Barefoot on a Starlit Night

by Jo McNally

  “Well, it’s ancient to me.” Her face fell. “There has to be something I can do for extra credit, Professor O’Hearn.”

  “Seriously? It’s only February. You have plenty of time to find an acceptable topic, research it and write a paper. It’s way too early to worry about extra credit projects, which I rarely dole out anyway.”

  A quick flash of anger went across her face, but she managed to hide it quickly behind her smile. Finn knew he sounded like a pompous old grump of a professor, but sometimes he grew weary of explaining historical significance to students like Christina, who were only in his class for the credits. He sighed. She wasn’t going to give up, so he may as well offer her something.

  “You’re looking to be an attorney someday, right?” She half shrugged and half nodded. Not exactly an inspiring endorsement of her dedication to pre-law, but that wasn’t his problem. “Why not do a paper on medieval law? Did you know the practice of using precedent for rulings came to England after the Norman invasion? In fact, Henry II...” Finn stopped at her blank expression, then shook his head. “Look, Christina, there’s no shortcut to passing my class. No movie or TV series will ever substitute for actual research. But if you focus on the medieval law angle now, it might give you an advantage in law school a few years down the road when you impress an instructor with your knowledge.” Somehow, he had a hard time imagining that ever happening. “It might save you from having to ask for special favors in law school, where they’ll be less frequent than here at Brady College. That’s the best I can offer. I’ll put a list together of some texts in the library you may find helpful.”

  Her smile vanished so fast it was almost laughable. “But can’t I—”

  “Miss Moore, I’m sorry if Medieval History is too medieval for you, but I have to get to—”

  “Professor O’Hearn! Just the man I was looking for!” Rick Thomas walked up behind Finn. “I have an urgent question about a historical reference in an Old English poem I found... Oh, hi, Christina.” Rick gave the young woman a pointed look, resting his hand on Finn’s shoulder and giving a quick squeeze to silence him. “Have you started my assignment from American lit yet? I look forward to your thoughts on Nathaniel Hawthorne.”

  A particularly icy blast came in off the lake, making all three of them gasp and brace their feet. Christina grabbed at her scarf to keep it from flying away, glaring at both men.

  “I hate this place!” She stomped off, not even pretending to be charming anymore.

  Rick chuckled once she was out of earshot. “Was it something I said?”

  “Thanks for the save, man. She was...”

  Rick held up his gloved hand. “Let me guess. She wanted an extra credit project that has nothing to do with your course syllabus?”

  Finn laughed. “Good guess.”

  “She pulls the same game with everyone.” Rick held his hands over his heart dramatically, pantomiming her pleading. “Oh, please, Mr. Professor! This class is hard and I didn’t have to do hard things in high school! I just smiled and people helped me because my daddy is important and I’m pretty. Did you notice I’m pretty?” Rick pretended to flip his make-believe hair, but he dropped the routine after that. “Dude, I’ve seen some spoiled princes and princesses in my life, but she’s one of the...well, best isn’t the right word...most impressive, maybe? Some kids really have a culture shock when they get to college and actually have to do the work to get the grades.”

  “I’m glad students like her are the exception.” Finn tugged his jacket tighter. “Where you headed?”

  “Home, thank God.” They walked toward the parking lot, both lowering their heads against the wind. “Hard to believe a week ago it was in the fifties, and now the wind chill is headed below zero tonight.” The older man tipped his head to look Finn’s way. “Are you unpacked and feeling at home yet?”

  “Hopefully I’ll finish up this weekend. I’m running out of room for books. I may have to make end tables out of the stacks.” The apartment was tinier than his first flat in Dublin years ago. One open space for the kitchen and living area, and one fair-sized bedroom and a small bath with a shower. The tall Victorian windows let in a lot of sunlight, which was nice. And the original crown moldings and hardwood floors gave it character. But it was...compact.

  “Was Greer happy to see you had a real mailing address?”

