“Oh, right, of course.” Somehow I’m to blame if my privacy is invaded. “Can I help at all?” I ask in an effort to curry favour.
“Well…,” she glances around the kitchen. Her eyes fall on a giant bag of potatoes in the corner. “You could peel a few spuds for the dinner.”
“Sure!” I say, way too brightly.
“I’ll get you the peeler,” she says shuffling off toward the kitchen sink. “Oh, and an apron. We don’t want you getting your fancy American clothes all dirty, do we?”
Is she being snide with me?
Two and a half hours later, I extract myself from Mrs. O’Grady’s kitchen, my hands blistered and bloody. Okay, well, blistered anyway. I have peeled countless potatoes, carrots, parsnips, turnips, shucked a squillion peas, or is it shelled? Who gives a schuck? And all of this was done to the drone of a priest saying Mass on the radio in Irish! Did we not drop that woman to mass this morning? What is she doing, overtime? Probably to make up for the sins she committed taking advantage of my kindness and turning me into her indentured bitch for the afternoon, I think rather un-Christianly.
“Wait, Dear!” she commands, and I turn around obediently. I am Ma O’Grady’s indentured bitch. I pause in the doorway, my bag possessively under my arm.
“I have a little something for you.” She starts rooting through her handbag, one of those old fashioned ones that Jackie O’ used to carry in the sixties, except this one is brown and not at all fashionable. Used tissues, rosary beads and prayer misselets are piled onto the table. At last she pulls out her purse. She’s going to pay me. I start to feel a bit brighter.
“I do have something in here for you…” She snuffles around in her purse and I shift from one foot to the other. “Aha! I knew it was there!”
I smile. Fancy that—money in the purse…
“Here you are, Dear.” She hands me a piece of paper that has been folded to within an inch of its life. It takes me a long time to open it up, but I manage it eventually. It’s a flyer.
I read aloud. “Henry O’Henry, the true matchmaker of Lisdoonvarna. Come and find love. You know you want to.” I look up at Ma O’Grady, confused.
“It’s for you. For helping me with the veg.” She shuffles closer to me and points at the flyer. “One free pass. Henry will help you find love. He introduced me to Mr. O’Grady. He’s dead now.” She beams.
I continue to stare blankly at the paper.
“Not Henry! No, he’s very much alive. Go over to Lisdoonvarna this evening. He’s expecting you. I saw him at mass and mentioned I had a lonely little wanna-be Yank that needed to find love.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. O’Grady, but I actually have a boyfriend.” I say, somewhat stiffly.
“Really, that’s not what your friend, Ridlee, told me. She said that you’ve been celibate for a really, really, long time. She said that you were lookin’ for love, or at least a date.”
“Thanks, Rid,” I mutter under my breath. “No, really, Mrs. O’Grady, you’d be better off giving this lovely gift to someone else, I have a boyfriend.”
“Aragh, away with ye! Ye do not, and I won’t take no for an answer. Don’t be too proud to accept a gift. He’s expectin’ ye and I’ll be offended if ye don’t go. Sure, ye never know, ye might find yourself a nice Irish farmer and settle down here. There are worse things than being a farmer’s wife ye know?”
“Indeed, I just can’t think of any right now,” I mutter.
“What’s that?” She cups her hand over her ear. “Speak up!”
“And he might even have a few cows!” I yell in her general direction.
“That’s the spirit, Erin. Now, off ye go and get yourself ready. Ye look a fright. No one would have ye the state ye’re in now.”
She closes my hand around the flyer and steers me out the door into the hall. I glance in the mirror and almost recoil in horror. My hair is all over the place, and I have a potato mud smudge across my forehead. My fingernails look as though I’ve just recently buried a body. Guiltily, I recall the gnome. Serves her right. She’s had her blood-money. Still, I guess she’s trying to be nice giving me the appointment with the matchmaker.
Wearily, I climb the stairs, wondering not for the first time, what Micheál might be doing. I pull out my phone to see if he has rung, or at least sent a text message. It’s futile, really, as I had my phone right beside me on the table all afternoon in case he rang or texted and it did nothing.
