The Cork Contingency (8 page)

“I’m a freelance mechanical engineer. I just got off a project when your si…” He took a huge gulp of coffee. “I finished a project and came here.” He glanced at something in the distance.

“Were you going to say something about my sister?”

“The one you told me about yesterday? No.” He took another gulp. “I flew back to Cork because I had some loose ends to tie up.”

“What did you have to tie up?”

“Family stuff, don’t you worry about it. It’s something I’ve put off for a long time and need to deal with.” He cleared his throat again. “I want to know about you, Meggy. I bet your dad had a time keeping the boys away from you.”

She laughed hard. “I’m afraid you have me confused with Janet. I’m no catch. I didn’t have time for boys in high school. I graduated a year ahead so I could go to college and get my RN a year earlier. Keeping the scholarship depended on good grades throughout or they would drop me.” Margaret sighed at the memory of all the late nights during her residency, and sleeping on empty gurneys. “I graduated at the top of my class and worked in surgery until my dad had his stroke. Now I’m just a spinster living at home and taking care of my dad. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s where God wants me.” She looked up at the road ahead of them. She took a bite of her apple blackberry pastry and waited for his reply.

“Do you think God sent you to Ireland?”

She listened to his steady stride against the pavement and mulled over his question.

“Margaret?”

“I do. I don’t know why, though.” She wanted to tell him about the note she found in her Bible.

He slowed his pace. “Meggy, I think you’re here for a reason. When I took the job and flew back to Ireland, I felt God’s hand in it.”

Margaret turned his words over in her mind.
What’s the job he flew back for?
“You know, I almost didn’t come. Somehow, I lost my passport between the line and the security check. But then it appeared in my bag.”

His eyebrows raised and he nodded. “You know, the last woman I took about town had a tiny dog who tried to bite me whenever the woman let it out of her purse.”

Margaret chuckled. “You don’t like dogs?”

“Not the ones that resemble rats with collars. Gum?” he pulled out a pack of clove gum from his pocket and offered her a piece.

“No thanks, I still have coffee left.”

He shrugged and popped a piece into his mouth. It smelled like pumpkin pie. “Today we begin our walking tour of the great city of Cork.” He swept his arm across the sky.

“Don’t tell me you just decided this now.”

“I’m taking you touring and you’re walking. Doesn’t that sound like a plan?”

“How can you live your life this way, never knowing when you are going or coming back and…”

He dropped her arm.

“Hey wait up, you can’t walk off. You have my keys.”

“I’m just throwing away my rubbish.” He pushed his empty cup and bag into the can. “Meggy, you can trust me.” He stepped toward her.

Margaret remembered how he had taken her itinerary and stuffed it in his pocket. They visited Charles Fort yesterday, which was on her list, so he had to be following some sort of order.

“Hold on,” she said placing her hand against his broad chest. “I need time to form an opinion.”

“Maybe make a checklist, get a committee.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being methodical.” She dropped her hand and started walking again.

“If we were all created the same, Meggy, the world would be a boring place to live.” His tenor voice smoothed the wrinkles in her mood.

Margaret felt the truth in his words.

“Hey, we’re here.”

The sign above the doors read, “Cork Butter Museum.”

Margaret snapped a picture of the building and strode past him to a set of towering cardinal doors.

Closed for Maintenance.

“They must have installed the lamps too low,” she said. “Quick! Call the guards. Tell them to bring lots of toast.” Margaret chortled.

“Be careful the guards might be churning with emotion and come out to paddle you.”

“We better leave before we get arrested for telling bad jokes.”

“Do you want to catch a bus to our next stop?” he asked.

Margaret looked skyward. The patchy clouds didn’t look threatening, but she knew better than to assume the weather would hold. “Do you think it will rain on us?”

“Not until later.”

“Let’s keep walking.” Margaret ignored the twinge at the back of her heel and walked on.

Donnell stopped her in front of a large row of buildings.

Cork English Market.

“I couldn’t have you come to Cork and not see the market. There’s a lot of history here.”

