The Cork Contingency (7 page)

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Do you have a favorite place around here we could eat?”

“There’s a pub in town.” He looked up at the sky. “Let’s take the car so we don’t get caught in the rain.”

Margaret glanced up. Only a few clouds drifted at the edges of the blue sky. “How far is it on foot?”

“It couldn’t be more than ten minutes.”

“Let’s walk, then.”

“Do you want me to get your coat from the car?”

“No, I’ll be fine. It feels pretty warm out.” Margaret held her hand against the light breeze and let the streams of air flow between her fingers.

“All right then, town is this way.”

Margaret ignored the skeptical look on Donnell’s face and matched his stride. “So, you moved to America with your dad when you were how old?”

“Eight.”

“That must have been hard.”

They strolled along in silence for a time and Margaret wondered if she should have picked a different subject.

“My accent made it hard to blend in. A few kids teased me about it. I got sent to the principal’s office a lot those first few years.”

“Why?”

“I may have convinced them that teasing me was a bad idea.”

Margaret chuckled. “You were that boy, huh?”

A lime green car zipped up the road toward them.

Margaret scooted closer to the red fence post and snagged her toe on a vine. As she toppled over, Donnell grabbed her hand.

“Careful, bird. I agreed to take you touring, but not to chase you rolling down hills.” He helped her to her feet.

“Thank you,” Margaret said, feeling her hand enveloped in his large palm. “When I went to school people teased me for being tall and clumsy. It got so bad my mother enrolled me in ballet until I graduated high school.”

“I can tell.”

“You can? My ballet teacher said that before me she believed anyone could learn to pirouette. How could you tell?”

“Your hair is always in a bun.”

Margaret pulled her hand free, self-consciously reaching up to check her hair.

“I think you better give your hand back to me.”

“Why should I do that?”

“There might be a loose rock ahead.”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible. So where’s this restaurant?”

“It’s that yellow building right there.” He pointed to the tall mustard building facing out to the bay.

She took a risk and slipped her hand back into his palm. “There might be a loose rock after all. Better safe than sorry,” she said, smiling at him.

The rain began when they were halfway through their meal.

“Oh, no.” Margaret listened to the rain peck at the windows. “Do you think it will pass soon?”

“No, not really, the forecast said it would rain all day. It’s a wonder it held off this long.”

Margaret took another sip of her seafood stew. The flavor hinted at rosemary and tasted wholesome and rich. She dipped the bowl of her spoon in the milky liquid. The smell of butter and ocean drifted from his side of the table. “How are the oysters?”

“You want one?” He held out a deflated gray glob on his fork.

Margaret choked back a gag. “No, thanks. Oysters aren’t very appetizing on their own.”

He shrugged and poked the bite into his own mouth. “So your da had a stroke.”

“Yeah.” Margaret sipped another spoonful of soup. “The word stroke never meant much to me. Sure, I took care of a few patients during my clinicals, but for the most part, it stayed a definition in my text book until two years ago.”

“So you quit your job and took care of him?”

“At first I took vacation. After a while, Dad didn’t seem to be getting any better so I left my job in surgery, moved out of my apartment, and became an in-home care RN.”

“What about your sister? What about a nursing home?”

“I’ve had an inside view of the local twenty-four hour care units. The ones he could afford…it’s not for Dad.”

“Take it easy, Meggy. I’m just trying to fit the pieces together.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that Janet is constantly egging me to get someone else to care for Dad.” She scooped up a carrot in her spoon. “My mom died the year I turned sixteen. Janet and Glen got married the summer before dad had his stroke. When it comes to options, I’m it.”

“It looks as if the rain has let up. I’ll run and get the car,” Donnell said. He left money for lunch and dashed off before Margaret could protest.

Margaret waited in the entranceway. The rain pattered against the small rectangular panes of the door that overlooked Kinsale bay. The gray clouds reflected against the water’s rippling surface.

Donnell pulled up in her little rental car.

When they drove into the bed and breakfast driveway that evening, the front curtain swayed.

