by Mary Carter
“Open,” Carlene whispered.
“Open,” Declan repeated with a wink.
Declan had given her a lot to think about. On the one hand, she absolutely loved her life in Ballybeog. Her time here had been a gift. For the first time in her life, she felt as if she belonged. As crazy as it sounded, whenever she heard the word “home” she thought of Ronan, and her kitten, and her little pub in the middle of nowhere.
But her father was in pain. Becca still thought she should go home. And if she didn’t, what would happen to the gym? Her father only had two things in his life: the gym and Carlene. And it was looking as if he’d never be willing to visit her in Ireland. Could she really be responsible for him losing the only two things he loved in life?
And then there was Ronan. Ronan was in her heart. She missed him with an intensity that at times threatened to bring her to her knees. But he was gone. And his heart had been this pub, and it had been taken from him. In essence, because the raffle had only been open to Americans, it had been taken from everyone in Ballybeog as well. Luck was one thing, but as the man at the festival told her, “You can’t win if you don’t play.” Given the way they were shut out, it was a miracle folks around here were speaking to her at all. Carlene knew what she had to do. She had to make things right. An open heart didn’t mean every man for himself. It meant doing what was best for the greater good. It meant doing in your heart what you knew to be the right thing to do, even if, maybe especially if, it also meant saying good-bye.
CHAPTER 44
The Do-Over
She called Ronan first. His phone went straight to voice mail, but she left a message anyway. Declan told her to follow her heart, but her heart was confused, and torn in several directions, and slightly bruised. Surprisingly, deciding to leave the ultimate decision to luck brought about a peaceful feeling in Carlene. For once she was taking control and letting go at the same time. She set the date for exactly two weeks from now. It would give her time to prepare, to say good-bye. She would probably be home before Christmas. At least she was giving something back, and she could think of no better present to the town, no better tribute to the folks of Ballybeog. They had given her so much in such a short time.
She broke the news to Mary McBride and the half dozen in person. They sat at Mary’s table, drinking tea. Carlene knew they were stunned by the news, and several times they asked her if she was sure, but eventually they squeezed her hands and told her she should indeed follow her heart. It wasn’t an easy thing to tell them, especially since part of her thought she should just give the pub back to them, but she stuck to her original idea. Her intention had already been voiced; it was floating out there in the great beyond, as alive as electricity, and no matter how difficult, she would see it through.
It didn’t take long for the news to spread. Once the McBrides knew, she simply told a few of her regulars, and from there, gossip took flight. Her message to Joe was nonverbal. She grabbed the bulldozer and headed straight over to the shop. He was in the back, stacking shelves. She quietly left the clock on the counter and walked out. She erased COME SEE THE YANK, which was still written on the sandwich board, and replaced it with COME ENTER THE RAFFLE. OPEN ONLY TO THE RESIDENTS OF BALLYBEOG, IRELAND, followed by the date and time.
Carlene hung up the phone and stared. There, in the little bowl beside the cash register, were her emerald earrings. Stunned, she reached for them, half expecting them to disappear. Had Sally simply borrowed them? What did this mean? Did it mean she was doing the right thing, or that she’d made the worst mistake of her life? It didn’t matter, she thought, as she put on the earrings. It was too late to turn back now. Iacta alea est. The die is cast.
It was the biggest crowd she’d ever seen in the Half Tree, bar none. Bigger than the tree-trimming ceremony, bigger than the skeleton crew, bigger than Brendan’s grand entrance. Had it not been for the fact that the local guards were drinking it up with the rest of them, Carlene would have been afraid of being shut down for being over capacity. Even the other publicans were there, no doubt hoping to win a second addition to their livelihood. Joe was dressed in a tuxedo and guarding the raffle box like it was the last keg of Guinness on earth. The rules were clear. Everyone could enter only once. She didn’t want to charge them a dime, but the McBrides insisted she charge the same twenty euros apiece. She relented; although it would never amount to the same money they’d won raffling it off in America, it would still be enough money to see her home and then some.
There was no sign of Ronan, nor had he ever acknowledged her message. That was it, then; it was so obviously over. Johnny Spoons and his band began to play. Carlene left Declan and Sally tending bar and threaded her way over to Mary McBride. She grabbed her by the hands.
