The Replacement Bridesmaid

by Laurie Ralston

  “Uh, no. A message for Coyle. Someone named Sharon called for him.”

  Bridy blanched, then quickly recovered.

  “Oh, I’m going to call him a little later. I’ll tell him.”

  Jill watched Bridy as she worked around the kitchen. Something weird was going on. But she was just a visitor, not really part of the family. She should just stay out of it.

  One morning of a day she had off from work, Coyle called and asked her for a date. Like they had just met a day or so before and he didn’t know her at all.

  “A date?” she asked.

  “Yes, a date. A proper date.”

  “Alright. What kind of date?” she asked.

  “An I-show-up-at-the-doorstep-with-a-bouquet-of-flowers date.”

  “Oh.” She wasn’t sure what he was up to, but she decided to play along. “Right.”

  “Seven, then. I’ll come to the house and get you. Dress up.” He abruptly hung up. There he was again, being strangely sweet and brusque all at once. She’d wanted to ask him what he meant by “dress up,” but was apparently on her own.

  Jill sat down on the edge of the bed, wondering what she was going to do. The new shirts and pants in the dresser were decidedly not dressy. Neither were the clothes she’d worn to the airport. Those were all the clothes she had. Perhaps she could borrow something from Bridy? Then she remembered the dress. She jumped up and ran to the closet, reaching back into the corner of the closet. Sure enough, that’s where Bridy had put it. Jill’s hand clutched the lavender bridesmaid dress.

  Thank goodness Teagan had chosen nice dresses for her bridesmaid, classy and timeless rather than pouffy and obnoxious. Jill tried the dress on. It fit even better than it had for the wedding and Jill realized that all the biking around town had resulted in her losing the last few pounds she’d wanted to lose without even realizing it. Twirling around, she smiled at herself. This would do.

  Coyle arrived at the appointed time, dressed well in dark dress pants and a black expensive-looking turtleneck shirt. It gave him a very European look, something that would have played well on the cover of GQ, Jill thought. He came in the house for a few minutes, with the promised bouquet in hand, which he gave to his mother instead of Jill. Jill smiled at that. Nice.

  “So, where are we going?” she asked, once they were driving away.

  “It’s a surprise,” he said.

  “Everything is a surprise here, I don’t know anything.” Jill laughed as she looked out the window.

  Coyle drove a distance, pulling up to what looked like an old farmhouse. It was lit up inside, warm yellow light flooding out form the windows.

  As she stepped out of the car and stood next to him, she asked, “What is this place?”

  “It’s a very special restaurant. Very Irish. You’ll like it.”

  She did. They served savory slices of juicy beef roast, roasted potatoes, warm cheese bread, accompanied by cold beer, of course. Coyle had offered to get them a bottle of wine, but Jill was becoming more of a fan of good Irish ale. Not Guinness, mind you; it was just too strong for her tastes. But she did so enjoy a pint of Smithwick’s, a wonderful red ale.

  They chatted over dinner, mostly talking about their childhoods, sharing stories of battle scars from bike wrecks and falls, and for Coyle, heated hurling matches. Coyle told her about his students, how he loved that moment when he saw a student who had been struggling finally ‘get it’ – the proverbial light bulb switching on in the kid’s eyes. She talked about her children, about them growing up and their careers as adults. Jill felt like she was talking with an old friend, someone that she had known in that childhood of hers. She could see him in her mind. Coyle at five learning to ride his bike. Coyle at nine running with a pack of other boys through town, buying sodas in glass bottles at one of the small markets on the corner. Coyle as a teenager, nervously swiping his hair out of his eyes. She wished she had known him them, wished that she’d known him his whole life, her whole life.

  After dinner, he drove them back into town. Jill assumed the date was over and that Coyle was taking her back to Bridy’s, but he pulled into a parking lot in the middle of town.

  “Come on, we still have the surprise,” he said, grabbing her by the hand and dragging her towards the pub-lined street.

  They walked along, hand-in-hand until Coyle abruptly stopped in front of one of the pubs. It was larger than most of the pubs and printed on the large plate window in large ornate gold lettering was “The Wheel.”

