Forget-Me-Not

by Kris Bryant

  “I think it needs a complementary color, maybe a blue flower if you have it. There are a lot of earth tones and I think a bright color might tie it all together nicely.”

  “You have a good eye, Grace. Just like your aunt.” She heads to the back and returns with a few sprigs of a wildflower I haven’t seen before.

  “What kind of flower is that?” I ask.

  “It’s a wildflower that’s very popular here. A forget-me-not,” she says. I watch as she cleans the stem, plucks the green leaves, and keeps only the small, yet bright blue flowers. She adds them to the arrangement and I smile at the transition of the bouquet. What was a nice, albeit boring display, is now vivid and cheerful.

  “It’s beautiful, Leigh. Amazing that one tiny flower can make such a difference,” I say.

  “Oh, this flower might be small, but its meaning is big,” she says. “It’s hard to get these flowers into bouquets because of their size, but we don’t mind using the entire stalk. It’s nice to have flowers along the stems and not just the tops.”

  “I think I might have seen these flowers used as a ground cover more than for bouquets. Back home in Texas, we have blue bonnets and some blue bells.” I’m surprised that the arrangements here are a bit more rustic. Several arrangements have wildflowers and they remind me of when my mom and I used to pick flowers in the fields behind the house where I grew up. They are gorgeous, just different from the deliveries I’ve either sent or received.

  “There are several varieties of the forget-me-not. This one works the best for when we need a bit of color. Plus it’s a good flower for any occasion. Love, death, and everything in-between,” she says.

  “Well, you’ve done beautiful work and I’m sure whomever is receiving this will appreciate what you’ve done with it.” I decide my break is over and excuse myself. As nice and friendly as Leigh is, I don’t want to get attached to her. I head up the stairs back to my aunt’s apartment, ready to hit the hard stuff. I find a copy of the deed to the building, her life insurance policy, and her bank statements. I’m still shocked that she left everything to me. According to the paperwork my lawyer handed me back in Dallas, everything is free and clear. I know my aunt didn’t have any children, but why me? Why did she pick me out of everybody in the family? She has over thirty thousand euros in her personal savings account. I don’t even know what’s in the business account. She has a small sedan that must be in the back or in a garage somewhere close that is now mine. Doesn’t matter because no way in hell am I driving here, not after causing Kerry to crash.

  “Grace?” I hear a gentle knock on the door and find Leigh in the doorway. “Emma and I are headed to Sullivan’s for lunch and thought we would ask if you would like to join us.”

  “I’d love another break,” I say. I stand and brush cat hair and dust off of my jeans. “Let me just freshen up. I can meet you downstairs in a few minutes.” She nods and disappears. I head for the bathroom, enamored by the claw foot tub and old marble floor, dinged with age, but still full of character. There isn’t much I can do except splash some water on my face and wash my hands. I’m tired and I know that if I don’t take a nap after lunch, I won’t make it to dinner. Traveling overseas is grueling. I feel like I’ve aged ten years in less than twenty-four hours. I meet the girls downstairs and am surprised when they lock up and shut down the shop for lunch. I can’t imagine any store back home completely shutting down for an hour. I find that I actually like the idea. When the girls start walking in the direction of Sullivan’s instead of driving, I stop. They stop, too, wondering what’s wrong. To me, Emma looks like she is going to birth that baby any minute now and I can’t imagine that the two block trek is any fun for her.

  “Are you sure it’s okay to walk in your condition?” I ask. She laughs at me.

  “I walk from the train station to work every day. This baby is not coming for at least another two weeks,” she says. I look at her and know that baby is going to be a hefty one. She’s all baby. There is little additional weight in her face and arms. Emma is one of the few women I’ve seen pregnant who actually glows. I can tell she’s happily pregnant and I figure that’s a safe topic.

  “Do you know if it’s going to be a girl or a boy?”

  “Oh, no. My family doesn’t believe in finding out until the baby is born,” she says. “Even though I would really like to know, my husband thinks it’s bad luck.” I can’t imagine anyone back home waiting. I don’t think I could either.

  “Do you have the nursery set up yet?”

  “Keagan’s been working on it since he found out we’re having a baby. We have all the furniture and have it decorated in yellows and greens. I think he’s hoping for a boy, but won’t come out and say it,” she says. “I want a little girl. Do you have any children, Grace?”

  “No. I don’t even have any pets. It’s just me.”

  “You’re not married?” Leigh asks. She looks surprised.

