The Cork Contingency (6 page)

The banging started again, but this time much louder.

Margaret yawned and rolled to the edge of the mattress. Whoever chose to knock on her door at this time of the morning would regret it. She grabbed the poncho next to the bed and threw it over her pajamas. The hall light blinded her vision.

“Ah, Meggy. As bright as the sunrise,” Donnell said. He held up a steaming travel cup.

“Ug.” Margaret shut the door. She opened it again, took the travel cup, and then closed the door.

“We’re doing some walking today,” he said from behind the door. “You might want to wear something more practical than that bubblegum-colored sweater thingy.”

She imagined gift wrapping the poncho and leaving it for his payment. “I don’t remember the list I gave you saying anything about early wake-ups.”

“Now, bird, if you want to see Ireland using the internet, you could have stayed home. I’m here to show you the real Cork County, Ireland, but we have to get going.”

Margaret looked over at her warm bed and then the glowing red numbers on the clock. “It’s not even daytime, yet. Go away.”

“Meggy,” his smooth voice coaxed her.

She imagined him leaning against the door.

“I’m not going away.”

“Fine, give me a minute.” She flicked on the lights, shoved her legs into a pair of dark wash jeans, tossed the poncho into her suitcase, and pulled out a long sleeved shirt. She ran a brush through her hair and pulled it up in the usual tight bun, swiped mascara onto her lashes, grabbed her jacket and purse, flicked the lights off to her room, and then opened the door.

No Donnell.

Had she dreamed the whole thing? Margaret rubbed her eyes and glanced down at the travel mug in her hand. “Donnell?” Her voice echoed in the empty hallway.

“Right here.” His voice came from beside her ear.

She jolted. “Don’t do that.” She pushed his broad shoulder.

He furrowed his brow.

“Sorry, I’m not really a morning person. You’d better drive.” She fished the keys out of her purse and handed them to him.

The tips of his fingers brushed across her palm and she shivered

“Are those the only shoes you brought?”

“No, I had a pair of heels. Do I need to wear heels?” Margaret grimaced when she recalled throwing them out at the airport.

“No.” He chuckled. “I just remembered those leaking water yesterday.”

“They’re dry now.” Margaret wiggled her toes to make sure. “I’ll be fine unless you’re taking me to ford some river that’s infested with killer otters.”

“I didn’t see that one on the list.”

“You did read it.”

“More like glanced at it.” He looked at his watch. “Let’s get going. We’re losing the darkness.” He strode forward and disappeared down the stairs.

Margaret rushed to keep up. Her stomach grumbled as the smell of breakfast hit her full force.

“Donnell!” She headed out the door and spotted him in the driver’s seat of her rental. She shifted her purse high on her shoulder, marched over to the driver side, and yanked the door open.

7

“Listen, Donnell…I don’t know what Irish women are like when they skip breakfast and coffee, but I’m…” Margaret stopped as the smell of bacon and biscuits wafted from the car. She looked at him sheepishly. “I’m so glad you packed breakfast.”

“Only a few rashers and some scones my aunt had ready. Are you getting in?”

“Yes.” Margaret plunked down in the passenger seat. She buckled up and snatched the bag of food from the back. She consumed her breakfast against the quiet hum of the car’s tires against the road.

Donnell reach for the heat control.

“Don’t turn that on,” she said. A piece of bacon from her mouth flew through the air and landed on his sleeve. She swallowed the rest of her bite. “Sorry,” she said snatching the bacon from a fold in his shirt. “The last time I turned on the heater the whole car smelled like old cigarettes.”

“Oh. I see you’re enjoying your rashers.”

She looked at the chunk of bacon in her hand. “Um, yes. Thanks for breakfast.” She pretended to admire the darkened scenery outside until the flush faded from her face.

“I don’t know how we visited Blarney Castle without you kissing the Blarney Stone,” he said as he pulled the car alongside the curb.

“I read somewhere that people from Cork are the most talkative of all the Irish. I think they were right.” Margaret winced. Why did she feel so grumpy this morning?

He hopped from the car before she could apologize.