  “This is it,” he said, pulling her inside.

  It wasn’t just any ordinary pub. It had a small stage and a large dance floor, with lots of tables spread all around. Instead of a ragtag, mismatched group of session musicians, there was a band playing on the stage: three men and a woman. The men were all playing instruments; guitar, drums, and keyboards. The woman and one of the men were singing together. Jill stopped and just watched for a few minutes. She’d always loved live music and even though she’d been listening and singing with the live sessions in Buchanan’s, this was different. This band was very good. Polished. Contemporary and traditional at the same time.

  Coyle led her to a table near the stage. There was a small sign on the table that said “Reserved.”

  “This table is reserved,” Jill pointed out.

  “Yeah, for us,” Coyle replied, pulling out a chair for her. As she sat down, she saw one of the musicians give Coyle a big grin and a wave. Coyle put up his hand in greeting.

  “You know them?” Jill asked, incredulous.

  “Sure. I went to school with Tim and Kevin,” pointing at the keyboard player and the drummer. Then he pointed first at the guitar player, then at the woman. “Dooley is Tim’s older brother and Collie is Kevin’s baby sister.”

  Jill nodded. They seemed awfully good to just be a local pub band.

  When the song was done, the guitar player announced the band was taking a break. Modern pop began playing out of the band’s speakers and the four of them stepped off the stage and made their way to Coyle and Jill’s table.

  “Coyle, how are you?” the drummer bellowed at Coyle, engulfing him in a hug as Coyle stood. They laughed and slapped each other on the backs. Then the drummer turned to Jill. “I’m Kevin Boyd, old mate of Coyle’s. And you must be Jill.” He held out a hand for her to shake.

  “Yes, hello,” she said, beaming at him. Clearly, they had spoken about her. She blushed lightly at the thought.

  Kevin turned one of the other men, a tall, wiry man who stepped up to give Coyle a hearty handshake. “This is Tim. We all went to school together.”

  Tim took her hand to shake it, while the guitar player standing next to him grinned at her. “Nice to meet you, Jill. This is my brother, Doo—“

  “Dooley,” the guitar player said, punching Jill lightly on the shoulder. “I’m the troublemaker.”

  Jill laughed at him. She immediate liked Dooley. His tall lankiness and Mr. Bubbles t-shirt reminded her a bit of Ryan.

  The woman stepped into view, taking Jill’s attention away from Dooley. Tall, fit, short black hair, the woman was striking up close. She held out her hand to Jill.

  “Hi, Jill. I’m Colleen.” She nodded up to Kevin. “I’m Kevin’s much-younger sister.”

  Kevin jabbed her in the shoulder, but said nothing.

  “Nice to meet you, Colleen,” Jill said, shaking the other woman’s hand and smiling.

  “Oh, everyone calls me Collie. You should, too.”

  Coyle signaled to the waitress to bring a round of pints for the group as they gathered around at the table.

  Coyle and the band members spent a few minutes catching up, talking about Teagan’s wedding and the band’s latest performances. Jill just listened in, trying to soak in everything they were saying. They were all speaking so quickly that it was difficult for her to keep up and understand. At one point, she was pretty sure they were talking about the band, called “Rogue Irish,” playing at a place called “Croak Park.” She assume
d it must be something like an outdoor venue at a park, small stage, an amphitheater or something like that.

  “Sure, so we’re out there, and suddenly Collie gets this funny look on her face. She gets done with the song and then runs off the bloody stage! So me and the blokes are standing there, with what – 60,000 people looking up at us, wondering what the hell is happening!” Tim shakes his head. “Turns out she headed out to the bloody bog!”

  The group erupted into laughter, even Collie. Jill smiled, trying to sort out what she’d just heard. It wasn’t only that she didn’t know what a “bog” was, she was actually stuck on the “60,000 people looking at us” comment.

  Coyle, seeing the look on her face, leaned over. “A bog is a bathroom,” he said in her ear. When her expression didn’t change, he leaned back away from her. “What?”