I stand under the shower for a really long time allowing the water to wash over me. I recall Micheál’s touch and the sound of his voice and shudder with pleasure.
Cop on girl! He probably thinks that I’m some kind of stalker, turning up at his house like that this morning. And what about that girl, Siobhán? Is she his girlfriend? Is he just some kind of playboy?
I think about his words and the sincerity I heard in them. Maybe I’m the easy touch. Maybe I’m just a naive little fool happy to be taken in at the first cute guy who pays me any attention.
I scrub myself clean and get out of the shower, resolving to never approach another man again, and to cut that prick Micheál dead if I ever see him again.
Just as I’m finishing dressing, Ridlee comes through the door flushed and happy.
“Well, well, well, no need to ask what you’ve been up to,” I observe drily.
She grins devilishly. “Who knew that farmers could be so talented with their hands?”
“Well, I think you’ll find that it’s a well known fact actually, Rid.”
“Mmm…” She flops on the bed, sighing dreamily. “What’s the plan, Stan? You seeing Loverboy tonight?”
“I hardly think so. He’s probably doing something with his girlfriend.”
Ridlee sits up on the bed and pulls a face. “So it is his girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. Who else could it be—his mother?”
“Looked a bit young to be his mother,” admits my friend ruefully. “Never mind, Erin, plenty more fish in the sea, and we’re on the coast, so cheer up!”
“Fuck it. I’m done with men.”
“Right. So, what’s the plan for this evening?”
“I’ve got an appointment with a matchmaker in Lisdoonvarna.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
RIDLEE
ERIN’S GRUMPY AND IN NO mood to hang out with old dudes making matches, but we go to the bar where Mr. O’Henry is holding court anyway and order a couple of pints. She slouches over her beer with a scowl on her face.
I nudge her on the arm. “Come on, cheer up. You don’t know for sure that’s his girlfriend. He didn’t look worried to me that you were standing there on the stoop, seeing her up there on his balcony.”
“He didn’t look worried because he’s probably used to it. He probably takes all the girls out on his punt and feels ‘em up on his little island.”
I lift an eyebrow, not sure whether I’m hearing about something that actually happened or some sort of Irish expression. “Punt? Island? Say what?”
She shakes her head. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.” After taking a long pull from her beer, she sits there like a zombie, not even bothering to wipe off her foamy mustache.
I use a bar napkin to clean her up and put my arm around her, squeezing her tight against my side. “Okay, you get ten more minutes of pity party and then you’re done.”
“I need more like ten days.”
I look at my watch. “Nine minutes. You have nine minutes left.” I let her shoulders go and leave her to wallow, knowing she just needs to get this battle over with in her head and then she’ll be back to her old sassy self. Erin never lets a guy get under her skin for long. I’m actually kind of surprised that she cares so much about this particular one. He is, after all, Irish, and she hates Ireland.
I feel a presence behind me before I hear his voice. Turning in my stool, I take in the cream-colored wool sweater and the jeans as his words come to me.
“Evenin’, Ridlee. Didn’t expect to
see you here.”
My grin stretches from one side of my face to another. Man, he sure does clean up nice. “Hello, Donal. Are you following me?” I give him a saucy wink, sure we’re about to embark on a seriously fun flirting session. It’s so different, to be doing it with a man who always keeps me guessing like he does. Half the time I think he knows exactly what he’s doing and the other half I’m thinking he’s completely clueless. I cannot figure him out and that’s a first for me.
He smiles, a rare thing for him. And if I’m not mistaken, his face takes on a reddish tint. “Following you? No, not that I’m aware.”
“Would you like a Guinness?” I ask, holding up my pint as an example of the black goodness that could await, should he decide to stay a while and order one.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he says, taking mine from me and finishing it in one giant gulp. He looks off in the distance as he puts the glass down on the bar.
I’m left sitting there speechless.