  “I’m married to my job, if that counts,” I say. Nobody laughs. I’m learning that while work is important in Ireland, it’s not their top priority. Family and time spent together is first and foremost. I feel guilty because I only see my dad once a month and he lives in the same town.

  “What do you do for work?” Emma asks. I explain my position and even though they seem impressed, they are more surprised when I tell them the hours I put in weekly. “So there is nobody there who could do your job when you are gone? Do you ever get breaks? Are you working from here?”

  “I guess I’m a control freak and need to know what’s happening in all of the departments I manage.” It even sounds bad to me coming out of my mouth. Once we hit the door to Sullivan’s, our conversation turns immediately to the delicious smells coming from the bar.

  “I was here last night and the owner told me to come back for lunch because the fish and chips are the freshest in town,” I say. Leigh laughs.

  “So you met Colleen,” she says. “She’s not afraid to boast and rightfully so.” Leigh and Emma take a seat at one of the long tables instead of a booth. I sit across from them and wait for any waitress to arrive. Emma and Leigh don’t seem to be worried and continue talking about Colleen and her pub and the history of it. It’s the oldest pub in Howth, having been passed down generation after generation. After about five minutes without service, I start getting antsy and perturbed. The table is filling up and a man who I assume is a fisherman, sits down next to me and politely nods hello.

  “What’s the matter? Are you looking for the restroom?” Leigh asks. Before I am able to answer, a server shows up with three plates of fresh fish and chips and places them in front of us. “What are you drinking today?” he asks. The girls both order hot tea and I order a cola.

  “Wow. How did he know what we wanted?” I ask.

  “We are sitting at the lunch table. This tells them that we all want the fish and chips special. Besides, there aren’t very many options for lunch,” Leigh explains. I can’t complain. It makes sense. I dig into my meal and stifle a moan at the deliciousness and freshness of the fish. It’s perfect. Even the chips are great. Nobody is asking for ketchup or any other condiment to drown their food in, so I forgo my usual staples and am pleased with just the flavors of the food.

  “This is delicious,” I say. Emma smiles at me.

  “One day this food will catch up to me, but right now I’m using the excuse that I’m eating for two,” she says. She is eating faster than the fisherman sitting next to me and I laugh at their kind exchange. I notice that Emma is more casual with the locals and her accent stronger. Even though I should understand what they are saying since we both speak English, the dialect is strong and I have to concentrate and process it differently than the English I hear back home. I’m a few seconds late laughing with them, but I find that I’m still having a good time. I spend the rest of the hour slowly opening up to these delightful women. They are so very different than Morgan and my other friends. Morgan’s always worried about matching her shoes with her new
blouse, and these women worry about if their town will see enough tourism this spring and summer to keep several of the businesses open. Howth is a heartfelt town and maybe it’s like this in small towns back home, but I find this selfless attitude refreshing.

  “Are all Irish towns and cities like this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How do you keep it quaint and keep big business out of here? Where I live, there are restaurant chains everywhere. Not to mention grocery stores and malls with the same stores over and over. How does this town stay preserved?”

  “Well, Dublin and a lot of the larger towns have famous named businesses that you have in your country like Microsoft and Google. And even though Howth is small, we do have takeaway restaurants and pizza places.” I smile at their description of fast food. “And it’s just a thirty minute ride by train so we really aren’t that far out from what you are probably used to in such a big city.” I’m positive they would have a difficult time processing downtown Dallas with twenty plus lanes of traffic and every single person in a giant SUV. I have a hard time understanding it myself. My excess suddenly feels gluttonous and I feel guilty for what I’ve worked for.

  “I live in Dublin and take the train everywhere. My husband has the car in case something comes up. I don’t mind. The train is a quick, inexpensive way to get to work. If I leave my house at nine in the morning, I’m here before ten. My husband owns a pub in Dublin near Trinity College. As much as I would love to move to a smaller town like Howth, I know that he enjoys the more modern things so a move is out of the question for now,” Emma says. “You know, Grace, you should take some time tomorrow and get on the train to Dublin and check it out for a bit.” That sounds like a good idea. Tomorrow is Sunday and it’s normally my day to relax. I don’t think I will hear back from Kerry until Monday so I decide to at least take half a day to explore Dublin or some of the small towns on the way to Dublin.

  “I should and I will since I’ll only be here until Wednesday. That doesn’t give me a lot of time to finish going through Aunt Nola’s belongings and visit Ireland. I’ll make the effort though. I’ve come this far, right?” I tell them about my original trip planned with Morgan and how her list of things to do was probably longer than what we could have handled.

