Made With Love: I Love You Forever

by M. K. Shaddix

  Michael spins round in the water, and I kick off my jeans and my many, many tops. Two seconds later, I’m in nothing but my bra and panties, and I’m all chicken skinned.

  So can’t believe I’m doing this.

  I stick a toe in. ‘Jesus! It’s like ice!’

  ‘All at once now. No cat farting around.’ Michael’s eyes run the length of my body a little too eagerly.

  I suck in a breath and dive in, pulling smooth, long strokes underwater. Michael’s legs kick in awkward circles, streaking white against the deep. I grab at his ankle and yank, and he flails, laughing, backward. I surface within arm’s reach of him, a big girlish smile on my face. My body courses with a new, cold life.

  ‘It feels amazing!’

  ‘Not so bad,’ he says, eyes sparking.

  Good God.

  I dip my head back, take in the sky. ‘It’s heaven.’

  ‘Heaven?’ Michael splashes at me. ‘I thought you hated it here.’

  ‘I don’t hate it.’

  I’m terrified at how much I don’t hate it.

  Michael swirls closer. Our bodies seem, in the light shedding water, to be one bright, streaming thing.

  ‘And I thought you hated me.’

  I kick a breath closer, smile with my eyes. ‘Well yes. I do hate you.’

  Michael curls an arm around me. ‘You do?’ His mouth is so warm, so close.

  ‘Oh yes,’ I say, biting at my lip.

  He lets the fullness of the word open out before us, lets it cap the ridge and hurtle back again before he pulls me against him and puts his mouth on mine. The softness of it shocks me. My eyes blink open and then squeeze shut against the sure thing of this weightless, other world feeling, breaking apart and splashing down somewhere in the middle Atlantic. I let myself feel to the last, shuddering breath of it, open myself to an inward dark where there is only now, only here. New York, for all I care, could’ve slipped off into the sea.

  Michael holds me to him, our foreheads touching. I can hear him smiling, but I don’t want to open my eyes. I want to stay right here where the world is small. Not forever, maybe just a minute more. A spasm of cold jars up from my feet and sets my teeth to chattering.

  ‘You alright there?’ Michael asks and pulls me closer.

  ‘Mmmhmm,’ I chatter.

  ‘You’re freezing!’

  ‘I’m not.’ Teeth really knocking now.

  He tucks an arm around me and swims me over to the bank.

  No! I don’t want to be saved just yet!

  ‘There’s a towel in my rucksack,’ he says and turns round to face the water.

  Ever the gentleman.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say and shiver my way onto the loamy beach. I wrap myself up in the towel and wiggle back into my clothes. ‘OK, I’ll leave it here for you. On this rock,’ I say, suddenly abashed.

  ‘Grand.’

  I stretch the towel out to the sun and turn to face the ridge. Michael slogs out of the water and snatches it up.

  ‘That’s the finest,’ he says. I can hear him ruffling the towel through his hair, pulling on his jeans. ‘You hungry?’

  I am. I hadn’t realized. ‘Very.’

  ‘Grab that bag there.’

  I hand it over to him, and he pulls out a flask of tea, a loaf of fresh brown bread, a wheel of soft cheese and a sheaf of smoked salmon.

  This guy never ceases to amaze.

  We spread out on the ledge, Michael dosing the bread with dollops of cheese and rounds of salmon, me pouring the tea. I chew slowly, lingering over the warm nuttiness of the bread and the creamy smokiness of the fish.

  ‘You like it,’ Michael smiles.

  ‘Uh yeah. Where’d you get all this?’

  ‘I have a friend who has a restaurant down the road.’ He hands me another piece of bread, this one crowned with a humongous amber mussel. ‘Try one of these.’

  I take a bite, eyes fluttering closed. ‘Oh my god.’ The flavor is subtle and sweet. ‘That is good.’

  ‘They’re farmed right here,’ Michael says proudly. ‘In the lake.’

  ‘Get out.’ I blink across the water and sip at my tea. ‘Place is just full of surprises.’

  ‘Not so bad after all, is it?’ Michael kids.

