Then, so suddenly and smoothly I thought I’d imagined the wariness, he switched to a charming grin. He removed his hand and gestured at the seat before his desk as he dropped into a swivel chair behind it. “Please sit. ”
I nodded and perched on the very edge. I shouldn’t be this nervous, but I’d never interacted with someone who I both admired and needed something from and was attracted to before. There were just too many feelings twisting up my gut.
Okay. I tried to order my thoughts. “First of all, I’m sorry about your loss. ”
For half a heartbeat, his charming smile froze and his eyes flickered. “My loss?”
My finger ticked nervously against my thigh, and I quickly crushed it in the grip of my other hand. “Of your great uncle?”
His expression shifted back to ease, and he flashed a bright, shocking smile that made me flush straight to my toes. “That’s right,” he said, as though the memory had just now occurred to him. “Poor ol’ Uncle Patrick. ”
He didn’t sound any more broken up than I felt.
“Um, yes. ” I tried to recover from that smile.
“But you’re not really here to offer your condolences, are you, Ms. Sullivan? You want to talk about Kilkarten. ”
“That’s right. ” I shook myself and smiled again. “As I’m sure you know, your uncle and I had negotiated a deal regarding excavating the Iron Age harbor at Kilkarten Farm. I’m an archaeologist with Columbia University, and we’ll be partnered with an Irish university for the dig. I’ve emailed you the agreement, but I brought a paper copy as well. ” I pulled the packet from my briefcase, wrinkling the paper on the way out. Why couldn’t I ever be suave? “I’m hoping we can keep the same terms that Patrick O’Connor and I worked out, and if you’re happy with them there are just a couple of forms to sign. ”
He closed his eyes for one brief moment, and when he opened them they were focused on me with an intensity that made my own widen. He leaned forward and my throat dried up. “Look, Ms. Sullivan, I’ll get to the point. There isn’t going to be an excavation. ”
Wait.
What?
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand. ” I tried to keep my voice from warbling as I tucked my loose hair firmly behind my ear. “You object to the terms?”
I could see all the tensed energy in his muscles as he brought his arms to rest on the desk. He laced his fingers together. One red lock fell across his forehead. “I know you had an agreement with my uncle, Ms. Sullivan, and I’m sorry about that. ”
“This dig’s beginning in a month,” I said dumbly.
He shook his head and spoke with finality. “No, it’s not. ”
I blinked rapidly. “Why not?”
His expression didn’t change. “Personal reasons. ”
Personal reasons.
Personal reasons?
Personal was seven years of school. Personal was Jeremy’s damaged reputation, years of research, a lifetime of love, conferences and papers and passion. It was bureaucratic tape and persuading cranky old men and academic feuds and my father’s disdain. “I don’t think you understand how important this project is. ”
O’Connor’s hands twisted, his thumb and forefinger biting into the skin between his fingers. He smiled, and didn’t bother trying to make it reach his eyes. “Important means very different things to different people. ”
My stomach turned over, like I’d only had coffee all morning long. “So you’re saying that. . . you’re not going to give me the rights to dig at Kilkarten. I’m going to have to cancel the excavation. ” I blinked. “Can I do anything to make you change your mind?”
For the first time since I’d walked in, he betrayed some regret. “I’m sorry, but no. ”
I nodded. “Oh. ” There was a pit in my stomach, a knot that pulled everything in me down, that turned every emotion sour and made it hard to breathe. My body felt uneasy and weak and shaky. “I see. ”
His brows lowered in slight consternation. “Can I get you anything? Water?”
I waved a hand. “No, I’m fine. Just—I don’t suppose you can tell me why?”
His face masked once more. “I’m sorry, it’s—”
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“Personal. I get it. ” I sucked in a deep breath and stood. I would have to call Jeremy. And the locals I had hired. And the suppliers I had contracted with for equipment.
And my parents. At some point, I would have to tell my parents I had failed. Well, at least someone would be happy with this outcome.
Standing, I swallowed dryly and stuck out my hand. “Well—thank you for your time. ”
He took my hand, his own large and warm. His eyes scanned mine. “You’re really upset about this. ”
That almost made me laugh. “You could say that. ” I took a deep breath. “But. That’s not your problem. ”
“Hey. ” His hand held on to mine as I began to pull away, and my eyes rose back to his. “Do you think it’s really there? You think you would have found this lost harbor of yours?”
My chest clenched and my heart twisted. “I think I would have found everything at Kilkarten. ” I extricated my hand and forced a smile. “Anyway. I guess I should go. ” I shrugged. “Go Leopards. ”
And then I left.
Chapter Three
I spent the next week running.