She stepped onto the curb and followed him toward a little red building sandwiched against two others.

“Even though I live in the US, I’ll always be a Corkonian. What you need is coffee, bird. I’ve brought you to the finest coffee our county has to offer. It’s the best coffee in all Ireland, if you ask me. So what do you say, ready to start our adventure?”

The way he said “our adventure” struck Margaret.
Is he doing this just for me
,
or do I pay extra for special stops
?
Before this trip goes any further, I need to nail him down on a price.

“Donnell, we…” She let the door swing behind her. The whistle of the espresso machine stole the words from her mouth. She started again, much louder this time. “Donnell, we need to work out a price for your services.”

“Is there something you need to be telling me, Donnell?” The man working the espresso machine teased.

“No, I didn’t mean that. He’s taking me out…I mean he’s…I’m a tourist!” Margaret stammered.

“Just get me two of the usual,” Donnell said in his casual way. He attempted to disguise his laughter as coughing when the other man broke into loud guffaws.

Margaret opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind.

“Take these to the car, bird, I’ll be right out.” He shoved a bag of pastries into her hands.

Margaret had had her fill of school boys two decades ago. She turned to leave and pushed against one of the double doors. It refused to budge. She pushed harder, and then spotted a sign: “Due to Windy Weather, This Door is Locked.”

She pushed out the other door and stomped to the car.
I hate mornings.
She closed the car door and slumped down into the seat.

“He can drive me right back to the bed and breakfast after that stunt.” Margaret popped a piece of a pastry into her mouth. “Mmm.” Apple and blackberry wrapped in flaky pastry dough dissolved on her tongue. “Just one more bite.” Her thoughts wandered back to the time she picked blackberries on a hot summer day and ate apple pie with her grandmother.

Donnell came into view through the large glass windows moving toward the door holding two paper cups.

She wanted to stay angry with him, but coffee would complement the lingering flavor of the apple blackberry tarts. She looked down at the bag and gasped. Only a few small crumbles rolled around in the bottom of the bag. She smashed the bag into a ball, stuffed it under the seat, and brushed her lap clean. Was there only one pastry in the bag?

Laugh lines creased at Donnell’s eyes as he ducked into the driver’s seat and handed Margaret one of the coffee cups. “Take a sip. I want to know what you think.”

Margaret breathed in the earthy scent and took a careful sip. “This is amazing, almost better than the pastr…past blend I tried.”
I can’t believe I gobbled down that pastry without waiting for coffee.

Donnell placed his coffee into the cup holder. He looked around and then started the car.

“Ah, I didn’t pay you for the coffee. How much was it?” She sat taller in her seat and sipped at the warm liquid.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s my treat. The boys gave you a bit of a hard time back there.”

The crumpled bag hit her shoe. “What’s the order of business today? If you have a sheet printed out, I can hold it.”

“I have the list right here.” He tapped the side of his head.

Margaret took a larger swig of her coffee. “Can you at least tell me where our next stop is? And why, exactly, are we touring Cork in the dark?”

“We’re heading to the coast. Usually when a person wants to see the sunrise they get up in the dark.”

“Oh.”

Further down the road, dawn’s light tinged the sky and Margaret could make out trees, bushes, and houses.

They sped past a long mason rock wall harboring a quaint farm house and outbuildings.

The foliage opened up as the road drew closer to the river. Its muddy brown banks and wide girth reminded Margaret of the book
Huckleberry Finn
and the boy’s descriptions of life on the river. She’d never seen the Mississippi, but imagined it being similar to what lay before her. “What’s that river called?”

“That’s the River Stick. It looks as if we are running a bit behind our schedule.” He pressed the pedal to the floor and the little car leapt forward.

“So we do have a schedule.” Margaret grasped the door handle. The road ahead narrowed and turned. “Don’t you think the road is getting a bit small to be driving this fast?”

They sped past an orange sign warning of an upcoming intersection.

“Donnell, Donnell, Donnell!” Margaret squeezed her eyes shut and felt gravity pull her against Donnell’s shoulder as he sped around the corner.

“The last girl who said my name that many times, kissed me afterwards.”

