by Mary Carter
And if she were to walk into a dive bar in Cleveland, Ohio, she wouldn’t have wanted to hear any of the stories from the drunks at the bar. But in her little pub in Ireland, she longed for their stories. Since her blowout with Ronan, she needed her pub and regulars more than ever. And they didn’t disappoint. Even Riley had grown on her. Lately, he’d always hit the door talking, and now that she could fully understand his accent, she was starting to appreciate him all the more. Today he came in looking over his shoulder.
“If you see the wicked woman coming to drag me home . . .” he said with a wag of his finger.
“I’ll invite her in and give her a drink on the house,” Carlene said. Riley continued the finger wag until his body was on the stool and his hand rested on the bar. They were old hands, wrinkled hands, shaking hands.
“Even if you come home intoxicated, come home with something for her,” he said. Carlene laughed as if she’d never heard him say this, and served him his pint and shot of whiskey that she had pre-poured. Riley was always on time for the pub. Carlene found comfort in being able to count on her regulars. He smiled, showing what teeth he had left, and winked at her. “She’s looked after me for forty-six years,” he said. “Would you look after a man for forty-six years?” A movie flickered through Carlene’s mind. It involved kissing Ronan for the next forty-six years.
“I wouldn’t look after you for forty-six minutes,” Anchor said on cue. When he put down his pint, foam stuck to his goatee. He winked at Carlene too.
“You’re so nice you remind me of myself,” Riley said. He turned his attention to Carlene, although his words were directed at Anchor. “Show a little kindness, overlook the blindness of a mean-sighted people on a mean-sighted seat,” he said. Anchor grinned and gave one of his head jerks to Carlene that she’d come to read as: Get a load of him. “I met my wife by the red mill on Jerome Street,” Riley said.
“That sounds very romantic,” Carlene said.
“I met my love by the gasworks wall,” Anchor said.
“I wouldn’t go there now without a machine gun,” Riley said.
It had been six days since she’d met Ronan on the cliffs (then plunged off them), and even though she pretended otherwise, she’d been waiting for him. She was tortured by the things she said to him, and she wanted to make everything better. Every time the door opened, her heart skipped a beat, hoping she’d see him coming through the door. Worse, she knew his absence meant he hadn’t told Sally the truth about their engagement. Carlene told herself to forget about him and move on. Now she was actually enjoying some peace with her regulars, and getting used to being around Sally again. Then, without warning, when she wasn’t even looking at the door, he suddenly came through it.
“Hi, baby,” she heard Sally say.
“Hey,” Ronan said softly. Carlene turned around. Their eyes met and locked. Was it her imagination or did his smile fade upon seeing her? He adjusted quickly, rubbed his hands together, pulled up a stool next to Riley. He pounded Riley on the back.
“The Americans are coming tonight,” he announced. This time when he looked at Carlene, his smile was back.
“Americans?” Riley said with great alarm.
“Her buddies,” Ronan said. “From Dublin. Ohio, that is.”
“Ohio,” Riley said. “Now, that’s a right nice place.” Carlene was surprised. She couldn’t imagine Riley outside of Ireland.
“When were you there?” Carlene asked.
“Oh, I was never there,” Riley said. “But I heard it was a nice place, all right. A buddy of mine was on a train once that stopped in Ohio. He said they had nice ham sandwiches there, all right.” Sally served Ronan a pint. Carlene wanted to dump it, but she was torn as to whom she should drench first.
“It’s on me,” Sally said. She leaned across the bar and kissed Ronan on the lips. Ronan didn’t let it last long, and Sally wasn’t thrilled when he pulled away. “You’d better not be this shy when we’re married,” Sally said.
Carlene moved as far away from Ronan as possible and busied herself with the customers at the opposite end of the bar. She had been anticipating the arrival of the Americans as well. It was a Thursday night. She’d invited all the locals and paid the trad band extra to play tonight instead of Sunday. She’d even invited Joe, although she highly doubted he would come. The half dozen said they’d try to make it, but Mary McBride didn’t like coming to the pub, which made Carlene immeasurably sad, even if she understood it. But the others, it looked like were going to come through. The place was already buzzing, and it was early yet.
