his forehead against hers. He gave her a quick kiss, then, slowly, he sat up and braced his elbows on his knees, holding his face in his hands.

  Megan rubbed his back, staring sullenly at him.

  “Jim…” she began.

  “Don’t you see?” he asked as he looked at her over his shoulder, his face wreathed in abject misery. “I’ll never be able to leave here without you. I’m already half gone now. Megan, I like my life the way it is, and I can’t be pining for you across an entire ocean. And I know me. I’m as big an emotional lush as anyone from the Emerald Isle. I will miss you, but I’m not going to allow myself to. I want this as much as you, maybe a lot more. But I can’t do it.”

  Jim got up, grabbed his shaving kit and robe, and stormed out the door.

  The sound of the slamming door reverberated slowly and faded away. Megan stared at the closed door, willing the doorknob to turn and for Jim to reappear.

  After several long moments, she dragged herself from the bed, all the energy gone from her body. She pulled off her jeans and sweater, each movement mechanical and wooden. She pulled the nightgown over her head, and pulled back the covers of the little bed that had so recently held the warmth of both their bodies. She curled herself into a ball under the covers and wept quietly into her pillow.

  ****

  Long after Megan slept, Jim returned to the little room. They both slept fitfully. Seamus tiptoed into the room and threw a handful of dust over Megan and Jim.

  Now, they slept soundlessly, dreamlessly. Their tired bodies began to mend and to strengthen. Seamus took another handful of dust from his pocket and threw it over them. As had happened the night before, their subconscious awakened and rose from their bodies to watch. Seamus turned on the projector and the same movie played again.

  Jim, in her dream, was a tottering old man, who still kissed her tenderly.

  Jim watched Megan cook for him and their two sons. He watched as he kissed her and saw her laughing green eyes smile into his. His subconscious looked carefully this time, trying to decide whether they were in Boston or Ireland.

  Megan remembered working at adjoining desks with two stuffed leprechaun dolls sitting on twin computer monitors in the dream. The memory felt so familiar and comforting.

  She too looked to see whether she could recognize where they were. Had they stayed in Ireland? That thought nagged at her subconscious until she almost missed the pleasure of the rest of the dream.

  During Jim’s dream, he watched Megan fragile and gray-haired, but still very erect and stately, holding his hand as they walked together. He didn’t know where they were, and suddenly, he didn’t care. He knew from that instant that he’d be with her for all time. In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter where they were, as long as they were together.

  The movie ended and Seamus turned off the projector before cheeky credits ran at the end. He tiptoed from the room after he was sure that their subconscious minds were again sleeping dreamlessly.

  “We’ll see about this tiny locale problem, yes, we shall.”

  Chapter 19

  He ran out into the rain. The cold wet chilled him down inside his bones. He stopped and flattened himself against a large lamppost. There he could still see, but not be seen.

  The damn Yank had caught a glimpse of him at the bar and then pursued him. How could he have been such a daft prick? Of course, he had no way of knowing the man would come into the bar after the theater. Since Megan hadn’t been there, he’d gotten away with appearing mysterious to the dense American.

  They were all so stupid. Americans, it was their fault, their doing, all of it was because of them.

  The memories he avoided, that he wanted to forget, crashed about him; memories so abhorrent, so devastating that they paralyzed him. Sometimes with fear, sometimes with a rage so white hot that he shook and could not stop shaking. And still the memories came. They poured through his mind hard and fast. He was powerless against them.

  Hadn’t his father left his mother for an American? He raged at him, always. But the belittling words, the emotional assaults on his self-confidence—they were much worse after he’d married that American whore. His mother had always tried to protect him by encouraging him to hide. Sometimes it worked and sometimes, because his father had taken his precious time to seek him out, the beatings would be worse still. It was hardly Richard’s fault that after only a few months the American bitch had left his father. After she left, the beatings from his father had shown no mercy. His father’s uncontrollable anger was aimed at Richard, always at Richard.

  The beatings and psychological abuse were nothing compared to Richard’s knowledge that his father simply did not love him and could not stand the sight of him.

  The thrashings had been ferocious, debilitating, savage, but never savage enough to show bruises, sprains, or broken bones. His father had stopped just short of that. The family abuse was their dirty little secret, kept close to home. He put his hands over his ears, and pushed hard, to block the sound of his father’s voice. But it was always there. Always.

  “You’re no good. You’ll never amount to anything, and I shall withdraw my support of you. You’re no better than that slut of a mother.” The voice would go on and on; asleep, awake; in every moment, he heard the voice.

  Not long after the American witch had left his father, his own mother had died of a broken heart. Richard was powerless to do anything to help her.

  He’d b
een forced to live with his father then, a terrible existence until he broke away at nineteen. But now, his father would see soon enough what an important person he was and he’d be sorry for all the beatings and the name calling.

  He’d be sorry that he hadn’t treated Richard better when he’d lived at home.

  Soon Megan would come round as well. Yes, she’d be there waiting for him when he got out, and they’d have a wonderful life together. Maybe they’d move to the Jarro with all the stall vendors and mix in with the working class.

  They’d be welcomed with open arms. And the folk there were all Irish. No bloody Yanks there.

  A smile spread across his face as he looked at Megan’s attic window once again. Then he turned and walked back to his own small room he’d rented over the little Italian restaurant on the next street.

  Chapter 20

  Megan twisted in the car seat, trying to find some comfort in the hard cushion. She and Jim had rushed around all morning, filed their initial stories, packed, and ate. Jim had said little to her. She’d kept to herself as well, thinking not to disturb his solitude and perhaps help herself into being more aloof.

  He’d climbed behind the wheel of the car in that commanding way he had, nodded to her once, and started driving. He’d cleared the city in a very short time, still silent but his attitude somehow reproachful.

  Megan agreed last night had been too much for both of them and they needed time and distance from one another after the stories were filed. He was absolutely right about their not becoming physically involved. It could only lead to an emotional involvement, and who had the time and energy for that?

  She’d heard him mumbling something to himself and could almost imagine that he was speaking to the leprechaun after she’d heard the words priest and banns. Perhaps, Jim was attempting to keep himself from getting attached to her, so attached that he’d think about proposing marriage. Ah, bollocks, poor fellow. Megan’s ruminations on Jim’s feelings came to an abrupt halt. She sucked in her breath and shook her head. Why should she feel sorry for the big lug? Poor fellow my behind! She suspected that her animosity had everything to do with keeping her too-fresh emotions about that certain gentleman at bay.