It was amazing, the amount of energy that unhappiness and stress created. Every time I thought about the loss of Ivernis or the meeting with O’Connor, another spurt of speed burst through me.
Now what? I couldn’t base my thesis off research that didn’t happen. I couldn’t study a site if I never found it. I would have to change my entire focus.
In the middle of circling Central Park’s giant reservoir, I came to a stop and stared blankly across the water at Midtown’s skyline, at the hotels and the towers of Times Square, and, off to the left, the familiar peak of the Empire State Building. Cam and I always joked about how scenes would go in the movie version of our lives, and I imagined this was the point where I would fall to my knees and start crying.
“Fuck,” I said, because if I wasn’t going to cry, something ought to mark the collapse of my dreams.
The water didn’t answer me. The trees, heavy with spring buds and the chirp of sparrows, swayed lightly. Behind me, fellow joggers bounced along in the sanctioned counter-clockwise direction, and tourists ambled to a stop every few steps, cameras clutched in hand. No one seemed to notice that the world had just ended.
I sighed and yanked my falling elastic out of my hair, flopping over at the waist so that the thick dirty-blond strands tumbled toward the dirt path. I gathered it in one hand before it trailed against the ground and bundled it back into a messy ponytail, and then readjusted my bobby pins as well.
Time to go home.
* * *
When Carthage fell, when Rome fell, bacchanalian chaos reigned in the streets. When Hailey’s Comet streaked through the sky, people fell into the arms of strangers.
Since this was on a slightly smaller scale, I ran and watched cat videos.
A week after Mike O’Connor had refused to sign the papers, Cam came home to find me once more in front of my laptop. She threw her purse into her room, where it landed with a soft thud. “What are you do
ing?”
I waved at my computer. “This cat’s trying to eat a watermelon. It’s adorable. ”
She reached over and closed my laptop case. “Okay. No. You’re not watching cat videos for the rest of your life. ”
“But I looked up things that make people feel better when depressed, and this came up. ”
She shook her head. “You have to focus on the positives. Like, maybe we don’t sublet your room, but instead you stay here and we have the best. Summer. Ever. ”
“Oh, I’m not staying here,” I said. “I’ve decided that I’m still going to Ireland. ”
Cam’s eyes narrowed. “What? How does that make any sense?”
I shrugged. “Jeremy’s in Ireland. All the other specialists in our field are there. And even if I can’t dig at Kilkarten, I can still go look at the land, especially the public property surrounding the farm, and look at old records that are only available locally. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing. ”
“That’s stupid. You’re going to go there and stare at the land you can’t excavate? It’s going to drive you crazy. ”
“Probably,” I agreed. “But it’s better than doing nothing at all. ”
* * *
Two weeks after my failed meeting with Michael O’Connor, my brothers came into the city so we could go to the NFL Draft.
I’d been looking forward to it for months. We’d talked about going for the past several years, but since tickets were distributed on a first-come, first-serve basis the night before the Draft began, it took some organization. This year, though, Peter planned a whole trip up from DC with his wife and four-year old, who opted to see a musical. Quinn, who lived in Philly, bunked with Evan in his cramped Village apartment. And the night before the Draft began, the four of us spent hours in line to pick up wristbands that would give us entrance.
I was thrilled to see my brothers. I had bets placed on which teams would draft which players. But right before I was supposed to go meet my brothers to line up to enter Radio City Music Hall, nerves hit me hard.
“I’m just not feeling well,” I told Cam. “Maybe I should stay home. ”
Cam looked up from her computer. “You’re kidding right?”
I shrugged. “I think I have a cold. ”
“Hey. ” Cam closed her laptop case. “Is this about O’Connor? You’ve liked the Leopards since you were five years old. You are not not going because he made you feel bad. ”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Just—what if he’s there?”
“You mean, what if he’s up on stage and you’re in the audience, so there’s actually no way of running into each other?”
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I nodded several times.
“And didn’t you say most of the players are showing up on the second night? So maybe he won’t even be there tonight. ”
“Okay. You’re right. I’m going, and I’m going to have a good time. And I’m going to meet Leopards and get— Oh my God. ” I whirled back around. “What if I’m getting autographs and end up asking O’Connor for one? That would be humiliating. ”
Cam’s mouth quirked. “Or, alternatively, you could ask him for a signature and present the excavation contract. ”
I stared at her. “Who were you in your last life? Machiavelli?”
She snorted. “Please. He just wrote The Prince to be satirical. He was really a good guy. ”
“You keep telling yourself that. ” I tipped my hat at her, gathered my things, and left.
