The Cork Contingency

by R. J. Griffith

“Nice to meet you.” Margaret scooted into the bathroom. She slammed the door, and then threw the flimsy lock for good measure. The wall wobbled as she leaned against it. Margaret ran water onto a paper towel and dabbed to extinguish the humiliated burn spreading across her face. Why did I have to get Dad’s dark, curly hair and square nose and then get saddled with Mom’s fair skin? This Donnell guy keeps popping up at the worst moments.

  The seatbelt sign blinked above the door.

  She breathed in one last cleansing breath then strode out. “Eyes on your seat, Margaret,” she coached herself.

  “Did you say something to me?” A businessman lowered his magazine.

  “No.” Margaret shuffled by Grandma K. to her seat in time to hear the pilot’s announcement.

  “We’ll be coming into some turbulence shortly and we ask that everyone return their trays to the upright position and buckle your seat belts.”

  The jet bounced like a car on a washboard road. Margaret gripped the armrests and squeezed her eyes shut. The shaking lasted less than a minute.

  “Thank you for your patience, folks. You may unbuckle your seatbelts and resume your previous activities.”

  “Are you feeling airsick? You were in that bathroom for quite some time, and you look as if you’re sweating.” Grandma K. adjusted her glasses to scrutinize Margaret. “You know they’re saying the change is happening sooner to women these days.”

  “Oh, no, no, no…I’m only 32. I just needed to use the bathroom,” Margaret reassured her. Oh, no. I didn’t even use the toilet. “I’m fine.”

  Margaret pulled out one of the complimentary magazines. The emergency brochure fell into her lap. In case of water landing… she stopped reading and shoved it back into the pocket. She flipped open the magazine, Best Vacations to Lakes and Rivers. She squirmed. If she got up now Grandma K. might ask her more questions. Margaret started counting people with brown hair.

  “While you were sick in the bathroom the stewardess came and took the order. Your drink will be here anytime now.”

  Margaret forced a grin. “Thanks so much.” She leaned back against the headrest. Nothing about today is planned out. All this spontaneity is going to kill me. Is it even possible to plan a trip in twenty-four hours? Why did I agree to this insanity? At least the B and B Janet booked for me came up as a five star.

  Margaret had sketched out a small list of sightseeing places on the drive to the airport. She pulled the rumpled paper out of her jacket pocket and unfolded it. She retrieved a pen from her handbag and etched a number one by Blarney Castle. She scanned the next destinations, English Market, Charles Fort, the butter museum, and the words “buy cabled Aran knit sweater.” I have no idea where any of this is. Margaret tucked the paper and pen back into her handbag.

  Her life of late was monotonous. Details of the day to day dropped between the floorboards of her mind, and all she could recall were generalizations. She hadn’t cared, until Janet jabbed her posh, manicured finger into it.

  Margaret’s thoughts wandered back to the Italian restaurant.

  “I love Dad, too, Margaret, but you have to think of yourself,” Janet said.

  Margaret washed her oversized bite down with ice water. “I’m not putting him in a facility, sis, I’m just not. This is where God wants me. I am happy to do it, you should be happy about it.”

  “What if I’m not happy about it, Margaret? What if you’re just hiding away using Dad as an excuse not to go and have a life of your own? What if God wanted you to go to…to Africa or something?”

  “You’re grasping, Janet. God doesn’t want me to go to Africa.” Margaret poked another forkful into her mouth.

  Janet pulled an envelope out of her designer purse and pushed it across the table to Margaret. “I’ve been praying about it, and I think God wants you to get away and see the world just a little. I’ve already arranged for someone to be with Dad while you’re gone.”

  Margaret swallowed hard. “Gone?” She turned the envelope over and slid her finger along the seam. “Tickets to Cork? Cork, Ireland?”

  “Pull your jaw off the floor and trust me on this, Margaret. I know you better than you know yourself. Plus it’s non-refundable and I used our nest egg on it. Take this trip, see the world, and then come back to use up the rest of your life taking care of Dad.” She sipped at her glass of water.

  Margaret looked up from the tickets. “You used your baby fund to send me to Ireland? I don’t know what to say.”