  I stretch out on my back, the sun high and beaming on my skin. ‘I could stay here forever!’ As soon as I’ve said it, my stomach pits with regret. I straighten up, face flushed and nervy. ‘I mean, not forever ever.’

  Michael looks at me sidelong and opens his mouth to say something when his phone rings. ‘Sorry,’ he says and picks up. ‘Hiya, Colm.’

  What is happening to me?! Get a grip, Julie, for God’s sake!

  I dig out my own phone and scroll through my messages: five missed calls from Kate and one glaring bold text. ‘CALL ME ASAP’.

  Well shit.

  ‘I’m sorry, Julie,’ Michael jars me back to the present, ‘but there’s an emergency on one of the farms. I have to go.’ He balls the towel into his rucksack. ‘I’m sorry. Hey, you can come with me. If you want.’

  ‘No worries. I have to go to the bank,’ I say. To wire money I don’t have.

  ‘The bank? Sure they’re closed today.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah. Tuesdays.’

  I heave a sigh. There’s only one bank on the entire island, and it’s closed on Tuesdays?!

  ‘Was it important?’ Michael asks. ‘Something for the factory?’

  ‘Em. Yes and no,’ I say and thumb a quick text to Kate: ‘Sorry, love. Bank closed today. Hold tight.’

  She is going to flip.

  ‘All set?’ Michael asks and helps me to my feet.

  ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’

  We wheel down the hill and back toward the village. Michael turns into a drive, and I follow him up to a gate where a pensive looking couple about Dermot and Clare’s vintage stand waiting.

  ‘Colm, Mary, sorry I’m late,’ Michael says. ‘This is Julie.’ He nudges me, and I smile without meaning to.

  ‘Hiya,’ Colm says to me. He pumps Michael’s hand. ‘Sorry for calling on your day off.’

  Mary eyes me coolly, then turns to Michael. ‘One of the cows is sick,’ she says, ‘and we’re afraid it’s contagious.’

  ‘I’ll take you to her,’ Colm says, and he and Michael head for the barn. Mary watches them go, then looks me up and down with a caustic glare.

  ‘Lovely place you have here,’ I say, rubbing at my shoulders uneasily.

  ‘We think so,’ Mary says snippily. ‘I was born here, and my father before me.’

  ‘That’s…nice.’

  ‘You’re from New York, is that it?’ Mary asks.

  ‘I am, yes,’ I nod. Right. Everyone knows everything about me.

  ‘And is it the custom there to meddle in other people’s business?’

  Ouch. That was unexpected.

  ‘Sorry?’ I ask.

  ‘Your little stunt at the co-op meeting. You know, if the Germans renege on this deal, we’ll lose our farm. And the Feeleys will lose theirs. And the Meades. And the O’Mahonys.’

  Every drop of blood drains from my face. Dermot and Clare could lose their farm?! No wonder Clare had been so hard set against me.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, my throat clenching. ‘I never meant…’ My voice breaks apart. I try to say something more, but I can’t.

  Mary’s gaze softens. She reaches a hand out to me. ‘Come inside. You’ll freeze in those damp clothes on.’

  She leads me into her kitchen.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m in such a foul mood,’ Mary says as she cuts me a slice of tea brack. ‘We’re behind on our mortgage, you see, and if the cows get sick… I just don’t know.’

  I try to look hopeful. ‘Maybe it’s just an isolated case.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Mary sighs. ‘When we got word the Germans had refused to negotiate, I thought it can’t get any worse. And then it did! They’ve threatened to withdraw their offer completely,’ she says grimly.

 
‘I had no idea,’ I gasp.

  ‘My husband voted for the sell-out,’ Mary goes on. ‘It broke his heart to do it, but he did. I know you were only trying to help, but you’ve got them all riled again. And look where that’s gotten us!’

  My heart drops into my gut. ‘I never thought they’d pull out.’ My God. What have I done?