“Does Ronan know about this?” Carlene said. “I have to ask before we draw the name.” Mary McBride squeezed her hands.
“He knows, luv,” she said. “And believe me. He’s made his wishes very clear.”
“Oh,” Carlene said. He’s made his wishes very clear. Meaning his absence was proof that he didn’t care. He wasn’t even going to enter the raffle. She could have restricted him from entering, everyone would have understood that. But she didn’t. And he couldn’t even acknowledge that. “At least he knows,” Carlene said. She hurried back to the bar. She didn’t want Mary McBride to see her pain. Maybe Ronan hated her for not just giving the pub back to them where it probably belonged.
“You okay, pet?” Declan asked.
“Fine,” Carlene said. “It’s almost time.”
She couldn’t wait for Ronan any longer. It was way too crowded, and people were starting to get drunk. If she didn’t pick the winner soon, they’d have a mob on their hands. Declan, who made it clear he wasn’t entering the drawing, was designated to pick the winner. He stood on top of a table near the windows. The crowd closed in. Carlene stayed behind the bar, taking everyone in. Joe, of course, was standing as close to Declan as he could get, his hands clasped below his chin. The half dozen and Mary McBride hung back. Katie was watching Carlene. Ellen, her stalker, was there, dressed all in black. The band was on stage. The ladies from her boxercise class stood together. The man from RTÉ was there, ready with camera and microphone. Sally and Declan were behind the bar with her, and all of her regulars were sitting in front of her. Collin started a drumroll on the bar. Declan reached his hand into the box. Carlene’s heart was suspended in midair. Declan pulled a folded piece of paper out of the box and cleared his throat. The little pub went from all out noise to deathly quiet in seconds flat.
“Carlene,” Declan said.
“I’m ready,” Carlene said. “Just read the name.”
“I just did,” Declan said. “Carlene Rivers.” Her regulars whooped.
“What?” Joe yelled. He grabbed the paper from Declan’s hands.
“That’s not possible,” Carlene said. “I didn’t enter.”
“Draw another name, why don’t ye,” Eoin said. Carlene was slightly surprised, but quickly hid her hurt.
“Yes,” Carlene said. “There’s been a mistake. Please choose another name.” Declan reached into the box again.
“Carlene Rivers,” he said. This time the entire pub cheered.
“This is outrageous,” Joe yelled. Declan kept drawing names from the box.
“Carlene, the Yank, Blondie from Cleveland, Yankee Doodle Dandy, the Pain in the Ass from America, Carlene, Carlene, Carlena,” he said.
“Carlena?” Carlene asked. “Someone wrote Carlena?”
“It’s a vote by proxy,” Declan said. “But it’s a vote nevertheless.” Carlena. Carlena, Carlena, Carlena. Ronan was the only one who’d ever called her Carlena. He made his wishes very clear.
“I don’t understand,” Carlene said.
“Congratulations,” Anchor said. “You just won a pub in Ballybeog.” He stuck his hand out. They shook. “I’m the ambassador of craic,” he said with a wink. Collin was wearing his SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL BARTENDER shirt. He wink
ed at her.
“You all entered my name?” Carlene said. She could barely speak.
“We did, yeah,” Ciaran said. “Now give us a pint or we’ll have to bite yer neck.”
“I wish I’d come up with the idea meself,” Danny said. “But we all knew it was a good one when we heard it.”
“Don’t get a big head over it,” Sally said. “We just figured whoever won the pub was gonna be hated by everyone else in Ballybeog, and why put ourselves through that when we’ve already got you to hate.” She said it with such a big smile that Carlene had to smile back.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Johnny Spoons slurred into the microphone, “the people of Ballybeog have spoken. Long live the American girl. Now, let’s put this fucking raffle behind us and get our dancing shoes on.” Joe, who looked as if he were still trying to protest, was swept up in a sea of bodies and voices raised in cheer. Carlene was still stunned.
“Are ye just gonna stand there with your mouth open, or are ye going to pour us a pint?” Riley said.
“Give her a chance to catch her breath, dear.” Startled, Carlene saw a small woman sitting daintily next to Riley. They held hands on the counter. Riley caught Carlene staring.