  “As happy as the codger can be, I guess. The ax is off my neck for now.”

  “And from your visa?”

  “As far as I know. It’s not the visa as much as trying to get that green card. My record needs to be spotless.” Changing jobs while on a visa was frowned on, but Greer had agreed to pick up his sponsorship, so he should be safe. It was just unsettling to have his future in someone else’s hands. The guy wouldn’t make any commitments on tenure, but that was reasonable considering Finn had only been teaching a few weeks, even if he’d arrived in town late last fall.

  “And you and Bridget McKinnon?” Rick asked.

  Finn came to an abrupt halt. “What about her?”

  “How are you getting along?”

  “Oi, she’s just my landlord. That’s it. In fact, she literally told me we weren’t to be friends or roomies. I honestly haven’t seen her much.”

  He was hoping to catch her later that week, though, and ask about the empty room across from his apartment. The door had been open one day last week, and he saw the walls were lined with empty bookshelves. There was a big old mahogany desk in there, covered with dust and a few old magazines. If he could convince Bridget to let him use it as his home office, he’d have room for his reference books and a dedicated area to finish up the paper on Brian Boru and Irish history he hoped to get published. Greer had been pushing publication almost as hard as he’d pushed Finn to get an address. Finn just had to convince Bridget to lease him that extra room, which, judging from the dust and unused shelves, she didn’t seem to be using.

  The school had received a substantial endowment that was to be specifically used to build a new history school on campus. The building currently housing history lectures was also home to the growing art and design school, and quarters were getting cramped. Greer had come right out and said an Irish-born history professor...looked good. Or sounded good. Or something like that.

  It felt like Dr. Greer wanted to pimp Finn out to the alumni as the charming Irish guy—a role he’d always been loath to play, even before his marriage and career had imploded. But, what the hell. He was here, and if he wanted to salvage his career and stay in the States, he’d have to play along.

  He and Rick parted ways quickly as the wind picked up again, waving to each other as they leaped into their vehicles and shut out the icy weather. When Finn got back to the house, he spotted an older woman crossing the parking lot from the Purple Shamrock. She was moving slowly, and a bit unsteadily in the wind. Her head and face were covered with a thick wool scarf and hat. Finn was getting out of his car when she hesitated at the corner of the house, reaching out to steady herself on the wall. He rushed toward her.

  “Oi! Are you alright, ma’am? Can I help you?”

  She looked up in surprise, her dark eyes sharp and bright as she took him in. She reached for his extended arm.

  “Oh, you must be Mr. O’Hearn! That brogue...you remind me of my dad with that accent. I’m Maura McKinnon, Bridget’s grandmother.”

  He helped her up the front steps and brought her inside to the warm foyer. He hadn’t seen Bridget’s car in the driveway.

  “Please call me Finn, Mrs. McKinnon. ’Tis a pleasure to meet you. But I don’t think Bridget is at home...” The woman had a firm grip on his arm, but he sensed a frailty about her that didn’t match her strong voice. He didn’t want her going up the grand staircase alone, especially if she couldn’t get into Bridget’s flat.

  She waved her other hand in dismissal. “Oh, I know. She and her cousins are over at the p
ub, getting ready for the Friday night crowd. I snuck out while she was in the kitchen.”

  Finn hesitated. Did she wander away often? If they missed her, would they know to look over here? Should he call Bridget? She’d given him her cell phone for emergencies, but had warned him of dire consequences if he used it for anything less than the house being in flames. But this was her grandmother...

  “No, Finn, I’m not a doddering old fool who wandered off into the winter cold without a clue.” Finn’s brows rose. How had she known what he was thinking? She smiled. She was attractive now, but she must have been a knockout as a younger woman. She tugged at the scarf around her neck. “And I told Bridget’s cousin, Kelly, where I was going, so you don’t need to tattle on me.”