“Does your Aunt always stay up and wait for you?” Margaret teased. She snagged her leftovers and purse from the back seat. “Are you coming in?”

“No,” he said, handing Margaret her keys. “I have to take care of a few things tonight.”

“All right.” Margaret tried to hide the disappointment in her voice. “Do I need to expect an early wake-up tomorrow?”

“No. I’ll be coming a bit later. I would hate for you to miss all of my aunt’s cooking. Make sure you try her fried potatoes.”

“I will.” Margaret walked up the lighted path and into the door. Something seemed different about Donnell, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
It’s probably just family stuff.
That night, as she lay back into the thick, down comforter on her bed, Margaret let herself think about the day. She remembered the pained look on Donnell’s face as he spoke of his family, the rush of emotion when he held her hand, and the rustle of the curtains as they pulled into the bed and breakfast.

The phone’s ring startled her and she grabbed it from the nightstand. “Hello.”

“Margaret?”

“What’s up?”

“Glen is on a business trip, I’ve been home from work sick all day. I tried you twice at the B and B, and you weren’t there. Do you realize what time it is there? I know. I checked and it’s very late. What if something had happened to you, how am I to know you’re not dead in some alley?”

Margaret knew the drill.

Janet and Glen had an argument, and now Janet wanted to spend the evening talking about things that annoyed her until she got around to telling Margaret about the fight.

Margaret could feel the bags forming under her eyes as her sister rambled on. Tonight she wanted to cling to the feelings she discovered in her heart, not listen to her sister prattle on about the price of pedicures while she angled around to what the fight was about.

Margaret cut her sister off. “
You
sent me on a trip to Ireland by myself. I’m thirty-two and fully capable of carrying a can of pepper spray if I need to, besides I’m having a great time, and yes, I DID just say great. Save yourself the drama. Call Glen. Talk about it.”

Silence crashed against the receiver.

“If that’s the way you want it, Margaret. Enjoy your night.”

Margaret looked at her phone to see the call had ended. Her plan backfired. She’d always been her sister’s emotional crutch.
But you don’t just yank that crutch away from the lame person; you have to let them learn to walk again.
She quickly re-dialed the number, but Janet didn’t answer.

She groaned and rolled over in her bed. Not only were the feelings of euphoria gone, but she felt the telltale pounding of a headache coming on. She sank back into the soft pillow. A thought flashed against the canvas of her eyelids.
Will Janet forgive me? And where was Donnell rushing off to so late tonight?

9

The next morning she stood in front of her open suitcase, looking at the neat stack of clean clothes. She never cared much about what her clothes looked like, but now she wished she’d packed something remotely attractive. She reached in and grabbed a wad of jersey that was smashed into the very corner of the bag. She pulled it out and gave it a shake. A small handwritten note floated to the floor.

Dear Margaret,

When I helped you pack, I noticed you didn’t have anything new for the trip. I sneaked in an outfit that was sitting in my closet. I thought it would be perfect for you, so try it on! This trip IS all about adventure.

Love,

Janet

P.S. Check the outside of your case
.

The long-sleeved jersey dress had a cross front that tied at the hip. Margaret didn’t remember Janet ever wearing this dress. She ran her fingers across the heather-gray fabric. It felt smooth and soft like a favorite t-shirt. She held it up against herself, stepped out of her pajamas, and pulled the dress over her head. It hugged her waist and fell nicely past her knees. She swayed back and forth and the circle skirt swooshed through the air. She opened the outer pocket on her suitcase. Inside were brown suede knee high boots, and long navy socks.

“Oh, Janet! I’ve been so mean!” Margaret reached for her cell phone and punched in her sister’s number. The call went straight to voicemail. She looked at the clock.
Janet isn’t even up yet
. She grabbed her Bible and sat on the little couch near her window. Hair and makeup could wait. She needed to spend time listening to what God had for her today. All these new feelings needed sorting out. She bowed her head, whispered a prayer, and then cracked open the well-worn cover of her Mother’s Bible.

