by Moni Boyce
Conor let out a breath and swallowed. His eyes were a little glassy. “Looks like we’re forever doomed to catch each other at the wrong time, mo ghrá.”
Badly, she wanted to know what that meant, but hearing it now would shatter her heart into a million pieces. Maybe she’d eventually look it up on her own, but it wouldn’t be anytime soon.
“If only things were different.” She gave a helpless shrug and tried to fight back the tears that were gathering in her eyes.
She risked a glance at the wall clock. In order not to miss her flight she needed to get through security and customs soon.
“I have to go.” Jordan looked down at their clasped hands. She didn’t want him to let go. Conor didn’t seem to want to let go either. Long seconds ticked by before he finally released her hand. The loss of his heat was felt so acutely, a small gasp escaped her lips.
Unwilling to look at him, she turned and walked away. A few steps and she halted. She couldn’t leave like this. Turning around, she ran back to him and flung herself into his arms. Some of the tears she couldn’t hold back splashed onto his face when she kissed him.
Conor wrapped his arms around her and held her like he would never let her go, returning her kiss with equal fervor. When their lips parted, she leaned her forehead against his and took a deep breath. It took another minute for them to release each other. They held onto each other’s hands while she walked away, until they were too far apart that only their fingertips touched and then they were met with only air. She gave him her back and willed herself not to look over her shoulder.
In the customs line, Jordan clutched her carry-on tightly, like a security blanket, willing it to give her strength. Line after line, she waited until she finally boarded her plane.
In the window seat, she sat with her knees drawn up to her chest. Errant tears she could no longer control, slipped out of the corners of her eyes. Her chest burned with the effort of trying to hold her grief in check.
An older woman was putting her bag away and was about to sit down next to her and paused when she noticed Jordan. A concerned look crossed her face and she slid into the seat and leaned over. “You don’t look so good.”
The woman shifted from concern to motherly compassion, as she gave Jordan a knowing look. “Broken heart?”
A simple nod was the only way Jordan could communicate. Was it that obvious?
When her seatmate stood and opened up the overhead compartment and retrieved her purse, Jordan wondered what she was doing. After unzipping it, she removed a packet of tissues and handed them to Jordan.
The floodgates opened and Jordan no longer tried to hold back her pain.
She laid her head against her knee and quietly sobbed
The kind woman reached across the console dividing their seats and took her hand, giving it a gentle, understanding, supportive squeeze.
Jordan cried so long and hard that when the pilot made the announcement that it was time to put the lie flat seat in an upright position, she had to be roused by the flight attendant.
Before she’d left Dublin, her sisters and Kaye had tried to call. She’d sent all of their calls to voicemail. During her wait in the customs line, she listened to their messages. All of them were excited to hopefully meet Conor and each offered to pick them up. Elle and Zoe had come in town for the weekend hoping to catch a glimpse of her Irishman and take them to dinner. Kaye couldn’t wait to get all the details and see Conor again and reminisce about New Year’s Eve.
The first few messages were all bubbly. The messages that came after her not picking up the phone repeatedly became laced with worry, and at one point, anger from Elodie.
After she played the last message, she was grateful she hadn’t asked any of them to pick her up from the airport. She just wanted to be alone.
Once she pulled her suitcase off the baggage carousel, she ordered a Lyft. Thankfully, she didn’t have to deal with a chatty driver.
When she opened the door to her apartment, she went straight to bed without unpacking anything or changing into pajamas. She climbed into her bed and pulled the covers over her head. Even though she tried not to, she ended up crying herself to sleep.
The next morning, she was woken up to her doorbell ringing. She yanked the covers off her head and winced at the sunlight spilling in through the window. There was no guessing needed to know who would be on the other side of the door. Besides the incessant knocking, she could hear them calling her name.
After all the messages they’d left the day before, she should have known they were going to show up on her doorstep.
When she opened the door, the three of them: Elodie, Zoe and Kaye, took one look at her red, puffy, swollen eyes and rumpled clothing and immediately swarmed her in a group hug. One of them managed to close the door, before they moved to the sofa.
Jordan was already sobbing, just having them near.
“Oh honey, tell us what happened.” Kaye tried to soothe her, stroking her curls. It took her a while, but she finally calmed down enough to tell them everything.
After she finished the story, she looked at Kaye. “You were right. That true love legend was all a bunch of crap.”
“What are you saying? I thought you didn’t drink the water?” Kaye was baffled.
Jordan looked sheepish. “The morning we were leaving, I bought a bottle at the café when I got our coffees and drank it. It doesn’t work. It’s all a bunch of bullshit they use to make money.” Her gaze dropped to her lap
“If it was true, I would have come home with my Irishman.” She sniffed while leaning her head on Elle’s shoulder.
The three of them stayed with her for hours, comforting and consoling her. Eventually, Kaye had to get home to her husband and Elle and Zoe had flights to catch. It was nice to have her girls even for a little bit, but she realized she might be going through this heartbreak alone.
