She thought about James, the writer from Los Angeles, too. They hadn’t spent the sort of time together that she had with Coyle, but she still liked to think about how he had made her feel. She had missed out on so much staying with Scott, she knew that now. She owed Mary a big thank you for giving her the chance to escape and reroute her life.
After a week of roaming, Jill knew she had to make some decisions. She returned to the phone store and purchased the phone she had picked out before. Then she called her son.
“Dad’s beside himself, of course,” Ryan said, laughing. “He tries to act like nothing’s wrong, but when I went over for dinner last week – Martie decided we needed to have a pow-wow to talk about you – I found him the kitchen cursing up a storm because he couldn’t find anything in there.”
“Martie called a ‘pow-wow’?” Jill asked. “What on earth did you talk about?”
Ryan cleared his throat. “Well, they, of course, both think you have lost your mind. Martie refuses to believe that you will really divorce Dad, that you’re just having some kind of mid-life crisis.”
“Well, maybe I am, but I’m still not going to stay married to that man,” Jill said angrily.
“Preaching to the choir, Mom. I’m with you,” he defended himself.
She smiled, wishing her son were there with her so she could give him a big hug. “I know, Ryan. I’m so glad one of my kids gets me.”
Reluctantly, she called Martie on her cell phone.
“Martie Owens, Sun Creative.”
“Martie, it’s Mom.”
“MOM! Where have you been?” her daughter shrieked into the phone. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Jill said calmly. Martie had always been such a drama queen.
“What on earth are you doing?” Martie now demanded, all concern having left her voice.
“What I should have done years ago, Martie.”
“I think you’ve lost your mind! I can’t believe you’d just up and le—“
“Martie!” Jill interrupted. “Listen to me for once. Your dad treats me like garbage. He insults me, belittles me, treats everything I do as a joke. I’m done with it. It’s over.”
Martie was silent. Jill rarely stood up for herself like this to her children or husband and she was sure she’d surprised her daughter.
Jill softened her voice. “Sweetie, Dad and I have nothing in common anymore. He works all the time, you and Ryan are gone – I have nothing to do. I’m bored and I’m lonely.”
“So get a job. Get a dog. Whatever, but divorcing Dad is crazy.” Martie said, her voice hard.
“Martie, do you believe what your dad says about me? That I’m stupid, forgetful, unreliable? That I couldn’t possibly take care of myself?” she asked.
“Well, not really, although it does seem like you are always forgetting things,” Martie’s voice lost its hard edge.
“Don’t you forget things, ever?”
“Sure. Yes, I guess I do.” Martie sighed. “Oh, I know Dad is totally unfair to you and I suppose I haven’t really given you much credit either. But Mom – what’s Dad going to do without you?”
“Honey, everything that I’ve done for your dad the past few years can be hired out. Seriously, he’ll do fine.”
Martie was silent for a few seconds, then asked, “What about you? What are you going to do? You can’t stay in Ireland forever.”
“My return ticket is good for six months. I need that time to think.”
“Six months!” Martie said, surprised. “Well, okay.”
Jill gave Martie her new cell phone number, making her promise not to give it to Scott. She told her daughter that she loved her and hung up.
Jill knew had to figure out how she was going to live day to day. Finding a job, she supposed, had to be first on her list. Scott was right about one thing. She hadn’t worked for twenty or more years and her set of skills were pitiful.
What could she do? She had worked in marketing years before, but that was a long time ago. In the meantime, she’d made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, thrown dinner parties, and hired caterers. Food service seemed like a distinct possibility.
Bridy came to her rescue, referring her to a cousin who owned a small pub on a side street in Killarney.
“Pat’s always needing waitresses. He tends to hire young ones and they never stay on long,” she said, as she wrote down directions to the pub. She handed the slip of paper to Jill. “Good luck!”
Getting anywhere in Ireland, Jill had discovered, was interesting, due to their odd and vague addressing system. But Bridy’s instructions were clear and Jill found Buchanan’s pub set between a tobacco store and a little place selling touristy Irish t-shirts.
Pushing through the dark wood and glass door, she stopped just inside to let her eyes adjust to the dim lighting. It was a small place, not very wide, stretching back a bit. There weren’t a lot of people at the tables, being mid afternoon, but several men sat at the bar, glasses of Guinness in front of most of them.
She sidled up to the bar and stepped into an open spot, leaning in towards the bartender, who had started over to her as soon as he saw her.
“I’m looking for Pat Buchanan,” Jill said to the bartender.
The bartender smiled broadly and tapping himself on the chest, said, “Well, you found him, missy. What can I do for you?”
“Bridy sent me over to –“
Pat held up a meaty hand and stopped her before she could even finish the sentence. “Ah, yes, you must be Jill, then.” He nodded to a small table at the end of the bar. “Come on down here and let’s have a little talk.”
He threw down his worn dishtowel onto the bar and hollered through the door behind the bar for someone to come out and tend to the customers for a while.
They sat down at the small wooden table. A young woman came out of the door behind the bar with a scowl on her face, which immediately disappeared when she saw Pat and Jill.