Billy arrived with a couple of girls on his arm. Collin arrived, took one look at Ronan and Sally, and started flirting with Carlene. His T-shirt read: MAKE AWKWARD SEXUAL ADVANCES, NOT WAR. Ronan watched him with a scowl on his face, and practically jumped out of his seat every time Collin touched Carlene on the arm. Let him be jealous. It had been too long since their meeting on the cliff and the little seductive interlude underneath the town gate, then his refusal to come, all under the guise that he had to set things straight with Sally first. She didn’t need games or thoughts of how good things could be between them if only he weren’t so afraid to commit. Maybe she should give Collin a chance. Maybe the kind of love that made your heart leap into your throat was the kind that could kill you. Maybe she’d be better off with a nice guy like Collin. Her thoughts were disrupted by Anchor, who lifted his head and started to sniff.
“You burning something?” he asked.
“Oh shit,” Carlene said. “The cheese toasties.” She ran to the little toaster oven and threw open the door. Her little sandwiches were black and hard. If Sally hadn’t been so busy throwing herself at Ronan, she would have noticed.
“Is that how the Americans like them?” Ronan asked. He was cheerful again. Carlene pried what was left off the rack and dropped it on the counter in front of him. She leaned in so only he could hear her.
“Just like your heart,” she said. Immediately, she was horrified that she would say such a thing, but it was too late to take it back, so she just smiled. “Only messing,” she said loudly. The band arrived in time to save her from having to listen to heavy metal. Anchor groaned as she shut off the jukebox. The fiddler, tin whistler, and guitar player started to warm up, and Carlene got them pints. Her second batch of cheese toasties was perfect. Declan walked in the door.
“How ya,” he called.
“What’s the craic?” several of the lads answered.
“Damn all,” Declan said, slipping behind the bar. He started on the third round of cheese toasties, refilled drinks, and began chin-wagging about football scores, babies being born, and gossip about who was doing what work these days, or buying what property. He did the job with the skill and finesse of an Olympic gold medalist. She was amateur, he was all pro. If he had been forty years younger, she would have married him on the spot.
“Ran into Katie in town,” Declan said. “The girls should be here shortly—at least, the three single ones are beautifying themselves.” Billy perked up at the mention of the girls.
“Katie’s coming?” Billy said. The two women with him exchanged disappointed glances. Billy put an arm around each. “There’s plenty of me to go around,” he said. The band started to play, and second, third, fourth rounds were bought. So far no sign of the Americans. Maybe they wouldn’t show. True to Declan’s word, the three single McBride girls walked in the door. Katie, Siobhan, and Clare were wearing fancy dresses, high heels, and matching bags. Billy let out a wolf whistle and all eyes were on them, including the band. Carlene was just thinking how lucky she was, what a great evening this was going to be when suddenly, in the corner, she saw the woman from the museum.
She was wearing a navy skirt, black top, and black hat. She was tapping her foot to the music even though her hands remained clenched on her purse in front of her. Her black eye was either all healed or she’d covered it with makeup. Carlene hoped she would stay long enough to try to have a chat with her, but rig
ht now she was too busy to stop and talk.
The conversation rose and fell all around her. Carlene loved standing back and listening collectively to all the chatter. It was like a symphony of words. It had its own life, breath, and rhythms, just like music. It would grow loud and fall soft. Male and female voices blended together in harmony. She heard deep laughter and high trills. Banter back and forth was like a waltz. A long story was a ballad, a grumble about a bad day was heavy metal, jokes and gossip were pop music—but the really good ones, the phrases that stuck in your mind forever, were rock and roll. The girls finished their tour around the bar, then pulled up stools around their brother.
“Not here for a long time,” Siobhan called.
“Just here for a good time,” he answered. Siobhan grinned and smacked Ronan on the head with her clutch purse. Carlene wished she’d do it again.