  ‘I’m very sorry now for having to share such bad news. Please God, everything will work out. One way or another,’ Mary says and smiles weakly. She pours me a cup of tea and leans over to the sideboard to grab up an old photograph album. ‘Did you know I was in school with your mum? At St. Ciaran’s?’ she asks. She leafs through the pages, then stops and points. ‘This beautiful girl is Maeve. Always smiling, so she was. And this,’ she points to a tight-lipped child, ‘is your aunt. She was hard going. Always on about leaving the island.’

  I raise an eyebrow at her. ‘Clare wanted to leave?’

  ‘Oh yes. She had it all worked out. She and your father would move to New York or Boston. After they were married.’

  I spew a mouthful of tea across the table.

  ‘You didn’t know!’ Mary reels.

  I shake my head at her, gape-mouthed. ‘Oh well, they were never formally engaged. They were friends, you see, very close. As you know, his family were from Galway. Your granny, God rest her, died very young--pneumonia, I think it was. Your granddad wasn’t long behind her. Man smoked like a train. Ronan’s granny looked after him then. They used to come over in the summers. After secondary school, Ronan stayed on to work in the factory. Josephine doted on him, so she did. And, of course, Clare. He and Clare were all the time together.’ She pauses. ‘Are you alright, pet?’

  ‘Yeah, I just…’ I stammer. ‘Dad. And Clare…’ I trail off.

  ‘She was wild about him, so she was! Used to write songs about him, if you can imagine that!’ Mary chuckles. ‘Ah, the Tully women,’ she says, clucking her tongue. ‘Never terribly lucky in love. I’d say that’s why your grandmother named her factory for St. Enda.’

  I swallow hard. My eyes glued to the album. The door to the back kitchen swings open, and in step Michael and Colm.

  ‘You’ll stay for tea? You will,’ Colm says.

  ‘Thanks, Colm,’ says Michael, ‘but I’d like to get this sample to the lab as soon as possible.’

  Mary stands up shakily and squeezes Michael’s arm. ‘Tell me true now. Is it an epidemic?’

  Michael looks her dead in the eye. ‘It’s possible, but I won’t know for sure until I’ve run a few tests. Keep her isolated just to be sure.’

  Colm digs his hands into his pockets and hangs his head like a scolded child. ‘I wish I could pay you, Michael--’

  ‘Who said anything about money?’ Michael says. ‘Let’s worry about keeping the herd safe.’

  ‘And pray that Fressen doesn’t back out on us!’ Mary says. She reaches out to me. ‘You’ll help us, won’t you?’

  My mouth goes cotton dry. It’s all I can do to nod a feeble yes. Michael looks back and forth between us. What I wouldn’t do to take back these last few days. I wouldn’t have gotten on that plane. I wouldn’t have let down Kate, or Mary, or Dermot. Michael wouldn’t exist.

  ‘You alright there?’ he asks me.

  I nod at him. Just found out my Dad had a thing with my aunt, but hey.

  ‘I’ll be onto you first thing,’ Michael nods to Dermot. Mary shows us to the door, and we set out for town, eyes darker, downcast.

  When we reach the crossroads, Michael brakes. ‘I need to take these samples to the lab in Galway. You alright to get home?’

  ‘Sure,’ I mutter, eyes downcast.

  He raises my chin and looks me full in the face. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ I smile. How is it that he always makes me smile?!

  ‘I had a great time today,’ he says.

  ‘Me too.’

  He tucks a wisp of hair behind my ear and kisses my cheek. I shiver at his touch.

  ‘I’ll call you later, okay?’ he says.

  ‘Okay,’ I smile as he cycles back down the road to the pier.

  Am I falling for him? Is that even possible? I hardly know him! I push the thought to the back of my mind and peddle off in the opposite direction.

  At St. Enda’s, both stacks are chuffing out heavy billows of steam and the loading dock is jammed with palettes, one on top of the other, of emptied milk canisters. I step inside to find Bridie, hands on her hips and teeth gritted.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask her, and she points a stubbed finger down the factory floor.

  ‘That’s what’s wrong,’ she says.

  Clare stalks about, chin very high, with a giant of a man I’ve never seen before. He has a roll of blueprints under his arm and keeps gesturing with a tape measure.

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘Frank Lally. He’s a builder.’