  “A simple ‘thank you’ or an elaborate ‘you’re the best sister in the world’ will do.”

  “What are the trip dates, it might not work for my schedule.” She took another gulp of water.

  “That’s the best part, Margaret, you leave tomorrow.”

  “What?” she sputtered. “I can’t do that. What makes you think I can do that?”

  “Faith, Margaret. I have faith you’ll NOT waste my hard earned money by refusing, quite possibly, the nicest thing I’ve ever done for you.” Her sister skewered a single cherry tomato from her Caesar salad.

  Margaret would be hurting more than a bank account if she refused. “I’ll go.” Margaret stuffed another bite of spaghetti into her mouth, unable to taste the savory oregano and garlic.

  After Janet dropped her off, Margaret sat down in the living room with her father. She leaned against the itchy wool couch and breathed in its familiar musk. “What do you think, Dad? Should I go?” Margaret wished her father’s speech would return long enough to get his counsel.

  He raised his working arm and then lowered it down again.

  Margaret slid closer and leaned against his bony shoulder. She lingered there and studied her father’s lopsided face for an answer.

  A single tear escape the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek.

  “OK, Dad. I’ll go.” She snatched a tissue from the coffee table and wiped away the moisture. “Don’t plan on doing anything crazy while I’m gone, or I’ll bring back a kelly green bowler hat and make you wear it for a week.” I’m so glad I can still count on you, Dad.

  The overhead announcement pulled her back to reality. “Dinner will be served shortly followed by a complimentary movie choice. Headphones can be purchased for a minimal fee from your flight attendant.”

  The screen in front of her flickered to life. The display advertised two movies, the first a romantic comedy. The screen showed an unattractive woman who, Margaret guessed, would be transformed with the help of friends into a stunning woman who would ultimately find love. The other image boasted a muscular bald man holding a shotgun with some sort of explosion behind him. Margaret gave her order and decided against headphones. She rushed to the lavatory at the opposite end of the plane. This time she would remember to go to the bathroom.

  A chunk of meat swimming in a brown puddle surrounded by green and yellow vegetables and garnished with a piece of wilted parsley greeted Margaret when she returned.

  Grandma K. unplugged her headphones so Margaret could shuffle by, and then plugged them back in, intent on catching every detail of the film.

  Margaret pushed the chunk of “steak” around in the brown goop. Her stomach rumbled. She picked the plastic tray up and smelled it. Not bad. Images danced across the silent screen and she took another bite. Avoiding looking at the food improved the experience tenfold. She took another bite and decided to analyze the inflight movie.

  The caterpillar eyebrows, frumpy dress, and frizzy hair the protagonist sported made Margaret squirm. She touched the bun on her head. In high school, she’d tried changing her style. Instead of being empowered by change, she’d felt awkward. Once she’d spent two hours braiding and pinning her unmannered hair. She hadn’t recognized herself and pulled it out before the bus arrived.

  The movie’s ugly duckling only needed a date with a pair of tweezers and a bar of soap to improve her looks.

  Margaret placed her fork down onto the empty plate. At least it distracted me enough to eat dinner. She handed the empty tray to the p
assing attendant and then pulled out her travel pillow, tucked it against her shoulder, and closed her eyes. The gentile roll of the jet coaxed her into a dreamless sleep. A voice startled her awake.

  “We will be landing at London airport in 15 minutes. For all those flying through to Ireland, we ask you wait on the plane after arrival. Once the other passengers have exited, please feel free to walk around the cabin during the layover. If you prefer to choose a different seat, you may do so then. Thank you for flying with us, and we hope you choose our airline for all your travel needs.”

  Margaret squeezed her eyes shut until she felt the jet’s wheels bump against the pavement.

  “This is my stop,” Grandma K. said, pulling her worn black purse onto her lap.

  “It was nice sitting with you,” Margaret said through a yawn.

  “I hope you have a good visit to Ireland, and maybe you’ll find a nice Irishman to bring home, give you something for that empty finger.”

  “Well, I...”

