The Cork Contingency

by R. J. Griffith

  “You did read it.”

  “More like glanced at it.” He looked at his watch. “Let’s get going. We’re losing the darkness.” He strode forward and disappeared down the stairs.

  Margaret rushed to keep up. Her stomach grumbled as the smell of breakfast hit her full force.

  “Donnell!” She headed out the door and spotted him in the driver’s seat of her rental. She shifted her purse high on her shoulder, marched over to the driver side, and yanked the door open.

  7

  “Listen, Donnell…I don’t know what Irish women are like when they skip breakfast and coffee, but I’m…” Margaret stopped as the smell of bacon and biscuits wafted from the car. She looked at him sheepishly. “I’m so glad you packed breakfast.”

  “Only a few rashers and some scones my aunt had ready. Are you getting in?”

  “Yes.” Margaret plunked down in the passenger seat. She buckled up and snatched the bag of food from the back. She consumed her breakfast against the quiet hum of the car’s tires against the road.

  Donnell reach for the heat control.

  “Don’t turn that on,” she said. A piece of bacon from her mouth flew through the air and landed on his sleeve. She swallowed the rest of her bite. “Sorry,” she said snatching the bacon from a fold in his shirt. “The last time I turned on the heater the whole car smelled like old cigarettes.”

  “Oh. I see you’re enjoying your rashers.”

  She looked at the chunk of bacon in her hand. “Um, yes. Thanks for breakfast.” She pretended to admire the darkened scenery outside until the flush faded from her face.

  “I don’t know how we visited Blarney Castle without you kissing the Blarney Stone,” he said as he pulled the car alongside the curb.

  “I read somewhere that people from Cork are the most talkative of all the Irish. I think they were right.” Margaret winced. Why did she feel so grumpy this morning?

  He hopped from the car before she could apologize.

  She stepped onto the curb and followed him toward a little red building sandwiched against two others.

  “Even though I live in the US, I’ll always be a Corkonian. What you need is coffee, bird. I’ve brought you to the finest coffee our county has to offer. It’s the best coffee in all Ireland, if you ask me. So what do you say, ready to start our adventure?”

  The way he said “our adventure” struck Margaret. Is he doing this just for me, or do I pay extra for special stops? Before this trip goes any further, I need to nail him down on a price.

  “Donnell, we…” She let the door swing behind her. The whistle of the espresso machine stole the words from her mouth. She started again, much louder this time. “Donnell, we need to work out a price for your services.”

  “Is there something you need to be telling me, Donnell?” The man working the espresso machine teased.

  “No, I didn’t mean that. He’s taking me out…I mean he’s…I’m a tourist!” Margaret stammered.

  “Just get me two of the usual,” Donnell said in his casual way. He attempted to disguise his laughter as coughing when the other man broke into loud guffaws.

  Margaret opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind.

  “Take these to the car, bird, I’ll be right out.” He shoved a bag of pastries into her hands.

  Margaret had had her fill of school boys two decades ago. She turned to leave and pushed against one of the double doors. It refused to budge. She pushed harder, and then spotted a sign: “Due to Windy Weather, This Door is Locked.”

  She pushed out the other door and stomped to the car. I hate mornings. She closed the car door and slumped down into the seat.

  “He can drive me right back to the bed and breakfast after that stunt.” Margaret popped a piece of a pastry into her mouth. “Mmm.” Apple and blackberry wrapped in flaky pastry dough dissolved on her tongue. “Just one more bite.” Her thoughts wandered back to the time she picked blackberries on a hot summer day and ate apple pie with her grandmother.

  Donnell came into view through the large glass windows moving toward the door holding two paper cups.

  She wanted to stay angry with him, but coffee would complement the lingering flavor of the apple blackberry tarts. She looked down at the bag and gasped. Only a few small crumbles rolled around in the bottom of the bag. She smashed the bag into a ball, stuffed it under the seat, and brushed her lap clean. Was there only one pastry in the bag?