  The pair troupe along the wall and into the office. Bridie makes a low, snarling sound as Frank opens out the prints, and Clare nods over them.

  ‘If we combined these two rooms here,’ he says, pointing, ‘and knock the wall here where the curing chamber is, we’d save a lot in space.’

  What?! Is Clare going to close St. Enda’s? She must be bluffing.

  Bridie marches into the office. ‘Making plans are we?’ I step in behind her, heart hammering, and glance at the blueprints. ‘O’Mahony Mills’ is printed in bold block letters in the top frame.

  Clare doesn’t bother to look up. She traces a finger along the dotted line of a new boundary wall. ‘The factory will be mine very shortly,’ she says, her tone plodding and matter-of-fact. ‘It’s only natural I begin making plans.’ She rolls up the prints and hands them to Frank. ‘Anyway, we’re just finished.’

  ‘I’ll call you when I’ve heard from my man in Galway,’ he says.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Bridie,’ he nods and ducks out.

  Clare shrugs on her coat.

  ‘The cheek of ya, bringing him in here. If your mother was alive, God rest her--’ Bridie says, her voice trembling.

  ‘But she’s not, is she, Bridie? And this “factory”,’ she sneers the word, ‘is on its last legs.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ Bridie says. ‘We’re turning out twice again the stock we would normally!’

  ‘For a lost cause,’ Clare hits back.

  Lost?! Nothing is lost! Not yet.

  ‘You’re not closing St. Enda’s,’ I insist.

  Only now does Clare acknowledge my presence. ‘Now you care, do you?’ she sneers at me.

  ‘Yes. I do actually. I know what it was Josephine wanted to create with this place. It’s not about cheese! It’s about giving the people belief in themselves. They count, no matter how few they are or how much of the world is heaped against them!’

  Clare squints at me, then breaks into a smile. ‘Isn’t that a picture?’ she says. ‘Bridie? Isn’t it just?’ Bridie purses her mouth shut. ‘I tell ya. Pretty as and just as useless. What I mean to do has real potential.’

  ‘Let me help you,’ I say. ‘With St. Enda’s.’

  ‘You’ve done more than enough already,’ she says and ploughs through the door.

  Bridie puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘She means well, really,’ she sighs. ‘Perhaps it is time to move on.’

  ‘You don’t believe that. Do you?’ I frown. ‘I mean, LOOK at this!’ I prop open my laptop and print off the latest round of export orders. ‘Thirty private sales and two more supermarket distributions!’

  ‘You did all that online? Be God,’ Bridie says, her voice quavering with excitement. ‘If we can prove to Clare that the factory is viable, she won’t close us down.’

  The laptop bleeps: another order’s been placed. ‘At this rate we’ll be able to expand and buy more milk from the farmers!’ I say.

  ‘I better get busy, so,’ Bridie smiles and waddles to the door. ‘Oh, I was meaning to ask,’ she pauses and swings a foot girlishly. ‘How was your day off?’

&nbs
p; The memory of Michael’s hungry mouth on mine overwhelms me. ‘Good,’ I say, my throat throbbing red.

  She winks at me and disappears onto the factory floor.

  I click onto the ‘Specials’ section of the St. Enda’s website and add a banner advertising a forty-eight hour sale: 20% off all stock. If we could pick up forty per cent more volume, we could facilitate the co-op further and, with a little luck, pick up a few more chain distributions. In the meantime, I’d have to see about stalling Clare!

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  With Bridie hard at work directing the upswing at the factory, I tie up my hair, smooth on a nude lipstick, and waltz into the village to see a man about a factory. Cathal’s office sits on the second story of Meade’s, a pharmacy and hairdressers. The walls of the anteroom are slacked a brutish red and the slight woman behind the desk is kitted out in black--black silk blouse, black slacks, black glasses. Do I have the right place?

  ‘This is Mr. Heaney’s office?’ I ask, and the girl looks over her specs at me.

  ‘It is of course,’ she says.

  ‘Is he in?’

  ‘Would you have an appointment?’ She taps the desktop with the backend of her pen.