  Again, she’d read his mind. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He’d had a great-aunt who could do that sort of thing—she could read people and situations as if she’d seen it already. As if she was looking back on what was everyone else’s present moment.

  “But why...”

  “Why come here when I knew she wasn’t home?” She finished his question, then answered it. “I came to meet you, of course. You’re sleeping under my granddaughter’s roof, so I think it’s only fair that someone in her family knows who you are.”

  Maura’s look sharpened again, and he realized with a jolt that he was looking at an older version of Bridget. Shorter, but with Bridget’s quick mind. He hadn’t seen a full smile on his landlord’s face yet, but he had a hunch it would look just like Maura’s. Bright, but with a saucy slant.

  Apparently, she didn’t know he’d already met some of Bridget’s family over the past few weeks. Luke Rutledge introduced him to Bridget’s younger cousin Kelly, who waited tables at the Purple Shamrock. And he’d met Timothy McKinnon, too. Tim was a high-spirited lad with a penchant for laughter and Irish whiskey. Both Kelly and Tim seemed far more easygoing than their uptight cousin Bridget.

  You’re sleeping under my granddaughter’s roof...

  Rick had described Bridget as prickly, and that was as accurate a description as he’d heard so far. Bridget was like a cactus, stiff and full of needles. But even a cactus bloomed occasionally. Bridget would have to slow down before that could happen. He’d never seen a woman who was so constantly in motion. She didn’t walk up and down the stairs outside his flat—she ran. Every time. And at the pub, she was always on the go. Carrying boxes, cleaning tables, taking inventory. Dashing in and out of the kitchen. She always had spots of color high on her cheeks and a determined set to her jaw, as if she was heading into battle. More than once he’d been tempted to reach out and urge her to sit at his side and just...breathe.

  But he had a feeling that wouldn’t go over all that well.

  “So, are you going to invite me in, Finn?”

  “Yes, do come in, although I confess it’s a bit of a wee mess...” He opened the door and ushered her in. She looked around, not missing a single corner or stack of books. She shook her head with a smile.

  “You know this place is too small for you, right?”

  “To be honest, I didn’t have a lot of options. Dr. Greer at the college insisted I have a real address, and this was available, so...”

  She rolled her eyes, and Finn realized she didn’t seem to have eyebrows. Or even eyelashes. She’d loosened her scarf, but hadn’t touched the soft hat on her head. There was no hair peeking out at the edges of that hat. He swallowed hard, thinking of when his Aunt Catherine had gone through the same fight back home. Maura McKinnon had cancer. His mind was still wrapping around that when she walked to the kitchen, nodding in approval, then faced him again.

  “You’re neat and organized, for a man. You take care of things. You take care of people, too, I imagine.”

  It was an oddly personal observation, but she wasn’t far off. He liked order. He used to take care of people. Before Dori and Vince betrayed him. He was a lot more cautious these days. But Maura didn’t need to know that.

  “I try to keep things in their place.” And people, too. “Would you like to sit? I have some Irish tea if you need a warm-up...”

  “Well, aren’t you sweet?” She tilted her head to the side. Damn it, now that he’d realized she had no hair, he couldn’t stop looking at the hat. She smiled again, but the corners of her mouth didn’t lift as high as before. “But no, thank you. I just wanted to set eyes on the hot Irishman sharing my granddaughter’s house.”

  Hot Irishman? Was that how Bridget had described him? The thought set off a rush of adrenaline, unexpected and unwanted. He liked the woman, but he didn’t need her liking him back. A relationship was the last thing he wanted right now. After all her protests of “we’re not friends,” it didn’t make sense. Maura walked closer, waving her finger under his nose and making him lean away from her.

  “Hot is as hot does, though, so don’t think you can flash a smile and use that accent of yours to get away with anything. Bridget’s a bright girl who won’t be fooled.”

  Finn felt adrift. What the hell was happening? First Greer wanted him to use his accent to charm more money from alumni, and now Maura was accusing him of using it to charm Bridget. Maybe his brogue was more of a superpower than he’d ever realized.