  Laugh lines creased at Donnell’s eyes as he ducked into the driver’s seat and handed Margaret one of the coffee cups. “Take a sip. I want to know what you think.”

  Margaret breathed in the earthy scent and took a careful sip. “This is amazing, almost better than the pastr…past blend I tried.” I can’t believe I gobbled down that pastry without waiting for coffee.

  Donnell placed his coffee into the cup holder. He looked around and then started the car.

  “Ah, I didn’t pay you for the coffee. How much was it?” She sat taller in her seat and sipped at the warm liquid.

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s my treat. The boys gave you a bit of a hard time back there.”

  The crumpled bag hit her shoe. “What’s the order of business today? If you have a sheet printed out, I can hold it.”

  “I have the list right here.” He tapped the side of his head.

  Margaret took a larger swig of her coffee. “Can you at least tell me where our next stop is? And why, exactly, are we touring Cork in the dark?”

  “We’re heading to the coast. Usually when a person wants to see the sunrise they get up in the dark.”

  “Oh.”

  Further down the road, dawn’s light tinged the sky and Margaret could make out trees, bushes, and houses.

  They sped past a long mason rock wall harboring a quaint farm house and outbuildings.

  The foliage opened up as the road drew closer to the river. Its muddy brown banks and wide girth reminded Margaret of the book Huckleberry Finn and the boy’s descriptions of life on the river. She’d never seen the Mississippi, but imagined it being similar to what lay before her. “What’s that river called?”

  “That’s the River Stick. It looks as if we are running a bit behind our schedule.” He pressed the pedal to the floor and the little car leapt forward.

  “So we do have a schedule.” Margaret grasped the door handle. The road ahead narrowed and turned. “Don’t you think the road is getting a bit small to be driving this fast?”

  They sped past an orange sign warning of an upcoming intersection.

  “Donnell, Donnell, Donnell!” Margaret squeezed her eyes shut and felt gravity pull her against Donnell’s shoulder as he sped around the corner.

  “The last girl who said my name that many times, kissed me afterwards.”

  8

  Margaret pulled away from him and pushed her left foot all the way to the floor.

  “The pedals are on my side, Meggy.”

  “Eyes on the road,” she said, willing her right leg to stop pumping imaginary brakes. Her stomach sloshed with each corner he took.

  The car slowed down.

  The first rays of sun cracked the gray, glassy sky and spread across the stone towers.

  Donnell pulled into the empty parking lot and stopped the car. “Come on, Meggy. We’re almost too late.” He grabbed her hand and they raced down the path, past ancient stonework and crumbling buildings. He pulled her to a stop in an archway overlooking the bay.

  “We’re at Charles Fort, right?” Margaret said, taking big breaths of air.

  They watched the sun rise together.

  Margaret pulled her camera out and snapped a shot of Donnell in the archway with the sunlight streaming across his face.

  “It’s just as I remembered it.” He pressed his hand against the chiseled wall.

  “It couldn’t have changed much since you gave the last tour,” she said, snapping another shot. She stared at the man in the frame. He looked so sad.

  “No, Meggy. I hav
en’t been back here since I was a lad.”

  “I can’t be the first person with Charles Fort on their list.” She put her camera back, crossed her arms and leaned against the opposite side of the archway.

  “That’s true. You are the first person I said yes to, though.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so nosy.” Margaret pushed off from the wall.

  Donnell put his hand against the crook of her arm and stopped her. “My Mam. Charles Fort is the last place we all went together before she broke it off with my Da. We watched the sunrise and stayed the whole day. My brother and I ran around pretending we were clansmen driving the British off, once and for all.” He chuckled and shook his head. “We were happy then.”

  “I’m sorry, Donnell. If you didn’t want to come, you could have told me.”