“What did we have to see?” she asked Ronan. He threw her a warning look. Carlene was about to gloat that the Americans weren’t coming in after all when the first of several video cameras came through the door. All the noise in the pub couldn’t have possibly come to a screeching halt when they burst in, but that’s how Carlene would always remember it. She couldn’t hear anything but a buzzing in her head.
There were indeed fifteen of them, in khaki shorts and sandals with white socks, and T-shirts with shamrocks and pints of Guinness and leprechauns, and so many things hanging off their necks (maps, cameras, binoculars, sunglasses) it was a wonder they could stand up straight. If they had it, they hung it. Or, in the case of their video cameras, they swung it.
“Top of the morning to ya!” one of the American women yelled out.
“Play ‘Danny Boy’!” one of the American men shouted to the band. Then they stood at the edge of the crowd, grinning, as if waiting to be greeted, or perhaps announced, like the honored guests at a surprise party they’d secretly thrown themselves. When no such announcement came, they commandeered a table in the center of the room to which the band had already laid claim. Carlene watched in horror as they removed the empty instrument cases and put them down by the stage so they could merge that table with another and plant themselves front and center. Cameras immediately began snapping. The group photographed the walls, the band, and the regulars, who watched on with slightly horrified amusement, as if watching a middle-aged version of Jersey Shore. Carlene spotted Lorraine and Michael in the middle of the group.
“Hey, Lorraine,” Michael yelled.
“The lungs on him,” Ciaran said under his breath. Now that he mentioned it, it did seem as if all of them were yelling. Were Americans always this loud? Carlene had never noticed it before. Michael was pointing at an Irish man who had been doing a bit of a jig to the music, minding his own business. “Get a load of this,” Michael screamed.
“I’m Twittering about it as we speak,” Lorraine said. Carlene finally met Ronan’s gaze. It would have been impossible not to; you could feel the heat coming off his grin. She’d never seen him look so happy. The regulars were all staring at Carlene too.
“Are those your folks?” Eoin said.
“God, no,” Carlene said. “Definitely not.”
“They’re from Ohio too,” Ronan said. “So they’re practically family.”
“They are not practically family,” Carlene said. Eoin, Anchor, and Collin got off their stools and wandered over to say hello. Everyone offered to buy them drinks. They wanted virgin strawberry daiquiris, iced teas, and Cokes. Declan was the only one keeping her sane. He handled all their requests with a smile, and when she went to help, he waved her away.
“But we don’t make strawberry daiquiris,” she said.
“Don’t worry, pet,” Declan said. “I’ll find something red. We’ll tell ’em it’s the Irish way.”
The band played “Danny Boy.” Anchor and Eoin soon returned to the bar, but Collin stayed and entertained the tourists. He even danced for them. Carlene raised an eyebrow at Anchor and Eoin.
“Riverdancing,” Anchor said with a smirk. “Bet ye miss me heavy metal now.” One of the larger men in the group stood on a chair and started videotaping.
“If he falls off that chair, you’ll be liable,” Ronan said.
“America is a litigious society,” Anchor said. Carlene asked the man to get down. She looked around for Michael and Lorraine, and finally spotted the pair in the center of the hooplah, huddled around their video camera. Then, to Carlene’s surprise, Ciaran’s wife, Jane, walked in the bar. Carlene hadn’t seen her since the hen night. Apparently, Carlene wasn’t the only one surprised. Ciaran flushed, quickly slid his pint glass over to Anchor, leaned in and asked for a pint of water. Carlene complied, although Jane didn’t appear to be there to check in on her husband. In fact, she didn’t even acknowledge him. She was carrying a large dress, concealed in a garment bag. Sally tore out from behind the bar.
“Is it my dress?” she asked.