  “I...had no intention...” He took a step back and collected his thoughts. He heard a sound in the hall and hoped he’d remembered to lock the front door when they came in. “Maura, I’m just a tenant. And your granddaughter is a grown woman, not a girl. She runs her own business, and I don’t think she’s the type to fall for anyone’s charm—or accent—against her will. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but...no.”

  She stared up at him, then nodded again. Did he just pass a test of some sort? Before she could speak, there was a sharp rap on his apartment door. Along with the rattle of a key. What the effing hell? The door swung open. Bridget stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob—where her key dangled—and the other on her hip. She was clearly not happy.

  “Nana, what the fu... What are you doing? I about had a heart attack when I couldn’t find you at the pub, and then Kelly told me you were over here. In some stranger’s apartment.”

  Maura stiffened, but Finn rested his hand on the older woman’s shoulder.

  “You need to slow down, McKinnon. Your grandmother is fine, and was just headed out.”

  For a moment, he thought actual flames might shoot from Bridget’s eyes.

  “First, don’t ever tell me to slow down. Second, if you were about to let my sick grandmother walk across the lot alone in this weather...”

  “I had no intention of letting her leave alone—” Finn’s voice rose “—and as far as her being in my place goes, at least your grandmother was invited.”

  Maura ended the debate by yanking off her hat to expose her pale, hairless scalp. She pulled away from his touch, but her fury was aimed straight at Bridget. She was practically vibrating with it.

  “So that’s what I am to you now? Your ‘sick grandmother’?” Bridget’s mouth dropped open, but Maura didn’t wait for her to answer. “I’m not the woman who raised you. I’m not Nana anymore? I’m sick Nana who can’t be trusted to walk a few hundred feet in the same weather I’ve lived through for seventy-one years. Is that how you all see me? Some helpless old woman?” She rounded on Finn, who leaned back again. Damn, this tiny woman was scary when she wanted to be. Now he knew where Bridget got her fire. “Yes, I have breast cancer, but that is not...” She glanced back at Bridget, whose face had gone pale. “Cancer is not who I am. I am Maura McKinnon. Not sick Maura McKinnon.” She jammed the hat back on her head and pushed her way past Bridget and out of the apartment. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a book club meeting to get ready for tonight. With my friends. The ones who don’t see my cancer before they see me.” She paused and took a shaky breath at Bridget’s side, her voice softening. “I know you love me, Bridget, but you don’t see me anymore.�
�

  Bridget looked like she’d been stabbed in the heart. “That’s not true. It’s because I love you that I...” Bridget struggled. “I don’t mean to...”

  “That’s just it, honey.” Maura put her hand on Bridget’s arm. “It hurts whether you mean to or not. Yes, I’m sick, but I need to be me. If you want something to control, then try controlling how you and your cousins look at me. I’m not cancer. I’m Maura McKinnon.” Her voice broke as she put her hand on her chest, and Finn winced at her raw pain. “Don’t let me get lost.”

  And she was gone, leaving Finn staring at Bridget, and Bridget staring at the floor.

  * * *

  IT WASN’T OFTEN that Bridget was left speechless, but she had zero words after her grandmother dressed her down in front of Finn. After Finn dressed her down in front of her grandmother. All because she cared about Nana and wanted her safe. A quick surge of righteous anger rose up. This was the thanks she got for trying to take care of her grandmother, herd all her cousins in the right direction, and keep the business above water. Fucking perfect.

  But if she was being honest with herself... Nana was right about Bridget seeing the specter of cancer every time she looked at her. She couldn’t help it. And Finn was right about her having a ton of nerve to just burst into his apartment. What had she been thinking?

  Bridget did not like it when everyone else was right but her. She raised her chin in defiance...of herself?...and narrowed her eyes at the nearest target. Finn. She did her best to ignore the tears burning in her eyes. She was so damned tired.