8

Margaret pulled away from him and pushed her left foot all the way to the floor.

“The pedals are on my side, Meggy.”

“Eyes on the road,” she said, willing her right leg to stop pumping imaginary brakes. Her stomach sloshed with each corner he took.

The car slowed down.

The first rays of sun cracked the gray, glassy sky and spread across the stone towers.

Donnell pulled into the empty parking lot and stopped the car. “Come on, Meggy. We’re almost too late.” He grabbed her hand and they raced down the path, past ancient stonework and crumbling buildings. He pulled her to a stop in an archway overlooking the bay.

“We’re at Charles Fort, right?” Margaret said, taking big breaths of air.

They watched the sun rise together.

Margaret pulled her camera out and snapped a shot of Donnell in the archway with the sunlight streaming across his face.

“It’s just as I remembered it.” He pressed his hand against the chiseled wall.

“It couldn’t have changed much since you gave the last tour,” she said, snapping another shot. She stared at the man in the frame. He looked so sad.

“No, Meggy. I haven’t been back here since I was a lad.”

“I can’t be the first person with Charles Fort on their list.” She put her camera back, crossed her arms and leaned against the opposite side of the archway.

“That’s true. You are the first person I said yes to, though.”

“Can I ask why?”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so nosy.” Margaret pushed off from the wall.

Donnell put his hand against the crook of her arm and stopped her. “My Mam. Charles Fort is the last place we all went together before she broke it off with my Da. We watched the sunrise and stayed the whole day. My brother and I ran around pretending we were clansmen driving the British off, once and for all.” He chuckled and shook his head. “We were happy then.”

“I’m sorry, Donnell. If you didn’t want to come, you could have told me.”

“No. I needed to face this place. For a long time I’ve blocked out good memories of her.” He looked past Margaret. His brow knit together, and then he shook his head and smiled it away. “Anyway, your pretty face is a grand distraction.” He reached his hand toward her cheek.

A pang shot through Margaret as Donnell pulled his hand back and turned toward the fort. She fought against the tide of emotions threatening to sweep her away.

“Do you know the history here?” She hoped he didn’t hear the strain in her voice.

“Come over here.” He approached the wall overlooking the bay. “First the Vikings and Normans came. They built Ringcurran Castle here in the sixteenth century.”

Margaret walked beside him as he strolled along the grassy path that looked out into the bay.

“In the seventeenth century, the Spanish occupied it for a time. They tried to unite the chieftains and rid the shores of the English, but the English caught wind of it and laid siege to the Spanish. The Ulster chieftains came to their aid and sought to bring them down, only to be defeated by the English. In the mid-seventeenth century, the English built Charles Fort here and the one across the way, James Fort.” He pointed to a stone structure across the bay. “The British were here until Irish independence in 1922.” He turned to Margaret. “I know we haven’t been here long, but I’m starving. How would you feel about a quick tour, and then an early lunch?”

She brushed at her shirt at the memory of gobbling down the pastries. “The pastries you bought this morning, I…” she looked up into his jade eyes, “I…what was I saying?”

“You were going tell my why you ate my breakfast.”

“There
were
two in the bag. I am so embarrassed! I got flustered after the whole coffee house thing. When I looked down, the bag was empty and you were walking out. I couldn’t remember if there were one or two and…” Margaret blinked back embarrassed tears.

He reached over to her.

She closed her eyes and ached for his rough hand to brush against her cheek. Nothing happened. She opened her eyes.

He plucked something from her collar and held a tiny crumb pinched between his fingers. “Don’t be sad Meggy. I was just giving you a hard time.”

Margaret flushed and looked down at the grass. “I didn’t mean to eat yours.”

He reached over and tipped her face to meet his gaze.

“I think I can handle missing breakfast, Meggy.”

His touch pressed into her skin like a firebrand. She could still feel his fingers after he dropped his hand.

“Let me walk you around the rest of the fort, and then we can find a place to eat,” Donnell said.

Twenty minutes into the quick tour, Margaret’s stomach started growling. “Donnell, I’m OK with leaving now.”