Margaret took a picture of the entryway sign. They walked through the archway into the market. Its vaulted ceiling reached up to the second floor. Each booth sold its own produce or product. It reminded Margaret of an indoor farmers market she visited a few years before.

“The English Market started in 1788 and eventually catered only to the wealthy. During the Great Famine of 1845 the majority of the potatoes suffered blight. While the country starved, the English market sold healthy potatoes to the rich.”

Margaret spied a booth selling chocolate in the far right hand corner.

“Two fires and many years later, it’s a highlight of Cork with much better prices, I might add.”

“Donnell! Hey, Donnell!” a voice called from behind a booth.

Margaret nudged Donnell’s arm. “I think someone is waving at you.”

10

“O’Shay!” Donnell waved back. “Excuse me, bird, I’ll only be a minute.”

“No problem.”
I’m just going to check out the chocolate.

The chocolate seller’s booth boasted lit glass cases filled with truffles, chocolate-covered nuts, chocolate-covered marshmallows, and even chocolate-covered fruit. Tall chocolate bunnies stood against the wall and stared out at visitors passing by.

Margaret browsed the glass case, trying to pick a favorite. She gazed over at Donnell, still deep in conversation, and admired his profile. She snapped a picture of him talking to his friend.
He still hasn’t given me a price for this tour. I’ll ask him in the car.

“That yer fella?” The teenager held out a sample tray. Her auburn hair sat at the nape of her neck, pulled into a ponytail.

Margaret took a sample and popped it into her mouth. The creamy caramel square melted onto her tongue and left her craving more.

“Like, he’s fla.”

Margaret had no idea what fla meant. “Thanks for the sample,” she said, backing away from the girl. She bumped into someone standing behind her. “Excuse me. Oh, it’s you, Donnell.”

“You’re beginning to make this a habit, Meggy.” He ignored the leering girl behind the chocolate counter and grasped her hand.

When they were well beyond the booth Margaret asked, “What’s fla? Like if I said that you’re fla.”

“Handsome.” There was that dimple again. It only showed up when his smile grew broad enough. Then it was chased away again. “Meggy, we need talk about…” He ran his free hand through his hair. “um…catching the bus.”

She narrowed her eyes.

He checked his watch and frowned. “You ready to bolt?” He pulled her back toward the door.

Her feet made an unladylike clomping against the brick flooring. She tossed her trash into the can as they sped by and half tripped as they rounded the corner. “Donnell,” she panted, “slow down.”

They rushed down the street and arrived breathless, just in time to watch the bus pull from the station.

“Looks as if we’re walking.” He glanced at Margaret’s shoes, noticing them for the first time. “Can you walk in those?”

“Yes, and apparently I can run in them, too,” she said feeling the bite of a blister forming on her heel. “I’ll be fine.”

“All right then.” He looked at the sky. “It’s not far from here.”

They started down the street at moderate pace.

Margaret ignored the blister gnawing at her heel and focused on keeping stride with Donnell. She ran her hand against the bumpy stone wall that followed the sidewalk.

They rounded the corner and Donnell stopped short in front of an open wrought iron gate.

Margaret gasped. “That building is amazing. It’s a church right?” She didn’t remember anything like this being on her list.

They drifted toward the ancient stone building cutting into the sky.

Margaret held her camera at an angle and snapped a picture of the towering cathedral.

“Do you want to walk the grounds?”

“I want to go in.” She said in a hushed tone.

Carved stone angels watched from above, blowing on heavenly trumpets. A stone man holding a lamb stood at the door with his palm out. He was flanked by others in robes and various poses.

She touched her fingertips against the cold stone, entranced by the details.

The heavy wooden doors covered in cast iron scrollwork and round pulls stood open and beckoned them in. Hundreds of years of history soaked through her.

They walked past benches roped off from the public. A monstrous pipe organ filled the loft. The silver pipes followed the curve of the circular window above.

“Sorry we didn’t come when someone was playing,” Donnell said as he slid into an open bench. “The choir and acoustics, it’s indescribable.”