“Well, hello, Donal,” Erin says, turning around to face us. “Fancy meeting you here. Is this supposed to be a date or something? Am I the third wheel now?” Her bitterness level has creeped up to nine at this point.
“A date?” he asks, sounding a little scared. “Me?” He looks at me. “And her?” He takes a step back, once more glancing around the bar. “No, there’s no date. Not for me.”
I frown at the hurt feelings that shoot through me at his full-force rejection. This is making no sense. I thought we were flirting. Weren’t we? I mean, we spent half a day together and had a ball. Or at least, I was having a ball. I rode on his Big Dick. He showed me his crops and his barn and his plans for expansion. I’ve never seen a gentler, sexier man than this giant before me, and now he’s acting like I’m some sort of stalker woman trying to trap him into a date? I look around the room, wondering what kind of witch is casting this crazy, effed up spell on us.
That’s when my eyes fall on Henry O’Henry. We lock gazes and he nods his head once.
I grab my purse from the back of my chair and slide off it to the floor. “Come on, Erin. Time to go make a match.” Escape is my plan. It’s not elegant, but it’s better than sitting here on this stool feeling like a desperate fool.
“What? Wait. I’m not done with my beer.” She slides off her stool to the floor too, looking from Donal to me.
“Take it with you.” I grab it and thrust it out at her.
“You’re here to see Henry?” Donal asks.
My heart is kind of burning in my chest, maybe with a little pain involved, so I can’t look him in the eye. “Yep. Gonna go find us some true love. Excuse me.” I push past him and go straight for the corner of the room, Henry O’Henry in my sights.
“What in the hell was that all about?” Erin asks me, whispering loudly in my ear as we move across the room.
“Nothing at all.” I’m barely holding in my anger. How dare he act like we didn’t connect today. How dare he hurt my feelings like that. I’m not just some girl…
My heart fell down into my abdomen as I realized that this is exactly what I am to him. Just some girl, here visiting from another country, leaving in a few days. Why was I thinking anything different? I must be insane. This Irish mojo is really messing with my head.
“Hello, Mr. O’Henry,” I say as we approach his chair. He’s facing out into the bar, using a tiny side table as his desk. His log book is sitting on it, closed. There are two people nearby, but they don’t appear to be using his services. I say this because both of them are about a hundred years old. “Do you remember me?” I ask.
“Indeed an’ I do. It’s Ridlee from America, isn’t it? And how are ye this fine evenin’?”
“I’m great. And how are you?” I turn on the charm, relieved to have something to do other than nurse my hurt feelings.
“Tip top.” He looks to my right, and I turn my head to bring Erin into the fold. “This is my best friend, Erin. She’s from around here.”
She reaches out a hand to shake his. “Dublin, actually. Lovely to meet ye.”
“And you, dear. So it is,” he says, putting his bent and boney hand in hers. “It’s entirely my pleasure to make your acquaintance. Mrs. O’Grady said I should be expecting ye this evenin’.” He smiles and his face folds up into an origami old man, a thousand complicated creases I never saw coming.
“She did, huh?” says Erin. “Well, see, I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding.”
“Is that so?” He doesn’t seem surprised. Gesturing to two nearby chairs, he smiles. “Why don’t ye take a seat and tell me all about it.”
I keep my laughter inside, but turn my head so Erin won’t see me enjoying this too much. She’s really frustrated right now and this whole thing reminds me of a little girl in front of the principal explaining how she doesn’t need something she’s about to get anyway. Being a spectator in her misery is way better than being a participant in my own. I know that makes me a terrible person, but I can’t help my very strong aversion to being made a fool of by a guy.
Erin sits down and folds her hands in her lap, leaving her beer on the corner of the bar top. “You see, I already have a boyfriend, Mr. O’Henry, and so it would be entirely inappropriate for me to submit myself to a matchmaker’s services, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
“Tell me about him,” says the matchmaker, drawing his eyebrows together in concentration, leaning over a bit.
Erin’s eyes go really round, but she soldiers on, digging her grave of lies that much deeper. “Well, he’s very handsome.”