  Grandma K. walked toward the exit. She possessed elegance in her movement that Margaret hadn’t noticed before.

  Passengers surged forward and she lost sight of the curly mop of white hair.

  Margaret pulled her tickets out and checked the layover time. Her wristwatch read four AM. She factored in the five hour time difference and twisted the dial. She stretched her arms above her head and let out a yawn. Sleeping upright against the back of her chair reminded her of the long shifts during nursing school. Back then, she could power nap through her coffee break and feel refreshed. The kink in her back announced those days were long gone.

  She stood and pressed her fingers against the sore muscles in her back.

  A deep, earthy scent wafted through the air.

  For coffee, Margaret would face giants, gargoyles, and grumpy doctors. She stopped short of the cabin and scanned the remaining people for Donnell. The last thing I need is to bump into him while holding a hot beverage.

  The few passengers remaining stretched their limbs and chatted.

  She didn’t see Donnell anywhere.

  3

  She tapped the flight attendant on the shoulder. “Excuse me. Can I trouble you for a cup of coffee? It smells wonderful.”

  “Of course, ma’am, would you like cream and sugar?”

  Margaret glanced at the woman’s name tag, and then took the cup. “Thanks so much A-slin.”

  The corners of the attendant’s smile drooped.

  “I’m sorry, how do you pronounce…” Mortified, Margaret wobbled the paper cup.

  “The Irish have a way of spelling things and saying them that is better suited to the Irish.”

  The stewardess held out a cup to the person behind Margaret.

  He stepped forward and lifted it from her hand. “And, how are you, Donnell?” the woman asked.

  “Oh, fine, Ash-lin. I’m just coming home for a visit.”

  The attendant’s face lit up and a slight tinge of color washed into her cheeks.

  “Thanks, again.” Margaret turned to go, tamping down the embarrassment.

  “You know, mispronouncing Irish names is very common.”

  She kept walking. I don’t care how good he looks or how pleasant his voice is. I will not flirt with him. She felt a tap at the edge of her sleeve. She turned to him, daring to study his face. “Look…Donnell, right? I haven’t had much sleep in the past ten hours and I’m not really up for conversation.” She swept the cabin looking for something interesting, anything to get away.

  “Can I at least know your name?”

  “It’s Margaret Smith.” Out of habit, she held out her hand to shake. He took it, but instead of shaking it, he just held her hand.

  Heat surged to her cheeks and she tugged her fingers away.

  “Please return to your seats as we will begin boarding and take off procedures, shortly.”

  Margaret marched down the aisle.

  “It was nice to meet you, Meggy,” he called.

  Margaret halted and pressed the back of her hand against her cheek. Mom used to call me that. She took the last few paces to her seat. “What is wrong with me, lately? A handsome guy starts a conversation with me and what do I do? Freak out and walk off.”

  “Did you say something to me, ma’am?” A woman asked as she lifted her carryon to the above compartment.

  “No, just…I’m just thinking out loud.”

  “Oh.” The woman scooted her bag in and walked to an open seat a few rows ahead.

  Get a hold of yourself. Margaret stood up and fished her Bible out of her carry-on. She thumbed through the well-worn pages. She’d discovered it while moving boxes to the attic in her father’s home. He’d begun collecting junk after the death of her mother, and the three bedroom house felt crowded because of it.

  Margaret toiled for close to a month after her father’s stroke just to see the carpet again. Several garage sales and “free piles” later, the house bore some resemblance to what it had looked like during her childhood. Fresh cut flowers replaced the funk of musty boxes, windows once shut tight now opened to fresh air, and even though Margaret missed hospital work, she’d enjoyed organizing her dad’s household.

  She’d found the Bible at the top of the last box bound for the attic. Its pages were etched with outlines and markings and tucked between were tiny keepsakes—pressed flowers and memory verse cards. Her mother must have put it away when she filled it up and started another. Margaret couldn’t think of a better gift than the chance to know her mother through the word of God.