  “No. I needed to face this place. For a long time I’ve blocked out good memories of her.” He looked past Margaret. His brow knit together, and then he shook his head and smiled it away. “Anyway, your pretty face is a grand distraction.” He reached his hand toward her cheek.

  A pang shot through Margaret as Donnell pulled his hand back and turned toward the fort. She fought against the tide of emotions threatening to sweep her away.

  “Do you know the history here?” She hoped he didn’t hear the strain in her voice.

  “Come over here.” He approached the wall overlooking the bay. “First the Vikings and Normans came. They built Ringcurran Castle here in the sixteenth century.”

  Margaret walked beside him as he strolled along the grassy path that looked out into the bay.

  “In the seventeenth century, the Spanish occupied it for a time. They tried to unite the chieftains and rid the shores of the English, but the English caught wind of it and laid siege to the Spanish. The Ulster chieftains came to their aid and sought to bring them down, only to be defeated by the English. In the mid-seventeenth century, the English built Charles Fort here and the one across the way, James Fort.” He pointed to a stone structure across the bay. “The British were here until Irish independence in 1922.” He turned to Margaret. “I know we haven’t been here long, but I’m starving. How would you feel about a quick tour, and then an early lunch?”

  She brushed at her shirt at the memory of gobbling down the pastries. “The pastries you bought this morning, I…” she looked up into his jade eyes, “I…what was I saying?”

  “You were going tell my why you ate my breakfast.”

  “There were two in the bag. I am so embarrassed! I got flustered after the whole coffee house thing. When I looked down, the bag was empty and you were walking out. I couldn’t remember if there were one or two and…” Margaret blinked back embarrassed tears.

  He reached over to her.

  She closed her eyes and ached for his rough hand to brush against her cheek. Nothing happened. She opened her eyes.

  He plucked something from her collar and held a tiny crumb pinched between his fingers. “Don’t be sad Meggy. I was just giving you a hard time.”

  Margaret flushed and looked down at the grass. “I didn’t mean to eat yours.”

  He reached over and tipped her face to meet his gaze.

  “I think I can handle missing breakfast, Meggy.”

  His touch pressed into her skin like a firebrand. She could still feel his fingers after he dropped his hand.

  “Let me walk you around the rest of the fort, and then we can find a place to eat,” Donnell said.

  Twenty minutes into the quick tour, Margaret’s stomach started growling. “Donnell, I’m OK with leaving now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Do you have a favorite place around here we could eat?”

  “There’s a pub in town.” He looked up at the sky. “Let’s take the car so we don’t get caught in the rain.”

  Margaret glanced up. Only a few clouds drifted at the edges of the blue sky. “How far is it on foot?”

  “It couldn’t be more than ten minutes.”

  “Let’s walk, then.”

  “Do you want me to get your coat from the car?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. It feels pretty warm out.” Margaret held her hand against the light breeze and let the streams of air flow between her fingers.

  “All right then, town is this way.”

  Margaret ignored the skeptical look on Donnell’s face and matched his stride. “So, you moved to America with your dad when you were how old?”

  “Eight.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  They strolled along in silence for a time and Margaret wondered if she should have picked a different subject.

  “My accent made it hard to blend in. A few kids teased me about it. I got sent to the principal’s office a lot those first few years.”

  “Why?”

  “I may have convinced them that teasing me was a bad idea.”

  Margaret chuckled. “You were that boy, huh?”

  A lime green car zipped up the road toward them.

  Margaret scooted closer to the red fence post and snagged her toe on a vine. As she toppled over, Donnell grabbed her hand.

  “Careful, bird. I agreed to take you touring, but not to chase you rolling down hills.” He helped her to her feet.

  “Thank you,” Margaret said, feeling her hand enveloped in his large palm. “When I went to school people teased me for being tall and clumsy. It got so bad my mother enrolled me in ballet until I graduated high school.”

  “I can tell.”

  “You can? My ballet teacher said that before me she believed anyone could learn to pirouette. How could you tell?”