“This woman’s looked after me for forty-six years,” he said. “Would you look after a man for forty-six years?”
“I wouldn’t look after you for forty-six minutes,” Anchor said. Carlene didn’t answer. Between the lump in her throat, and pouring free pints, there was nothing left to say. As it stood, she wouldn’t get a chance to speak anyway. A loud cracking noise thundered through the pub. All heads snapped to the corner of the room. The tanning bed was plugged in, and the cord was sparking. It flopped on the floor like a recently caught fish. She didn’t even have time to panic. The lads were up and on it within seconds.
“Where’s your extinguisher?” someone yelled. Carlene had no idea; she didn’t even know if she had one. She was terrified someone was going to throw their pint on it, and rushed to get a pitcher of water. Was water okay for an electrical fire? She couldn’t remember a single bit of sound advice.
“Everybody out,” she shouted. She could live if her pub burned down, but she would die if anything happened to any of her lads.
Everybody agreed; she was incredibly lucky. Joey, the singing fireman, was standing closest to the flames when they sparked up. Within seconds, he had put out the fire with an extinguisher Carlene didn’t even know she had. By the time everyone was out, so was the fire. Declan turned to Carlene.
“You’re one lucky gal,” he said.
“What’s so lucky about winning a pub, only to have it burn down?” Joe said.
“Ah, it’ll be grand,” Anchor said. “It’s just a bit crispy on one side.”
“Is it okay to go in?” Carlene said. Before she could move, she spotted a familiar figure pushing through the crowd. It was Ronan. Carlene’s heart stopped.
She saw him take in the charred wall of the pub. The heavy smell of smoke hung in the air, causing many in the crowd to cough. Ronan didn’t see Carlene—he was looking at the fire damage, the expression on his face downright panicked.
“Carlene?” he yelled. Anchor stepped up next to him.
“What happened?” Ronan said. “Is Carlena okay?” Anchor’s face morphed into that of a grieving man.
“They’re going to do all they can,” Anchor said. “But it doesn’t look good.” Ronan tore past him into the pub.
“What are you doing?” Carlene said.
Anchor grinned, flashed her the horns. “Only messin’,” he said. Carlene ran into the pub after him, and soon the crowd followed. Ronan was standing in the middle of the room like he didn’t know where to turn.
“Jaysus,” he said. “Please, no. It’s my fault. I should have stayed and protected her.” He dropped to his knees. “God,” he said. “I swear. I’ll go to mass, and I won’t skip out. I’ve already been to gambling rehab. I’ll settle. Just let Miss America be okay.” He pulled something out of his pocket and held it up. “This is the penny she dropped into the fountain the day I met her. She was fucking gorgeous. Okay, I probably shouldn’t say fucking, right, Lord? I’ll stop that, I promise. Maybe I caused her bad luck. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone back after her penny. But I took one look at her and realized I wanted to be the man that made her wishes come true.” Carlene put her hand over her mouth. She looked at Anchor. He flashed her a grin and the horns.
“Ronan,” Carlene said. “I’m okay.” Startled, Ronan whipped his head back. Anchor started laughing.
“Only messing,” Anchor said. Ronan ran up and grabbed Carlene. He buried his face in her neck and gripped her so tight she couldn’t breathe. She pushed him away enough so that she could feel her rib cage again, and stroked his hair.
“That scared the shit out of me,” he said.
“I’m okay,” she said. He slid down to the floor, bringing her with him. They sat, embracing and entangled.
“Were you really in gambling rehab?” she said.
“Thanks to Racehorse Robbie,” Ronan said.
“What?”
“Our little bet,” Ronan said. “I had a fallback. If I lost, I either owed him a hundred thousand, or I would agree to go to gambling rehab,” Ronan said. “It was in Dublin. There were no phone privileges or I would have called you.”
“I had no idea,” Carlene said. “I thought you hated me.” Ronan opened his hand and held out the penny.
“I do,” he said. “I fucking hated you the moment I laid eyes on you.”
“I fucking hated you too.” She kissed him, then took the penny. “I can’t believe you went in after this,” she said.
