Running Back

  He looked uncomfortable. “I haven’t actually met her. We’re having lunch day after tomorrow. ” His eyes lit up. “I’ll go with you tomorrow. ”

  “Really? Are you sure?”

  He raised his brows. “I’ve been with my family a solid week. I think I deserve the company of someone I’m not related to. ”

  I raised mine right back at him. “So you deserve my company?”

  His voice was little more than a murmur. “Don’t I?”

  I sucked in a quick breath. I was suddenly aware of how late it was, how much I’d enjoyed talking to him this evening, how whenever I was in his presence I was always so, so aware of him. . . And that he had unflinchingly refused to let me excavate Kilkarten, and just several hours ago I’d had the thought of enlisting his sisters for a coup d’etat. “I should go. ”

  He shook his head. “Must be our catchphrase. ”

  I paused halfway to the door. “What?”

  “You said something like that when we first met. Then I tried to leave Ryan’s fast. But we never seem to get very far from each other, do we?”

  I pulled the door open. “I am going. ”

  Page 17

  He nodded. “See you in the morning. ”

  I could feel the intensity of his gaze long after I’d tucked myself into bed and turned off all the lights.

  * * *

  I woke to birdsong. The sun had already risen, and morning light filtered through my window, lying in panels across my bed and the floor. I stretched and twisted and considered my jogging gear, but the time difference had thrown me off and I didn’t have time for a run if I wanted to meet with Maggie O’Connor in two hours. Still, I headed outside so I could get some fresh air and give my appetite time to wake up before breakfast.

  I settled on a white stone bench under a cypress tree with my volume of Yeats, which to be honest I never would have read if I hadn’t been in Ireland. My last poetry had been along the lines of Dr. Seuss, who I held in great esteem, but other than him my attention usually drifted off during the first stanza of a poem.

  I’d only been there fifteen minutes when Anna walked toward me, clearly coming in for breakfast from the cottage where she was staying. We both hesitated when we caught sight of each other, and then she angled her path to my bench.

  I nodded at her. “Morning. ”

  She nodded back, and shoved her hands into the pockets of her faux leather jacket. The pockets didn’t look like they were actually built to support hands. “Sorry if I was kinda bitchy yesterday. ”

  I smiled. “We can blame it on jetlag. ”

  She grunted. “So. Are you a model or something?”

  People had asked me that before—mostly because I’d inherited my mother’s height, cheekbones, and famous gray eyes—but I always hated the question. “Definitely not. I’m an archaeologist. ”

  “Seriously?”

  I closed my book and slid over on the bench. “I study Irish history, from about two thousand years ago. I’m interested in the contact between Ireland and Rome, and your family’s farmland might cover an archaeological site that would give more information on that. ”

  Her jaw dropped open, and she fell onto the bench. “Seriously? Kilkarten? The farm? Are you going to, like, dig it up? That’s awesome. ”

  Something twinged in my chest, but I ignored it. “I don’t think so. I’m mostly going to be looking at old local records. Sometimes in these rural villages, papers don’t get digitized, so. ”

  Her brow scrunched up. “Well, why don’t you dig it up? Isn’t that easier?”

  “Um. ” I glanced back at the inn. So Mike hadn’t talked to his family about the excavation. “It’s complicated. ” I shook the thoughts from my head and smiled at Anna. “So, how about you? You’re here to. . . ” Oops. I’d just walked into depressing territory. “Because of your uncle?”

  She shrugged and scowled. “Yeah, I guess. But seriously, who the fuck goes to Ireland because of some dude they never met?” She cut me a measured look, as though waiting for a reprimand, but I didn’t bite. She could curse her tongue off if she wanted.

  “Did you have plans this summer?”

  She snorted. “Obviously. I was going to work in Derek’s sister’s tattoo parlor. ” She swung her foot impatiently. “But then they made me come here, so he broke up with me. ”

  I looked at her. “Because you weren’t going to work at his sister’s tattoo parlor. ”

  She shrugged. Her foot kept swinging. “Well. And I wouldn’t sleep with him. ”

  Shocking.