Margaret sneaked her camera out and took a few pictures.

“I brought you here because I wanted to show you the place I asked Christ to be my Savior. I haven’t lived an easy life, by any means, and I’ve said more than a few heated prayers to God, but He’s the one who’s in charge of me.” Donnell rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted you to know that because…” he paused and turned to face her. “I like you, Meggy.”

Margaret scooted closer to Donnell, reached out her fingers, and gently brushed his hand.
This must have been what Donnell was so hesitant to tell me.

“I’m refusing payment as your tour guide, Meggy. Spending time with you is payment enough.” He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers.

Her heart beat a staccato as she reached her hands behind his neck and kissed him back.

“Ahem.”

Margaret and Donnell looked up to see a man in a black suit looking down at them, one bushy brown eyebrow arched.

“Oh, excuse us.” Margaret grabbed her purse from the floor and stood.

“Calm down, Meggy, I don’t think Owen will throw us out.” Donnell stood and extended his hand to the other man.

“I don’t remember you ever taking a girl out to a church before, how’ve you been?”

“I’m still traveling back and forth from the States.”

“And your Da?”

The air inside the chapel felt tight. Margaret eased down the aisle and left the two old friends talking. She went out the door.

The men’s voices faded into the background.

She stopped at the iron gates.
Which way did we come in?
She looked down the streets, but everything looked the same, and she couldn’t remember where to turn. That kiss still had her head spinning.
What is going on with me?
She lowered herself down next to four headstones.

Time had erased the etching, leaving thin slabs of nameless stone standing against the elements.

Margaret stretched her legs out. She felt the bite of blisters on both feet now.
I wonder if I should slip my boots off and see how bad they are.
A slice of sunlight broke through the gray sky above and warmed the top of her head. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the worn stone, and breathed in the scent of wet earth, tree blossoms, and a freshly lit fire
.
She loosened her hair from its bun and it fell past her shoulders. She ran her fingers through the ends and thought about the kiss.

“Meggy,” Donnell called. He waved at her from the doorway. He jogged the short distance to her, then crouched down and braced his forearms against his legs. “You’re so pretty with your hair down.”

Margaret struggled to meet his gaze.

“Are you OK? Do you want to go back to the car?”

“No, I mean, yes. “ Margaret searched for the right words in her head.
I don’t have time for a relationship. We are too different. You’re making me face feelings I’ve hidden for so many years.
She gave up and waved at her feet. “I don’t know if I’ll make it back to the car. I think I have blisters and I feel exhausted.”

“Just around the block a ways is a chemist. They’ll have something for your feet.”

“A chemist?”

“You know, a drug store. We’ll get you bandaged up and then find a place for lunch. Does that sound OK?”

Margaret nodded.

The building held a vintage charm from the outside and stood proud with its oak sign, along the row of shops. Margaret snapped a few photos and then hobbled through the glass front door onto shining wood floors. A hint of lemon cleaner drifted on the air.

“Here, I found them.” Donnell came up to her.

The woman rang up the purchase.

Outside Margaret sank down onto a backless wooden bench, unzipped her boots and rolled down her socks. She choked back a gasp when she spotted her tarantula-black, hairy legs and swiftly yanked her socks back up.

11

“Let me see you blisters. The way you gimped here, they must be bad.”

“Actually, I’m feeling much better.”

“You’re an RN, right? What happens to blisters that don’t get taken care of?”

“I won’t get gangrene, Donnell. I just overemphasized the matter, had an emotional moment, and now I’m fine.” She swallowed and pasted on a smile.

“Fine, huh.” He grabbed her foot and propped it against his knee.

Margaret winced, and then hid her face behind her hands.

“You sure are squeamish for a nurse.” He tugged at the toe of her sock until it pulled off.

Why couldn’t I have fallen and gotten a head injury?

His rough hand turned her foot to the side and he gently bandaged the oozing blister. He placed her foot on the ground and repeated the process for the other foot.

“You know what they say, nurses make lousy patients.” She tried to chuckle, but kept visualizing her Sasquatch legs.