  She finished reading, placed the Bible back in her carry-on, and snagged the packet Janet had assembled. The brochure on Blarney Castle boasted several different kinds of gardens including one called the “poison garden.” She turned the glossy paper over to see a woman lying on her back and kissing the famous Blarney Stone. Margaret stared at the picture. It seemed like the woman had to lean out over an edge to reach the famous stone. Goose bumps prickled across her arms. She refolded the paper and put it back in the packet.

  The jet took a lazy turn in the air as it circled the airport and descended into the thick fog hanging over Cork.

  Her stomach did a flip.

  The plane touched down with a bump and taxied to the gate.

  “You may now unbuckle your seatbelts and gather your things,”

  Margaret stuffed her remaining snacks into her purse, pulled her carry-on from the upper compartment, and waited as the line crept forward.

  “I hope you have a nice visit to Ireland, Meggy.”

  Donnell was standing behind her.

  “I hope you do, too. I mean, I hope you have a nice time, not a nice visit…no, I want you to have a nice visit, it’s just...” Margaret stopped herself. “It was nice to meet you, Donnell.” She gave him a smile, and then glued her hands to her carry-on. No way am I stepping off this plane blushing like a ripe tomato in the sun.

  “To be sure. Maybe we’ll bump into each other while you’re visiting Cork? I am staying with my family in Blarney. Here’s my number.” He held out his card.

  She plucked at the card, making sure not to touch his fingers, and tossed it into her purse.

  The line had moved without her.

  “Goodbye,” She said striding to the exit. Her heel snagged on the uneven surface of the walking portal and she stumbled, catching herself with the handle of her carry-on.

  “Are you OK?” Donnell asked.

  Margaret waved her hand in the air without turning and continued forward. “Burgundy pumps are NOT ideal traveling shoes,” Margaret said aloud, not caring who heard this time. The fall loosened a few strands of unruly dark hair from her tight bun. She approached the frosted sliding glass doors and pulled out her passport. No repeats of yesterday. She held the papers and passport in a death grip.

  The guard said something to Margaret that she couldn’t understand. She scooted her passport and tickets toward the man.

  The guard repeated himself.

  This time
Margaret caught more words but still lost the meaning. “Could you please repeat that again?” She leaned in to catch each word.

  He turned the volume up on his brogue and stated each word deliberate and slow. “What brings ya to Cork, Ireland, miss, and how long are ya staying?”

  “I plan on staying for a week. Do I need a special pass?” she asked.

  The man muttered something.

  “What?”

  “No.” He held up her passport, studied it, and then tapped his stamp down on the paper.

  Margaret started to thank him, but he waved her on through.

  The speckled flooring reflected the light coming through the large vaulted skylights built into the ceiling. The airport felt empty compared to her flight out.

  The rollers on her carry-on thumped as she pulled it across the marble tiles. She yawned twice against the back of her hand. “What I need is a good cup of…” She stopped herself. Maybe Janet hadn’t exaggerated about me talking to myself. She yawned again, dismissing the thought.

  The Blarney Bed And Breakfast sat outside the city of Cork. From the online map Margaret guessed it to be a twenty minute drive. She stood with the other passengers awaiting their luggage. The machine hummed to life. Not even the vision impaired could miss her hot pink and zebra-striped monstrosity. Seeing the glowing neon against a backdrop of brown and black suitcases did prove Janet right about it being unique. She snatched the luggage from the belt. Pulling out her pre-made arrival list, she slashed a check mark next to “get baggage.” Now I need to rent a car. Four different companies, four different choices and no one at any of the desks, Margaret sighed and regarded a backlit sign advertising Blarney Castle.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” A man appeared at the closest desk.

  “Yes.” She stepped up to the cold granite and metal counter. “I need to rent a car. The one I liked online was a…” she glanced down at her checklist. “Mini two door model.”

  A hailstorm of clacking computer keys ensued. “We have one of those available or for a slight price increase we can upgrade you to a sedan with an onboard GPS.”

  Margaret studied the printout he pushed toward her and crunched numbers. The four door sedan with GPS would cost her double the price of the two door model. They must have to charge per door. “I’ll take the mini and a road map. The kind that folds up and you put in the glove compartment.” She made a folding motion with her hands.