  “Your hair is always in a bun.”

  Margaret pulled her hand free, self-consciously reaching up to check her hair.

  “I think you better give your hand back to me.”

  “Why should I do that?”

  “There might be a loose rock ahead.”

  Margaret rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible. So where’s this restaurant?”

  “It’s that yellow building right there.” He pointed to the tall mustard building facing out to the bay.

  She took a risk and slipped her hand back into his palm. “There might be a loose rock after all. Better safe than sorry,” she said, smiling at him.

  The rain began when they were halfway through their meal.

  “Oh, no.” Margaret listened to the rain peck at the windows. “Do you think it will pass soon?”

  “No, not really, the forecast said it would rain all day. It’s a wonder it held off this long.”

  Margaret took another sip of her seafood stew. The flavor hinted at rosemary and tasted wholesome and rich. She dipped the bowl of her spoon in the milky liquid. The smell of butter and ocean drifted from his side of the table. “How are the oysters?”

  “You want one?” He held out a deflated gray glob on his fork.

  Margaret choked back a gag. “No, thanks. Oysters aren’t very appetizing on their own.”

  He shrugged and poked the bite into his own mouth. “So your da had a stroke.”

  “Yeah.” Margaret sipped another spoonful of soup. “The word stroke never meant much to me. Sure, I took care of a few patients during my clinicals, but for the most part, it stayed a definition in my text book until two years ago.”

  “So you quit your job and took care of him?”

  “At first I took vacation. After a while, Dad didn’t seem to be getting any better so I left my job in surgery, moved out of my apartment, and became an in-home care RN.”

  “What about your sister? What about a nursing home?”

  “I’ve had an inside view of the local twenty-four hour care units. The ones he could afford…it’s not for Dad.”

  “Take it easy, Meggy. I’m just trying to fit the pieces together.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that Janet is constantly egging me to get someone else to care for Dad.” She
scooped up a carrot in her spoon. “My mom died the year I turned sixteen. Janet and Glen got married the summer before dad had his stroke. When it comes to options, I’m it.”

  “It looks as if the rain has let up. I’ll run and get the car,” Donnell said. He left money for lunch and dashed off before Margaret could protest.

  Margaret waited in the entranceway. The rain pattered against the small rectangular panes of the door that overlooked Kinsale bay. The gray clouds reflected against the water’s rippling surface.

  Donnell pulled up in her little rental car.

  When they drove into the bed and breakfast driveway that evening, the front curtain swayed.

  “Does your Aunt always stay up and wait for you?” Margaret teased. She snagged her leftovers and purse from the back seat. “Are you coming in?”

  “No,” he said, handing Margaret her keys. “I have to take care of a few things tonight.”

  “All right.” Margaret tried to hide the disappointment in her voice. “Do I need to expect an early wake-up tomorrow?”

  “No. I’ll be coming a bit later. I would hate for you to miss all of my aunt’s cooking. Make sure you try her fried potatoes.”

  “I will.” Margaret walked up the lighted path and into the door. Something seemed different about Donnell, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. It’s probably just family stuff. That night, as she lay back into the thick, down comforter on her bed, Margaret let herself think about the day. She remembered the pained look on Donnell’s face as he spoke of his family, the rush of emotion when he held her hand, and the rustle of the curtains as they pulled into the bed and breakfast.

  The phone’s ring startled her and she grabbed it from the nightstand. “Hello.”

  “Margaret?”

  “What’s up?”

  “Glen is on a business trip, I’ve been home from work sick all day. I tried you twice at the B and B, and you weren’t there. Do you realize what time it is there? I know. I checked and it’s very late. What if something had happened to you, how am I to know you’re not dead in some alley?”

  Margaret knew the drill.

  Janet and Glen had an argument, and now Janet wanted to spend the evening talking about things that annoyed her until she got around to telling Margaret about the fight.