  “I mean, I was going to. ” She scowled. “Who wants to be a fucking virgin their senior year of high school?”

  Fucking virgin was my new favorite phrase.

  “Now he’s dating Kaitlyn Taylor. ”

  “On the other hand, Kaitlyn Taylor is stuck back home, and you get to explore all of Ireland. ”

  “Yeah, I guess. ”

  I leaned my head back, so I could admire the morning sky, and lowered my voice confidentially. “So my best friend and I came up with a plan before I came here. You want in on it?”

  She seemed aware that she was too cool for plans, but still couldn’t resist asking, “What is it?”

  “Operation: Irish Boyfriend. ”

  She threw a startled glance at me. “Wait, you want an Irish boyfriend? But what about—” She stopped abruptly.

  My mouth twitched. “There’s nothing going on between me and your brother. ”

  “Why not?” She sounded almost defensive.

  I jumped up from the bench. “I’m hungry. Let’s get some breakfast. ”

  And I headed back inside before Anna could press the issue.

  The rest of the O’Connors joined us not much later, and when the three women moved to go to Cork for the day, Mike excused himself. “Natalie and I are going to head into the village. ”

  Kate agreed with such alacrity I suspected she still hoped Mike would be introducing me as his girlfriend shortly. Anna shot me a pointed look.

  I turned to Mike after they’d left. “I feel like your entire family has some sort of agenda. ”

  “They usually do. ” He stood and I followed. “Come on, let’s ask Eileen how to get into Dundoran. ”

  Chapter Seven

  The coastal path from the inn to Dundoran Village      curved along the shoreline. It rose and fell through the hills, but never      touched the sand. Instead, we walked on flattened grass, while a haphazard stone      wall herded us south. Pale green moss frosted the stones, and purple thistles      fringed the bottom. Beyond the wall, wide green swaths rolled up into hills and      sky, only interrupted by bushy trees and hedgerows.

  I let out a deep sigh.

  “You okay?”

  I waved my arm expansively. “I’m just happy. It’s so beautiful.      All these greens—all the colors. ” The land rose slightly and the path followed      it upward, giving us a splendid view of the heather covered green that sloped      down to the shore. The water lapped gentle against the pale yellow strip of      sand.

  Mike stared at me. “You cannot get      this turned on by nature. ”

  I tossed a grin back at him. “Why not? What else is this      amazing?” I closed my eyes and inhaled a warm, fresh breeze, grass and blooming      flowers, all underlain by the sea. “In Ecuador, you can smell the eucalypti.      It’s sickly sweet. Heady. The bark peels off like paper, and it’s everywhere—the Spanish introduced the trees as a      source of cheap firewood, and then it spread all over. I dreamed of those trees      when I left. ”

  “Why did you leave?”

  I opened my eyes. “Why? Well, the dig was up. ”

  “Hmm. ” There was something in that noise, like I’d revealed a      facet of myself I hadn’t intended to. “And what are you going to dream of      here?”

&n
bsp; “I don’t know. Maybe the sea. Salt and earth and wind. ” I      laughed. “Am I getting too fantastical?”

  Page 18

  He studied me. I was learning that when Michael O’Connor fixed      his attention on me, I felt like we were the only two people in the world. Out      here in this rugged landscape, we could have been. “So you’ve lived in New York      and Ecuador and now you’re here. You don’t put down roots, do you?”

  I shrugged. “I put down enough. ”

  He lifted a challenging brow. “But you travel more than most      people, don’t you?”

  I’d always been proud of my travel spiel before, but now I      wondered if he had a point. “I spent a year abroad in London. Did my field      school in Greece summer after my sophomore year and then went back there the      next season. Worked in the Great Plains for the summer after that. Did some work      on Inka fortresses for one of my profs last year. My degree’s archaeology, so      not place specific, though I’ll just be focusing on Ireland for my thesis. ”

  We kept walking, and he offered me a hand as we jumped over      some mud. “Don’t you ever want to stay put?”