“I can’t be sure it’s yours.” He dug in his pocket and brought out a handful of pennies. “So I reckon one of these has to be Miss America.” She laughed as he took her hands and poured the pennies into them. There were so many, they overflowed her palms and began trickling to the ground. “Lucky girl,” he said.
“I don’t need luck,” she said. “I have you.” Singing Joey entered and walked over to the tanning bed, which looked like a cremated coffin.
“Here’s your culprit,” he said, holding up the frayed cord. “These things are a huge fire hazard.” Carlene whipped around to glare at Joe, but he had mysteriously disappeared. “You’re going to need a new wall, and a new stage,” he said. “Probably looking at ten thousand or so euro—not too bad in the scheme of things, right?”
“You can use the money from the raffle,” Katie said.
“Can I get a wee pint?” Riley called from his stool. “All this fire business has me mind in a jam.” Carlene heard a meow. Columbus jumped on the counter, tail twitching. Carlene swooped up the kitten and held her close. Riley banged his empty pint glass on the counter. Carlene picked up the glass, then leaned over and kissed Riley on the cheek.
“Mind yerself,” Riley’s wife said. “You won’t be so lucky if you don’t keep your paws to yourself.”
CHAPTER 45
Crying Wolf
Carlene walked into the pub and was so astonished at what she saw, she simply stood and stared. Her regulars were all there, gathered around her computer. They were all wearing blue rubber gloves. On the computer screen was her father. They were all laughing and talking, including her dad. Carlene snuck up behind them.
“What’s going on?” she said.
“Hello,” her father said softly. “I see you’re wearing your mother’s earrings. That’s a good sign.”
“Hi, Dad,” she said.
“I’ve met your friends,” he said. “I like them.” One by one, Carlene glanced at her lads. Anchor, Eoin, Collin, Billy, Ciaran, Riley, Declan, and Ronan. When Ronan caught her eye, he winked at her.
“They say you’re doing a fabulous job,” her father said. “And they insist that I come see for myself.”
“That would be great, Dad,” Carlene said.
“I won’t make it for Christmas, but maybe the spring.”
“I’l
l buy your ticket,” Carlene said.
“Too late,” her father said. “They already did.” He waved a ticket in front of him. It was wrapped in plastic. Carlene nodded, restraining herself from ambushing the lads with a hug. Her father hated public displays of affection. A few minutes later, they were saying good-bye, and her lads were all waving good-bye with their blue rubber gloves.
“Thank you,” Carlene said when the screen went dark. “Now please take those fucking things off.” The men laughed and removed their gloves. Declan held up a jar behind the bar.
“That’ll be one euro for cussing, young lady.” Carlene bought them all drinks on the house, including Declan. It was nice to see him sitting on the other side of the bar for a change.
“How in the world did you get him to agree to visit?” Carlene asked them.
“It’s the accent, petal,” Declan said with a wink. “Charms them every time.” She waited until they were gone. Then she picked up the phone and called her father again. She guessed she was still a bit of a coward herself, because she wasn’t going to video phone him; she knew she couldn’t look at him when she said what she had to say. She was just grateful when he picked up.
“Dad,” she said. “I need to tell you something. It’s about Mom. It was all my fault.”
Carlene walked and walked. The Irish countryside and miles and miles of limestone walls comforted her as she replayed her conversation with her father over and over again. It was almost too much to absorb, and she knew, had the revelation come any earlier, she might not have been able to handle it. But out here she was different. She’d changed. She was stronger.
Her mother didn’t have a weak heart. Her mother had chronic depression and a razor. She’d first tried to kill herself when she was sixteen. She spent the next few years in and out of hospitals. And then, at nineteen, she fell in love with Mike Rivers, and he fell madly in love with her. The first few years she was married, love seemed to work miracles, and Renee’s depression seemed to all but vanish. Then gradually, it came back with a startling vengeance. That day on the bus they were going to a pharmacy for her mother to pick up medication. She’d promised Carlene’s father she would take it. That afternoon, she came home and they fought. Over nothing. He didn’t even remember, except that she was in a mood. She opened her medication and poured the pills down the drain. Her father called Grandma Jane to pick Carlene up. Then he told her mother he would leave if she didn’t get help, didn’t take this seriously. They fought some more. Her father got in the car to drive, to clear his head. He was gone less than an hour.