“ ’Tis,”Jane said. “I was passing by the shop when Annmarie asked if I’d drop it in to ye.” While they talked, Carlene snuck a glance at Ronan. Then suddenly, she felt someone staring at her. Carlene looked up to find the woman from the museum staring at her. In that one glance, it was as if she knew exactly how Carlene felt about Ronan McBride. She looked at her with pity, and a touch of judgment, as if she thought it was Carlene’s fault for getting involved with him in the first place. Sally was now holding the garment close to her body and swaying in the middle of the floor. Ronan stared at the back wall of the bar.
“You can’t see it,” Sally called to Ronan, even though he wasn’t making the slightest attempt to do so. “It’s bad luck.”
“So is marrying the wrong person,” Carlene said under her breath. She thought she said it soft enough that no one could hear, but Ronan’s head snapped toward hers and their eyes clashed.
“You should know,” Ronan said. Carlene looked away first.
“Do you mind if I hang it upstairs?” Sally asked.
“No bother,” Carlene said. Sally hurried up the stairs with it, along with several of her girlfriends in tow. The band took their first break. Lorraine was setting up a mini–video projector on the table and aiming it at the back wall. When the projector was turned on, the wall behind the band flooded with light.
“Show time?” Anchor said. They hadn’t even asked Carlene’s permission. Did they really think they were going to take her entire bar hostage by showing pictures of their trip on her back wall? Carlene took her frustrations out on the limes in front of her. Slice, slice, slice.
“Oh no,” Ronan said. He shot out of his stool. Carlene stared at the back wall as the video started to play. The Cliffs of Moher loomed large on the wall. Sally and Jane were coming down the steps. They stopped halfway. Carlene watched as an image of her and Ronan kissing by the cliffs filled the space. Lorraine’s voice could be heard on the video.
“Look at the lovebirds,” she said.
“Don’t spy on people, Lorraine,” Michael said. Carlene watched as the scene she’d been playing over and over again in her mind played out in front of the entire pub. She watched Ronan’s arms circle her back, drop to her lower waist, and hold her tight as they kissed. Heads snapped from Sally, to Carlene, to Ronan, and back again. Lorraine looked over at Carlene with a clueless grin on her face.
“I got you two,” she said. The Americans clapped. Carlene lowered the knife in her hand and looked at Sally. Sally turned and sprinted up the steps. Jane stood stunned for a moment before running after her, but first treated Carlene to a parting word. Whore.
Ciaran slid his beer back from Anchor and pursed his lips, but didn’t make eye contact with Carlene.
Ronan remained standing halfway between the bar and the video, which still played. On the wall, Carlene watched Ronan take her hand and lead her away from the cliffs.
CHAPTER 35
A Note of Clarification
For a few minutes nobody except the group of Americans moved. Then the band started up again, although quiete
r, and this time the tune was not as jaunty. In fact it sounded more like a country ballad in which the singer has lost his dog, job, Chevy, and woman, all in one go. Joe walked in the door and stood nervously by the entrance as if anticipating a sneak attack. Sally stomped down the steps with her wedding dress in hand. It was out of the garment bag now and displayed in all its glory. It was a gown fit for a twelve-year-old princess, covered, as Carlene had suspected, with hundreds of glittering crystals.
Once again Sally stopped halfway down the stairs. She screamed at the top of her lungs. The band stopped playing. Everyone turned to her.
“You asked me to marry you when we were fifteen!” Sally shouted.
“Sally, please,” Ronan said. He lowered his head to the bar.
“You wrote ‘Be Mine’ in the abbey. Remember? You stuck the note in the tower wall for me to find.”
“Sally,” Siobhan said. “Not here.”
“Yes, here,” Sally said. “And then you proposed in the exact same place.”
Siobhan stood. “How’s that now?” Siobhan said.
“Siobhan,” Ronan said.
“He left me another note in the tower,” Sally said. “It said ‘Marry me.’ ” Sally stuck her hand in her cleavage and pulled out a tiny note.
“Can I see that?” Siobhan said. She moved to the bottom of the stairs and held her hand up to Sally like a Good Samaritan helping a jumper off the ledge.
“Leave it be, Siobhan,” Ronan said. Siobhan looked at the note, then looked at Ronan. She handed the note to Katie.