“Is this Jill?” she asked, smiling at Jill.
Jill nodded, wondering what Bridy had done. Had she sent out a press release?
“Bridy told us all about you,” the woman said, sitting down next to Pat. She reached out her hand to Jill. “I’m Shannon, Pat’s daughter.”
Jill took her hand and smiled at the petite young woman, who looked like her father, dark eyes and eyebrows and rosy cheeks. Shannon had very wavy dark brown hair, though her dad’s hair was a silvery gray. Jill was amazed at how many Irish men, the older ones anyway, had grey hair and black as night eyebrows.
“Bridy says you to be staying in Killarney for a while, is that right?” Pat asked her.
“Yes, I’ve decided not to go back –” Jill was going to say ‘go back home,’ but it felt strange, almost wrong to say. She left the sentence dangling in the air, but Pat and Shannon didn’t seem to notice.
“Have you ever worked in a pub or a restaurant?” Pat asked, raising his bushy black eyebrows.
“I did work as a waitress back in college, but that was a long time ago.” She smiled vaguely, feeling a little pathetic. Was her life such a wasted time that she didn’t even have the skills to be a waitress in a tiny place like this?
“What else have you done since then?” Pat asked, seeming not to be worried about her answer.
“Well, I worked in marketing for a while, but in the past fifteen years or so, I’ve not worked. I’ve stayed home, raising my kids and taking care of my…” Again she let the sentence fade away. Pat and Shannon didn’t say anything, just looked at her expectantly. “I did throw lots of dinner parties, catered dinners for as many as fifty people sometimes.”
Pat nodded his head and Shannon smiled. Jill began to relax. They weren’t expecting her to have years of experience in a fancy five-star restaurant, she could see that now.
“I know I don’t have a lot of recent experience in a restaurant or bar, but I’ve spent years waiting on my family. I can cook and I can wash dishes and with some instruction,
I’m sure I can even draw a pint of Guinness.” She leaned forward, looking at them earnestly.
“We’ll have to get a work permit for you, but seeing as how you’re from the United States and you have somewhere to live, I don’t think it will be a problem,” Shannon said.
Pat looked at Jill for a moment, seemingly searching her face, like he could just look at her and tell if she was going to work out. Shannon stared at her father while he looked at Jill.
Finally, Pat slapped his big palm on the table, the smacking sound making both the women jump.
“Well, then, when can you start?” he asked, grinning lopsidedly.
“Now?” Jill said, only half joking.
“Shannon, get this young lady an apron and show her around.” Pat stood up, and loudly called for the attention everyone in the pub. Then he motioned for Jill to stand up. “Everyone, this is Jill. She’ll be helping out here at the pub for a while. Be nice to her.”
Jill heard several people call out welcomes to her and all of the men sitting at the bar raised their pints of Guinness in salute.
“Come on, Jill, we’ll get you an apron and get you started.” Shannon said, leading Jill behind the bar.
Jill’s feet were aching, but she felt so good. It was nice to put in an honest day’s work. She hadn’t done that in years and it felt like a major accomplishment. She rode the little bike back to Bridy’s. Even though it was late, Bridy was sitting at the old wooden kitchen table with Coyle, laughing at some story he was weaving for her.
“So, how did it go, then?” Coyle asked, not getting up, but pulling out the chair next to him for her to sit in.
“I’m exhausted!” she said, as she flopped down in the chair. “But, it was fun. Pat is great. So is his daughter.”
“Good, because we can’t keep a freeloader around for long,” Coyle said, not looking at her as he raised a cup of what looked to be tea to his smirking mouth.
Jill swiped at him with her hand, but was so tired she barely brushed his arm.
“Oh, leave the girl alone,” Bridy chastised him. “Did you meet Collin Quinn down there?” she asked, turning her attention back to Jill. “He’s a very large man, with a lot of fiery red hair.”
“Yes, I did, quite a funny man. I met a lot of people, and I’m sure I won’t remember all their names.” Jill grinned. “I honestly haven’t had that much fun in a very long time. Much more entertaining than the stuffy dinners I used to host for my husband’s law firm partners.”
At the mention of Jill’s husband, an awkward silence fell over them. Jill wasn’t sure what she could do or say now that wouldn’t come across oddly, but finally she said, “I’m beat. I’m going to head up to bed. Bridy,” she said as she stood and leaned over to kiss the woman on the cheek, “Thanks for sending me over there. You seem to always know the right thing to do.”
Coyle snorted. “Stick around, you haven’t seen her get mad.”
Jill let her hand trail over his shoulder as she left the kitchen.
“Oh, I plan on sticking around,” she said, then disappeared through the doorway.
The next few weeks flew by. Jill worked six days a week, stashing away her earnings. She loved being at the pub. When business was slow, she washed glasses and chatted with the regulars as they spent hours nursing their pints. The old men loved her attention and through them she learned much about Ireland, Irish lore and Irish men.
When the pub was busy, full of not only the crusty old regulars, but also with tourists, college students, families in for dinner, and the variety of musicians that floated in and out, she flew around from table to table, pulling and delivering pints, while taking orders, all the while talking and laughing with the customers and other waitresses.