  The idea of remaining in one place for a marked period of time      gave rise to a fluttering anxiety. I pulled my hand out of his warm one as we      walked on. Staying put seemed synonymous with being weighed down. Trapped.      Suffocated. “No. That idea terrifies me. ”

  “What’s the longest you’ve ever spent in one place?”

  I smiled grimly, picturing the silent, echoing halls of my      parents’ house. “Eighteen years. ”

  “And since then?”

  I shrugged. “Nine months, tops? I wouldn’t want to be anywhere      longer than that. ”

  “Why?”

  I shrugged, staring ahead. The land turned back in on itself,      the coast curving and forming small coves. Yellow gorse carpeted the fields to      the left. A hedgerow wound closer, enough that I could see the fuchsia flowers      tangled in the green. “I don’t know. I just get such wanderlust, and if I can’t      go I feel empty and constrained and whenever I move I feel like I can breathe      easier. Don’t you feel. . . exhilarated when you make the perfect drive, and you      didn’t think you were going to but you do, and everything is just perfect for a moment?”

  I glanced sideways to see if he thought that was silly and mad      and impractical, like most people did, but a small, crooked smile lifted the      corner of Mike’s mouth. He stopped walking and regarded me with those warm brown      eyes. “Yeah. ”

  I took a step closer to him. I could smell his aftershave, a      scent already becoming familiar to me. “That’s how I feel when I’m in a new      place. When I excavate a new site. ” I hesitated. “That’s how I feel about      Ivernis. ”

  His throat and jaw worked, his brows tensing, but he didn’t      look away. “Why can’t you just go back to Ecuador? Why does it have to be      here?”

  I smiled a little wistfully. “Don’t get me wrong. The Inka were      badass. I mean, they conquered most of South America. They had an advanced road      system and they drafted soldiers intelligently and they had the most gorgeous      ashlar masonry you’ve ever seen.

  “But it’s not the same. I know that’s silly, and part of it is      just me. . . anthropomorphizing the site, but it doesn’t get to me the same way      Ivernis does. It doesn’t sing. Sure, I would be happy working there—I was happy, it was amazing—but Ivernis— This is the only      thing I want to do for the rest of my life. ”

  “I understand that. ”

  I glanced over at him. Most people I knew cared about what they      were studying, maybe even loved it to a degree, love mixed with irritated and      aggravation—but they didn’t obsess. But Mike O’Connor. . . “You do, don’t you?” I      looked out over the endless fields. “What would you do, if you couldn’t play      football? How would you feel? Like a musician with broken fingers? Like a runner      who’s lost her legs?”

  He pressed his lips together. “You’re not being fair. ”

  I sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. ”

  We were silent until the hill crested and the land fell away      before us. To the west, the water stretched out, a flat blue under bright sky,      while a mile in the distance a tiny village lay nestled between two hills, a      patchwork of pastel houses with slate-gray roofs. Beyond it, the hills climbed      again, brushed with green grasses and black stone dotted with purple.

  Before the village, midway down the hill, a church rose up, the      Gothic steeple perfectly piercing the sky. Moss covered the roof of an ancillary      building. It looked so surreally perfect that my heart ached and my feet      stopped.

  Mike must have been paying attention, because he turned      impatiently. “Aren’t you coming?”

  “It’s beautiful. ”

  He grinned. “Kind of like the fields were beautiful? You’d      probably find something good to say about the subway. ”

  I made a face at him. “And you’d probably say Rome is just a      pile of rocks. ”

  He laughed. “I’m not that bad. ”

  We reached the church. Cypress trees stood before it, their      branches curved tightly up toward the sky like they had been cultivated, while      apple trees formed looser circles, blue peeking in between the leaves.      Everything felt still and quiet as we curved around the old building. A tidy      graveyard spread down the hill, while manicured grasses framed plots and      placards.