I hadn’t been to Radio City Music Hall since some long ago Christmas, and my overwhelming memory was of long legs and camels. (While the camels also had long legs, I mainly remembered the human variety). No camels were present today, but it remained another sort of circus: of the media, the fans, the celebrities and players and coaches and managers and scouts. Excitement bubbled up in my chest as soon as we entered the concert hall, and the chatter of thousands filled the space. People in jerseys and nametags were everywhere we turned, and every so often we caught glimpses of people who usually lived in our televisions. I saw two famous coaches within the first twenty minutes and could have died happy.
The glitz didn’t just come from the people, but from the goods on display. We saw Lombardi trophies and Super Bowl rings. Banners and cameras were everywhere. Inside the hall, screens hung from the ceiling and along the back of the stage. The NFL logo was everywhere. Burnt orange and purple lights lit up the proscenium arch above the stage. The famous Art-Deco interior had been designed in the 1930s. Peter leaned close and told me, just as our father had a dozen odd years ago, that the stage elevators had been so advanced that the Navy had used their hydraulics for World War II aircraft carriers.
People packed the auditorium. We had seats, but around us others stood. The screens before us flashed with images, and the countdown began. It ended in a burst of cheers and applause and music, and then the NFL Commissioner walked out onstage. After a short speech, he officially opened the draft.
Round One began at 8:00 PM, but the Leopards, as one of the NFL’s best teams, didn’t pick until close to last. Selection order depended on rankings, and the lowest rated got the first position, so last year’s Super Bowl Champion was dead last, while the teams that didn’t reach the playoffs received the first twenty picks.
Eight million people watched from around the country with us as futures and teams were made. I liked theater, but I liked the draft more. Here, we got to see the faces of the draft picks as they finally made it professionally. The top college picks waited in the green room, looking strange in their tailored black or gray suits instead of uniforms and helmets, and listened with (theoretically) more anxiety than the rest of us for their names to be called. When they were, they strode onstage to accept their jersey for their new team.
My brothers and I speculated with each other and the people around us. We groaned as our mock drafts were destroyed and cheered when we accurately predicted the future. Quinn did the best out of all of us, and was the only one to call the first overall pick, but Quinn had always been the best at numbers.
When we left, I was exhausted, happy and satisfied. I’d spent time with my brothers, seen some amazing people in real life, and caught nary a glance of Michael O’Connor.
We couldn’t see the second day of the Draft—the tickets had been given out to fans at ten the night before, while we were inside watching the first rounds—but that didn’t prevent us from gathering outside Radio City Music Hall on the second night as well. Today more current players were in attendance, but I was more relaxed given yesterday’s lack of conflict.
Of course, that’s how it always is, isn’t it?
Peter and I were angling for a better view of the red carpet, which had been set up outside of Brooks Brothers—Evan and Quinn were both tall enough that they could see over most of the crowd with little effort—when a contingent for the Leopards appeared. The crowd reacted with cheers for the home team, but a little tickle of unease crept down my spine. I kept remembering O’Connor’s intense eyes, and just the memory made me feel odd.
Most of that dissipated when he didn’t appear, especially because the excitement roused by the players who did appear was high. Ryan Carter was one of
the best quarterbacks in the League, and wide-receiver Malcolm Lindsey had set several records.
They were also both incredibly attractive, but I didn’t mention that with my three brothers beside me. Besides, I thought they both had girlfriends.
“Hey! Hey, ancient Ireland girl!”
It took me a couple minutes to realize the raised voice of a girl several feet away was directed at me, but when I turned I recognized the girl from the Leopards Stadium. Rachael. Small world, but I supposed if we were both fans it made sense we’d turn up outside the Draft. I waved back. “Hi!”
Rachael made her way over to me. “Hey, nice to see you again. Isn’t this something?”
“Yeah, it’s awesome. ” I waved at the players several yards before us. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them this close. ”
The corners of her mouth twitched, like she was biting the inside of her cheek. “Mmm. Yeah. So you’re a Leopards fan?”
“Uh-huh. ”
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She hesitated. “I was, um, curious because Mike told me you wanted to work on his land. ”
What?
I hadn’t given a second thought to why she’d be in the Leopard’s offices the other week. Did she work there? How did she know Mike O’Connor? “He did?”
Rachael waved a hand. “Not that it’s my business. Anyway. This is totally last minute, but the friend I told you about—the one doing the book—is in town this weekend for the draft. I know I should’ve called you up earlier, but I’m a slacker, so. If you’re interested, I’m having some people over on Saturday. ”
I stared at her, the wheels in my head clicking. “Wait—are the people going to be. . . Mike wouldn’t be there by any chance, would he?”
Her brows rose. “It’s probable. ”
A girl made her way though the crowd to Rachael’s side. A tall, black girl with a face that could launch a thousand ships. My eyes darted back and forth between them and my throat went dry.