  “60,000 people?” she asked simply.

  “Oh, sure,” Collie jumped in. “We do a lot of bigger places these days.” She smiled broadly. “Mostly not little dives like this,” she added and they all laughed again.

  Coyle grinned. “These blokes, and Collie, yeah – they’re pretty big in the UK right now. Haven’t made it over to the states yet, but they will.”

  Jill sat back. She was floored. “Really?”

  Another outburst of laughter from the group.

  “Yeah, sure,” said Tim. “We’re the next best thing to U2!”

  A man over near the stage caught Kevin’s eye, pointing to his watch.

  “Ah, shite, it’s time, lads, lets go.” He grinned at Coyle and Jill. “Back to the big time for us!”

  The four of them reassembled on the stage and quickly launched into another song.

  Jill leaned towards Coyle. “How big are they? I mean, how well are they doing?”

  “Last album went gold in the UK just about a month ago.”

  “Wow,” she said, sitting back in her chair. How unbelievable would that be, she thought to herself.

  At the end of the song, Dooley stepped up to the microphone. Jill expected the band to launch into another song, but instead, he started speaking.

  “Yeah, we have a grand surprise for you tonight,” he said. “There’s a lovely girl here tonight who is going to join us for a song or two.” Dooley looked over at Jill, holding out his hand to her.

  “What?” she cried, looking at Coyle, who sat there nodding his head and smiling. “No, no, no –”

  “Sure, come on then, let’s give Miss Jill Owens a hand.” Tim and the rest of the band started clapping, Collie waving for Jill to join them on the stage.

  Jill looked desperately at Coyle. “I can’t, Coyle!” she said. She gazed around at all the friendly faces that were clapping and cheering for her.

  “Sure you can, you do it every day at the pub.” He gently pulled her to her feet, turned her towards the stage and gave her a little shove. “Go on, then. You can do it.”

  Jill stood there, glancing down at the bridesmaid’s dress she wore, then looking up the band. This is ridiculous! She turned her head back to look at Coyle. He nodded in encouragement, his brown eyes twinkling. She looked around at the cheering pub patrons. He’s right; I do this every day at the pub. I’ve been working towards this for a long time. What have I got to lose?

  She gave a tiny little nod, then walked to the stage, allowing Dooley to take her hand as she came up the stairs. The crowd cheered even louder for a moment, then settled down.

  The band gathered around the drum set with Jill.

  “Coyle tells us you know just about every Beatles song ever done. How about we do two or three of those?” Dooley asked.

  Jill agreed. They quickly picked three songs and then Dooley turned Jill to the microphone. Collie stood about two feet away on another microphone. She gave Jill a big smile.

  Jill glanced over at Coyle, still sitting at the table. He grinned at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling in delight. Then she looked around at the expectant faces focused on her. Her heart beat furiously and she felt a little faint. She wondered how she was going to get through it.

  Suddenly the band started playing “Blackbird.” It was one of her favorite songs, one she knew by heart. Jill began singing, her voice slight and wavering, as she let her eyes wander across the sea of faces looking up to her. Soon, though, the song took root in her core and she forgot to be nervous, forgot that she was singing in front of a large audience. She just sang.

  The rowdy crowd cheered and clapped furiously at the end of the song. Jill didn’t have time to think about it, though, because the band jumped right into the next song, a slower one – “The Long and Winding Road.” It was another song that she just loved.

  It was a joy to sing and when the third song started, it was “Get Back,” a rocking song that challenged Jill and let her have a chance to belt out a song unlike what she usually sang at the pub. She wasn’t sure how she did, until the end, when the audience roared – clapping, cheering and whistling so loudly, Jill couldn’t even hear her self laughing.

  Coyle appeared at the side of the stage, ready to gather her up. She felt a little drunk and fell into his arms, laughing loudly.

  “How was it?” he asked, speaking directly in her ear.

  “It felt like… like flying,” she said, hugging him closely. “Thank you so much!” She pulled back and kissed him hard, right there in front of everyone. The place went wild again.