  “Oh, look. ” At the back of the      cemetery, by swooping, draping trees, a Celtic cross stood alone. I cut through      the graves, fixed on the marker. Beneath the dark green moss, the stone was worn      and dark, smoothed by age and pitted by weather.

  “Natalie, I don’t think—”

  I crouched down and tried to make out the year. 1158. I reached out and then hesitated, my fingertips      centimeters from the stone. The instruction not to touch art hovered between me      and the cross.

  Page 19

  But with living history, maybe it was meant to be part of our      world. My fingers landed on the stone, cold even after an afternoon soaking up      the sun. I could feel the aerated bubbles of rock as I brushed my fingers over      the surface. “Look at this. Eight hundred years old. Eight hundred years old. And just sitting in a village graveyard, of no      note, no record, just. . . here. ” I shook my head. “It’s amazing. ”

  My fingers traced the carvings, the Celtic knots, etchings that      had been chipped out eight centuries before I was born. This was the direct work      of some nameless artisan. That’s what always got me. How very close I was with      this unknown person. How very far away.

  So many people, lost to obscurity. So many stories I could      bring back.

  It took me a while to notice the silence. I got lost easily,      tangled in thoughts and time and other worlds. Usually someone called my name or      touched my shoulder to get my attention, but this time Mike’s silence outgrew my      own, and I turned to see him standing across the small graveyard, silent as the      stone saint behind him.

  He didn’t move as I came up by his side. I followed his gaze to      the stones he studied so carefully.

  Martin O’Connor.      Ellen O’Connor.      Kathleen O’Connor.      Mary O’Connor.      Sean O’Connor.

  I swallowed over the sudden lump. “You okay?”

  He shrugged. “It’s not like they were real to me. I mean—”

  “I know. ”

  He nodded. “But it’s sort of funny—all of their names written      out. And—” He nodded
at the newest-looking stone, still sharp cornered and      smooth.

  Patrick O’Connor.

  The bottom of my stomach fell out. “Ah. ”

  “And then—it’s like no one else ever left. I feel— Would my dad      have wanted to be here? Should he have been?”

  I didn’t know what to say or do. I wanted to comfort him, but      wasn’t sure how. I reached down and laced my fingers through his, and stepped      sideways until our arms lined up against each other.

  He squeezed my hand, and we stood there, staring at the      O’Connors.

  “What happened to your dad?”

  The tension seemed to drain out of Mike’s body, and he leaned      slightly into me. “Car crash. The other driver was drunk. ”

  “That’s awful. ”

  “Yeah. ” He shrugged. “What can you do? You can be the best      driver in the world, and it doesn’t matter if someone smashes into you. ” His      fingers squeezed mine. “My mother sat down on the kitchen floor and just started      crying when they told her. I’d only heard her cry once before. I waited until      everyone was asleep and then I broke into his whiskey collection. ” He took a      deep breath. “On the third night I found Lauren there, and then I poured out all      of them. ”

  I leaned into him. “You were a good brother. ”

  He shook his head. “I left them six months later for      college. ”

  I turned my head up so I could see him, staring stony-eyed      across the graves. I reached up to touch his cheek, so he turned to look at me.      “And do you still feel guilty?”

  His eyes tore through me, wide with remembered pain. “I feel      guilty about how happy I was to leave. ”

  We heard the clearing of a throat and looked up, our hands      falling apart. In the still, silent cemetery, it seemed only right that the only      person was a thin man with thinner white hair, dressed in a well-worn brown      tweed suit. He nodded at both of us, but it was clear his attention latched onto      Mike. “You’ll be Brian’s son. ”

  Mike looked swiftly at me, and then gave the older man a bright      smile. Back to normal, friendly Mike O’Connor, without any trace of sadness or      discomfort. “Yeah. I’m Mike O’Connor. ”

  “Darrell MacCarthy. Used to give your da lifts to school. ” He      glanced my way. “And this young lady is. . . ?”