“Knock, knock.” Mrs. McCleary’s voice rang from behind the door.

The Bible slid from her lap to floor. “I’m coming.” Margaret called, leaving the book in a crumpled heap. She crossed the room and pulled the door open.

Mrs. McCleary was holding a tray of breakfast foods. “I didn’t see you downstairs this morning. You must have had a late night. Here are a few things to eat before you go out again. Is Donnell coming by later today?”

Margaret took the tray. “I believe he is.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Mrs. McCleary clasped her hands together. “He’s such a nice boy, my nephew, and he will make you a wonderful,” she faltered, “er, tour guide.”

Margaret thanked Mrs. McCleary and returned to her Bible sprawled on the floor. Some of the loosened pages drooped from the book. She tucked them back and scolded herself for letting it fall. A small note card sat against the plush carpet. The words on it, etched in her mother’s smooth writing, stood out against yellowed cardstock. She lifted it from the floor and set it atop her Bible. Steaming tea in hand, she read the words.

James 4:13-15

Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.”

Lord, I pray for my Meggy. I pray that she learns to give You control over her future instead of taking charge of everything herself. Thank You for my little girl. She is a gift from You, Lord.

Amen.

The thin pages of the Bible crackled as Margaret turned to the passage marked on the card. She read it through twice, and then slumped back against the smooth couch. Mom hoped she would be adventurous and let God lead the way. Margaret contemplated her past and searched for a time when she let God have full control.
This trip couldn’t possibly count since Janet tricked me into going.
Her heart ached. Had God used Janet to bring her to Ireland? How did Donnell fit into this? She laid her Bible down and said a quick prayer.

She slid the long boots over the navy socks and checked herself one more time in the mirror. She couldn’t help but twirl. After one more swipe of mascara, she opened the door to find Donnell waiting in the hallway.

Donnell whistled. “Wow, Meggy. You’re a sight.”

“Thank you.” A smile broke across her face as they walked to her rental car.

“I bet you want to know what we’re up to today. Don’t you?” He opened the passenger door.

“No, this is your city, lead the way.” Margaret swallowed her previous concerns and determined to be adventurous today.

“Are you sure?” He waved a crumpled piece of paper in front of her nose.

“No. I mean, yes. I’m trying something new.” She closed her eyes against the temptation.

“All right, then.” He stuffed the worn paper back into his pocket.

Her fingers itched to grab it. She chose to worry the strap to her purse instead.

Donnell pulled in front of the coffee shop.

“I think I’ll stay in the car,” Margaret said.

“All right, then. What can I get for you?”

“I’ll take a latte and one of those pastries.” She rummaged through her purse for loose euros, but came up empty. “I changed my mind, I don’t want anything.” The thought of entering and paying with her debit card overcame her desire for caffeine.

“It’s on me this time. I’ll get our pastries in separate bags,” he said in a teasing tone.

She started to refuse, but he closed the door and dashed off. The note in her mother’s Bible came to mind. She wrestled with thoughts of God, her Mom, and her own way of living. A knock on the car window startled her.

Donnell stood there, balancing the coffee and pastries, waiting for her to open the door.

“Hop out. Besides getting food and drink, this is our stop.”

Margaret regarded her boots with a wedge heel.
At least I’m not stuck in stilettos again.
She stepped out of the car. “OK.”

“You don’t sound, OK.” He mimicked her voice. “No, I really am. I am ready for an adventure,” she said, choking on the last word. In her boots, she was close to eye level with Donnell. A few silver streaks brushed back from his temples and disappeared into his ruddy hair. She took the coffee and pastry. “What are you looking at? Is my mascara smudged?”

“I’m looking at the same thing every man in the coffee shop window is looking at. Meggy, you are a beautiful sight.” He offered his arm.

Margaret shuffled the coffee and pastry so that she could slide her hand into the crook of his arm. He was wearing a light coat and she could feel the strength in his arms. “Donnell, what is it that you do for work? Besides take lost women around on tours of your hometown, that is.”