Shortly, after getting back to New York, the funding presentation that was supposed to take place with Mr. Bowser was pushed. Les was too glad to have her back at the office. For once she was thankful that he was all about work and chose not to ask too many questions about her vacation.
Two weeks into being back home, she’d been able to throw herself back into making the presentation even better. At least that allowed her days to be full and occupied with something other than thinking about Conor.
Her nights were a different story. Occasionally, she couldn’t stop herself from scrolling through the pictures she’d taken while in Dublin, the pictures of them at The Custom House, at Cliffs of Moher and of course the nearly nude one of him after they made love in the office were ones she came back to repeatedly. Staring at them for long blocks of time. Afterwards she would shut her eyes and be reminded of what his touch felt like on her skin. What it felt like when he pushed inside of her and claimed her for his own.
Most nights she hit the gym in her building, to punish her body and keep it from craving him. Her whole being was ravenous for something she knew she would never have.
One particular night, her feet beat against the conveyor belt of the treadmill. Earbuds were stuck in her ear. Some random Spotify station was in heavy rotation, when a song came on that had familiar lyrics. Jordan slapped the stop button on the treadmill bringing her run to a grinding halt. Some memory she’d rather forget was trying to claw its way into her brain and tell her why the lyrics were familiar. Reluctantly, she opened up her phone to Spotify and looked at the song. It read Eva Cassidy, “Fields of Gold.”
The bed and breakfast in Doolin. The memory punched through, no longer willing to be ignored. If it was possible, her version of the song was even more aching and haunting. She tried to get out of the room before the tears flooded her eyes and dripped down her chin, before her body was wracked with sobs, but she didn’t make it. A few people stopped their exercises to stare, but none came over to investigate. She finally made it out of the gym and back to her apartment where she wept into the couch cushion.
A month
had passed since Dublin, and the big day of the presentation with Mr. Bowser was here. Jordan was grateful to have something to focus her thoughts on. The meeting went off without a hitch and before he left their offices, he gave her an unofficial yes to investing in the company, offering slightly more than was originally requested. He told her someone would be in touch to start working out the details.
When Jordan made the announcement to the staff, everyone cheered and congratulated her. Even Kevin and Terry put aside their differences to celebrate the big win.
The whole staff had worked so hard to make the deal happen, so when they started popping bottles before the workday was done, she allowed it. Normally, she would have enjoyed a glass or two with everyone else, but after her last night in Dublin, she was abstaining from alcohol for a while.
In her office, she sat behind her desk with her cell phone in her hand. His number was pulled up on the screen and she was contemplating calling him. She wanted to hear his voice badly, but knew it would only be torture if she called. After pushing the button to send the screen to sleep mode, she put her phone on her desk and sat back in her chair and looked out at the New York City skyline.
Before she went to Dublin, she’d only had one night with Conor to obsess over. Now, she had a whole month to relive over and over again, a whole month of memories that would torture her forever. For eight years, she’d wondered if what was between them was real, and now that she knew she was in love with him, she wondered how she was going to get over it.
18
Conor
Conor knew he’d been a shite to everyone the past month since Jordan left. He was a miserable bastard and was always in a black mood.
“Two Bulmers, an O’Hara and three pints of the black stuff?” He recited a customer’s order while he rang it up.
When he finished waiting on them, he went back to polishing some of the glasses.
Desmond eyed him with pity. “You’re miserable because you let the lass return to America.”
“You shouldn’t have let Jordan go home.” Fergus added his opinion.
“What do you three dossers know about it? You sit here on these barstools all day getting hammered. Kindly shut your gob and stay out of my life or you can find a new place to drink your pints.”
After Conor exploded, the Three Wise Men harrumphed and stuck their noses back in their beers. Conor’s threat that they find somewhere else to go, if they didn’t like it, clearly hit a sore spot.
Guilt gnawed at him a little over being so grumpy with the geezers. They didn’t deserve his wrath. Even though he felt remorse, he wasn’t going to apologize right now. At least they’d grown quiet and he could have a moment’s peace.
The peace was shattered ten minutes later when Aoife strolled in alone, looking like trouble.
In his periphery, he could already see the Three Wise Men casting looks between him and her.
Conor wanted no part of whatever Aoife was there to proposition him for. When she sidled up to the bar, he didn’t even part his lips to say hello.
Annoyance marred her pretty face and she drummed her manicured nails against the wood bar top. When she realized he wasn’t going to speak first, she moved forward. “Eoin told me your American friend isn’t here anymore.”
She stopped drumming her nails and waited for him to respond. The three old men continued to watch their conversation like it was a tennis match.
Conor didn’t answer her.
“I thought you could use some company.” She said suggestively, while making sure he got a good look at her breasts in the barely there top.
“Bog off, Aoife. I’m not interested.” He leaned across the counter and peered at her.
“Did you honestly think you could replace her?” Conor pitied his ex.
Shock shone on her face at the way he’d spoken to her before anger glittered in her eyes.
“Go to hell, Conor.” She spat out the words and then left the pub.