  “The remarkable Jill Owens!” Dooley announced, he himself and the rest of the band clapping in tribute. “Brilliant!”

  Coyle escorted her back to their table.

  “And now we drink!” he exclaimed. They both raised their pint glasses and clinked them together. “To Jill, the grandest song bird I know.”

  “To Coyle, the pushiest and most wonderful man I know.” She leaned over and kissed him again. This was getting easier and easier, she decided.

  Chapter 20

  It was late when Coyle loaded Jill into his car. She assumed he would take her back to Bridy’s, but when he pulled out of the parking lot, he turned right instead of left, away from his mother’s house.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I thought you might want to see my place,” he replied, glancing over at Jill and smiling.

  “Sure,” she nodded. She’d been in Ireland for almost three months, seeing Coyle almost daily at the pub, but she had never been to his home. In fact, it seemed since the day she had not boarded the flight back to Phoenix, he’d held her out at arms length, being her friend but nothing more. She saw him plenty at Bridy’s and at Buchannan’s, nowhere else. Seeing him tonight was sort of out of context and it confused her.

  Coyle didn’t say anything more, turning on the stereo instead. Jill leaned her head back on the headrest. What a night, she thought. It had been amazing! She couldn’t wait to tell her kids.

  Coyle turned off the main road onto a private drive, dirt and gravel, winding up into a dark patch of foliage. She wondered how he kept his little BMW so clean, if he had to travel down this road every day. They pulled up in front of a small house. From the outside, in the dim light, it appeared to be whitewashed, with a bright red door situated right in the middle of the front of the house. A short set of stairs led up to the door.

  “Come on, then,” Coyle said, turning off the car and getting out. Jill got out of the car and let him lead her up the steps to the door. He dug his keys out of his pocket, unlocked the red door and waved Jill in.

  Jill took a few steps into the house, letting her eyes roam around, taking it in. While the outside of the house seemed demure and simple, the inside was lavish with comfort. Big dark brown leather couches and chairs, lots of red and green wool tartan blankets draped over chair backs, a fireplace dominating one end of the big room.

  “It was a little cramped when I got the place, so I knocked a few walls out,” he said. “I know it gives a different feel from the outside.”

  Jill nodded, but didn’t say anything. Something was odd here and she was just
placing her finger on it. Coyle was a schoolteacher, yet here he was driving a BMW and living in a very nice manner. She had friends back in Phoenix who were teachers and she knew they didn’t make all that much money. Surely teachers in Ireland don’t make much more.

  “Coyle, tell me, what do you do during the summers when school is out?” she asked, trying to figure him out. She knew his family wasn’t rich, so she knew there was no “old money” lying around.

  “Oh, this and that,” he said, as he knelt to build a fire in the fireplace.

  Jill wandered around the room, her fingers trailing over the tartans and her eyes looking at the photographs of weathered old boats and men. “Like what?” she persisted.

  “I work at a summer camp for two or three weeks, sometimes.”

  Jill turned to look at him. “Really? A summer camp, like with canoes and dinner bells?”

  He laughed, “No, not like that, although the dinner bell sounds fun.” He stood up, the fire started, and brushed his hands on his pants. “It’s a history camp.”

  Jill’s blank face stared back at him. “What?”

  “Do you want something to drink?” he asked.

  “Yes, please. What’s a ‘history camp’?”

  “I travel to historical locations around Ireland with a bunch of kids and teach them about the importance of the sites.” He had disappeared around a corner while he said this, reappearing with two opened beers, one of which he handed to Jill.

  Okay, she thought, that’s interesting, but again, not a huge source of income.

  “I also run a storyteller program,” he volunteered.

  “A storyteller program?” she echoed.

  He motioned for her to sit on the couch. She curled up on one end and he leaned back into the other corner.

  “Ireland is a very old country. Ancient, really, pre-dating written language. The practice of storytelling in Ireland, as in other cultures such as the American Indians in your country, is vital in keeping our heritage strong. So I have a program that I run at the school in the summer, where I tell stories, I teach the children to re-tell stories and I teach them to create their own stories.” He smiled broadly at her.