She pauses, maybe hoping this will be enough, but Mr. O’Henry just nods.
“And he’s very smart.”
“He’d have to be, to keep up with you, I imagine.” He winks.
Erin smiles but looks uncomfortable. I would too if I were in her shoes. This guy is being very nice while she sits there and lies right to his face.
“And he’s … entrepreneurial.”
“Ah, and that’s important to ye, is it?”
She nods way too much. “Oh yeah, because I’m a business owner too so we need to be able to understand each other, have the same ambitions and so on.”
“Yes, that is very important in a good match. But then there’s the yang yin. Are ye familiar with the yang yin?”
I laugh but then catch myself, turning it into a cough. What on earth is this guy talking about? How does a centenarian living in the middle-of-nowhere Ireland know about Chinese culture?
Erin blinks a few times, processing. “Yes, I know what yin and yang is. I’m not sure what that has to do with my boyfriend.”
“I believe, for ye to be truly happy, ye must find the complimentary opposite to yerself. The yang to your yin. Ye’re a lively, driven, intelligent girl. The perfect man for you will be anchored, driven too, but connected to his roots. He will help ye feel secure as ye soar on the wind he places beneath yer wings.”
“Uhhhh, okaaay.” She turns to me and gives me her crazy googly eyes. Normally it’s a sign that I need to get her away from wherever she is before she starts getting a little too mouthy, but I’m not exactly sure that’s the best idea right now. This guy knows Erin almost as well as I know her, apparently. He’s right when he says she needs an anchor. She can be a little … untethered sometimes. I used to just write it off as part of who she is, but now I’m wondering where it came from. Maybe it’s from the fact that she left her homeland and seems so determined to keep it in her past. And now that I’ve been here, I realize keeping Ireland dead and buried would be an impossibility. It’s already sneaking into my blood and I’ve only been here a couple days.
“Would ye like me to have a look?” he asks.
“A look? At what?” Erin seems worried, like maybe he’s asking her to strip for an examination. Even I’m a little confused until he rubs his hand across the worn leather of his log book.
“To see if there’s someone who might suit?” he explains.
Erin stands in a hurry. “No,
no thanks. I’m … busy. I’m not on the market. I’m … taken.” She turns around abruptly, knocking her chair to the side before leaving me in a cloud of her dust. She disappears into the ladies’ bathroom before I get my voice back.
“Uhhh, that was … surprising.”
“I’ve upset her,” Mr. O’Henry says frowning.
I wave his concern off. “Nah, don’t worry about it. She’s just nervous about her family and stuff.” I don’t want to tell him it’s the inheritance issue because of client confidentiality reasons. This town is microscopically small where gossip is concerned, and I know Erin wants all this kept on the down low. It’s the only way she’ll get a fair price for the other half of her bar.
“And what about you, Lass? Are you looking for a match?”
“Me?” I laugh, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. Now I’m getting an inkling about what Erin went through, and her disappearance is making way more sense. “No, that’s okay. I’ve got it handled.”
“Do ye now?” He tilts his head to the side and smiles a tiny smile.
“Well, kind of.” The way he’s looking at me makes me want to confess all my failures in the love department, but I resist. “I’m pretty busy with my career now, so there’s really no time for love and me. But maybe in the future.”
“You’ve never met anyone you felt close to, without even knowing him that well?”
I open my mouth to answer, but stop before the sound actually makes it out because I notice Mr. O’Henry has flicked a glance over my shoulder.
I turn slowly to see what pulled his attention from me, and I see Donal standing in the background with a pint in his hand. He’s looking up at the ceiling.
I blink a few times and shake my head, bringing my attention back to Mr. O. “I don’t think so.” It’s a total lie, but he’ll never know. I suddenly feel the very strong need to pee, so I stand. “I need to check on Erin. Thanks so much for your time and for the referral to the attorney. We’re going to see him tomorrow.”
“Didn’t work out for ye today, then?” he asks, a smile in his voice.