Watching her leave and knowing she wouldn’t be coming back was the first thing to put a smile on his face in weeks.
The next day when he came into the pub, one of his alternate bartenders was manning the bar. There was inventory and things in the storeroom that needed to be dealt with from the shipment that had come in earlier that morning.
“I’ll be in the back if you need anything,” he told the bartender when he walked by on the way to the storeroom. Conor was already shrugging off his jacket before he pushed the door open, ready for some backbreaking labor.
When he stepped inside and found the place neat and orderly and all the kegs, boxes and casks put away, he thought someone was playing tricks on him. He shrugged back on his jacket and stepped into the office to find the clipboard that would reveal the order they received yesterday. Everything on the list was checked off. He took the clipboard and went down the rows of alcohol and compared numbers on the meter to what was on the clipboard. Someone had done everything already… again. This was the third time he’d come in to find his work done for him.
Conner was bewildered. A mystery person had been doing hours of labor for him. He was shocked. After he put the clipboard back in his office, he went back out to the bar. Curiosity overwhelmed him. Who would do this and not want anything in return, not even a thank you?
“Did you take care of things in the storeroom?” He asked the bartender.
“Naw, wasn’t me gaffer.”
Now he was even more puzzled. One of the Three Wise Men would have probably said the fairies did it. He shook his head and dislodged that thought. With that work out of the way, he could get some of his other errands done and still close the bar tonight.
“Do you mind sticking around a while?”
“Not at all.”
Once he left the pub, he drove home. He could probably get some chores done.
After coming into the house, he took off his jacket and headed to the laundry room. He was planning to do the wash but was met with everything neatly folded and laundered. When he went into the kitchen to deal with the dishes, there were none, not even sitting in the dish rack, waiting to be put away.
Conor scratched his head, puzzled. What was going on? Had the home health aide suddenly become Mary Poppins?
Guess he’d see what his father wanted for lunch since there were no other duties to be done.
“Da. Da. What would you like for lunch?”
When he opened the door and found Cash and his father watching telly, with empty plates in front of them, he was shocked.
“Sorry.” His father mumbled. “I… ate.”
Conor looked at Cash. “What’s going on? You cooked lunch and I didn’t even have to tell you to? Where’s my brother and what have you done with him?” Wonder permeated his words.
Conor checked his watch. “I guess I’ll go do the messages then, since everything else is done.”
Cash stood and collected the empty dishes. “I did that this morning.” He walked out of the room and into the kitchen. Conor followed on his heels.
He was still mystified that his brother was being responsible, and then he realized it wasn’t just lunch. “You’re responsible for the dishes and the wash, aren’t you?”
Cash put the dishes in the sink before turning around and leaning against the counter. He nodded.
“What about taking care of the inventory at the pub. Are you responsible for that too?” Conor stood in the middle of the kitchen.
“Aye.” Cash picked up a towel and dried his hand off.
Both of them stood staring at each other for several seconds.
It was Cash that spoke first, his hands braced against the edge of the counter. “Have you ever thought that maybe I’d step up if I knew you weren’t going to be there? It’s not that I won’t take responsibility, but you’re always here. You never let anyone else take responsibility.”
It had never occurred to Conor to think of Cash as the mystery helper, or a person capable of great responsibility. He was seeing how wr
ong he’d been.
“That job I told you I had, was actually night courses in bar management. I was doing that so I could take over running the pub. Uni wasn’t for me. You’re the one that always had big dreams.”
Conor was floored. What was happening? Cash had proved to be more than capable.
“When did you stop being my irresponsible, kid brother?”
“A long time ago. You were just too busy being an arse to notice I’d grown up.”
Conor chuckled and threw a dishtowel at him. Cash laughed as well, but then sobered. He leaned against the sink and crossed his arms over his chest.
“And one more thing, Jordan’s in love with you.”
Stunned, Conor’s mouth fell open in shock. “How do you know that?”
“The night she got drunk, she said she was going to tell you then, but she didn’t think you loved her, especially after your fight.”
He felt like the biggest arsehole for letting her leave here and never telling her that he loved her. His brother must have seen the look on his face. Cash came over and put his hand on his shoulder.
“You have been taking care of everything for eight long years. It’s time to stop using me and Da and the pub as a reason to not live your life, brother. You stepped up back then and I’m stepping up now. Let me do this for you. Go to her. Go live your life… I’m not the only one that thinks you should… Da thinks so too.”
Conor couldn’t believe everything Cash was saying. He was still trying to process it all. Without saying a word to Cash, he returned to his da’s room.
“Da? You really don’t need me anymore?” Conor blurted out the question the minute he stepped into the room. Even though his brother had just told him as much, he needed to hear it from his father.
His father gestured for him to kneel next to the bed. Conor got down on his knees.
“Enough… time for you… to go.” His father motioned out the door.
Conor felt like someone had lifted a heavy load off his back. The joyous grin he sported lit up his eyes. He hugged his father and then stood and hugged Cash.