Coyle came into the pub frequently. In fact, since Jill had started working there, Coyle had become a regular of Buchanan’s Pub. He sat at the end of the bar, watching Jill charm the old men. He kept an emotional distance, still smiling and chatting and laughing with Jill and the other regulars. Mostly he came in before the place got busy. When musicians were there, he came because Jill would sing to herself while she was working. She sang quietly and he could only catch bits and pieces as she moved about the pub. But when he did get lucky enough to hear her, his heart lifted. The woman had a voice of gold.
Jill sang unconsciously, not realizing that the customers had been listening all along.
One afternoon after Jill had been working at the pub for a little over a month, Coyle came in and sat at his spot at the end of the bar. It was a Saturday, and the musicians had been playing all day, different ones coming and others leaving, but always having enough to play. Jill was behind the bar, wiping up, when the musicians began playing “Gypsy Rover.” She stopped and looked up at the musicians and then over to Coyle. He must have remembered how much she loved this song.
“Go ahead,” Coyle said to her.
“What? Go ahead with what?”
“Go ahead and sing the song.”
Jill gave a short little laugh. “I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head.
“You know you are going to be singing it to yourself. Do us all a favor and sing it loud it enough for all of us at the bar to hear,” Coyle said, gesturing to the old men seated next to him.
“Yes, missy, give us a song,” an old nearly toothless man next to Coyle said.
Jill looked at all the old men as they looked expectantly back at her.
“Come on, then,” Shannon said behind her. “Give the old guys a thrill!”
Jill looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, alright.”
Coyle whistled over to the musicians, who by this time were well into the song. “Can you lads start over with the song, please? This young lady is going to sing for us.”
The musicians, always glad to have more join their music making, agreed and started the song over.
Jill went on wiping the bar and when the music started, she sang with her sweet, clear voice.
A gypsy rover came over the hill
Down through the valley so shady
He whistled and he sang ‘til the green woods rang
And he won the heart of a lady…
Jill looked at Coyle when she sang the last line of that part, smiling a shy smile, then launched into the chorus, singing to the old men at the bar. She started quietly, but by the end of the song, she was using her full voice as she wiped up spilled beer and filled pint glasses. The song ended and the now half-full bar erupted in applause. Jill blushed and went back to wiping the bar.
“Another!” someone yelled from one of the tables.
Jill, who was now down at the end of the bar where Coyle sat, shook her head.
Coyle placed his hand over hers, stopping it as she wiped and quietly said, “Oh, come on, Jill. You love to sing, we love to hear you, what’s the harm?” He gave her the sweetest of smiles as he caressed her hand.
Jill looked into those big brown eyes of the man she was falling in love with. He was encouraging her to do what she loved to do, even through it was frivolous and not important. Scott would have never wanted her to sing in public, let alone urge her to do it.
“Okay,” she said and hollered the name of another song over to the musicians. They launched into the song, while Coyle and Jill grinned at each other. Then Jill sang.
Chapter 19
One and then two months quickly passed as Jill worked at Buchannan’s Pub and lived at Bridy’s. She kept talking about finding somewhere else to stay, somewhere she could rent for a few months until it was time to go home, but Bridy kept talking her out of it. So instead of using her days off looking for lodging, she spent it exploring Killarney.
Killarney wasn’t a big city by any means, so it was easy for her to get around and soon she knew her way around like a native. She started recognizing people that came into the pub, seeing them in the food market, coming out of the old monastery after services. At first she gave those she recognized a small wave, but after a while and because they oft
en greeted her with a “hallo, Jill,” she began calling out their names in greeting as she saw them.
While she saw a lot of Coyle in the pub, he was mysteriously absent from his mother’s house when Jill was there. Jill worried that he’d had enough of her – maybe she’d overstayed, maybe she shouldn’t have stayed at all. But then she reminded herself of why she did stay and it wasn’t because of Coyle. It was because of Scott. Coyle being there just made the decision a little sweeter.
Life at Bridy’s was good. She learned to cook traditional Irish food and even picked up a few Irish colloquialisms. The two women spent hours talking and laughing and for Jill, it was almost like the old days when she and Mary had roomed together in college.
There were those odd phone calls, though. Jill caught Bridy telling the caller that “no, he’s not here, he doesn’t live here” and “just leave him alone.” Bridy lightly brushed off Jill’s questions about the phone calls, but Jill couldn’t forget them. Once, after about a month in Ireland, the phone rang while Bridy was out and Jill answered it.
“Is Coyle there?” a high, breathy voice asked.
“No, he isn’t,” Jill answered. “I could give him a message.”
“Yeah, I bet you could,” the woman said, her voice slurring slightly.
“Excuse me?” Jill asked. Who was this woman?
“Oh, fine, just tell him Sharon called. Again.” The phone went dead.
Jill held out the phone, gazing at it. What in the world...?
The front door banged open and Bridy bustled in with an armful of grocery bags. She saw Jill holding the phone.
“Bad news?” Bridy asked.
The Replacement Bridesmaid Page 14