  “That doesn’t give you a lot of time to get things done here. Are you sure you can’t tack on a few more days and stay until next weekend?” Leigh asks. I mull the idea over heavily before answering.

  “You might be right. I hope Kerry can rush things on her end so that at least the paperwork is finished even if it takes time to sell the shop,” I say and cringe at my lack of sensitivity. Leigh pats my arm.

  “We know it’s not your fault so please don’t feel bad for us. Although Nola’s passing was somewhat sudden, we knew it was a possibility. It’s too bad we can’t afford to buy it from you. The good news is that it’s in an ideal location and should sell quickly. Just in time for Emma to give birth and time for Conor to get work with his father this summer on the wharf,” Leigh says.

  “What about you? What do you think you will do next?” I ask. She shrugs at me like it’s not a big deal.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m sure something will turn up for me,” she says. “Come. Let’s give our space to other people and head back,” she says. I’m surprised at how many people have crammed into the restaurant. Colleen was right. Nothing could beat that delicious lunch.

  *

  I wake up on my aunt’s couch with Abram tucked in the corner of my arm. He seems content. I’m wary. I don’t have any pets and truthfully, cats scare me. He starts purring when he realizes I’m awake. I pet him for a bit and enjoy the peacefulness and quietness of the moment. I have no idea what time it is, but it’s starting to get dark out. I carefully lift him up and put him on the other end of the couch. Papers are in stacks on the floor around me. I have a pile I need to send my lawyer, a pile I need to purge, and photographs I plan to keep. I’ve managed to clutter my aunt’s tidy living room, but at least I’ve gone through all of the papers I found in the living room and kitchen. I will tackle the bedrooms and bathroom later. Now I need food and to figure out what to do with Abram. He seems perfectly happy up in the apartment, but I don’t know if he has a litter box up here or food and water dishes. I head downstairs hoping that Leigh is still around, but the lights are off and the door is locked. Thankfully, Kerry left me a spare set of keys so at least I can get out. I see a note taped to the office door and am relieved that Leigh has given me instruction on what to do with Abram. She did not want to wake me after finding me on the couch asleep. Abram has a pet door upstairs leading out to the rooftop garden so he will be fine. I find his kibble in the office and bring him up a bowl. She tells me two scoops will tide him over until Monday, but I feel guilty so I fill his bowl all the way up to the rim. After checking the doors and windows again to ensure they are locked, I slip out the front door and head to the bed and breakfast. I believe I still have time to eat dinner with Ms. Walsh and any other guests who are staying there. The wind has died down, but the cooling air quickens my step. The bed and breakfast is four blocks away and by the time I reach the front door, I’m ready for anything warm to drink or at least wrap my hands around. The doorknob stings my fingers as I turn it.

  “I was wondering if you would make it tonight.” Ms. Walsh motions me into the small dining area barely giving me time to take off my jacket. “Unusually cold this evening. Come, let’s get you warm.”

  “Hopefully I’m not too late,” I say. Thankfully, she seats me next to the fireplace and I smile with relief as the heat thaws my chilled body.

  “We are having potato pancakes, bacon, and eggs for dinner,” she says. My stomach growls after hearing the menu and I scoot around in my chair to disguise the embarrassing noise. A plate of deliciousness is in front of me in record time. I find that I cannot stop shoveling food into my mouth. I clean my plate and Ms. Walsh offers me seconds. I decline knowing there is dessert. She brings me a piece of honey and spice cake, and a hot cup of tea. I love this woman right now. I clean my dessert plate and take my second cup of tea upstairs. Even though it’s early, I can’t keep my eyes open and fall asleep on the bed, fully clothed, contentment settling over me like a warm blanket on this cool night.

  *

  Ms. Walsh gives me a DART schedule, a bus schedule, and a cartoony map of Dublin with highlighted points of interest. It’s rudimentary and perfect for a nervous tourist. Dublin is just too big to handle in one afternoon so I decide to keep it simple and visit the small villages on the DART route. My travel mate, Ailis, from my flight over is from Dalkey so I start there. She spoke of it so lovingly. I’m not disappointed at all. I jump off, snap a ton of photos of the locals, the harbor, the town itself, and jump back on the train. I do that the entire way up to Dublin and reward myself with street vendor food once I hit the big city. Several of the streets are blocked off and every street corner has a musician or artist drumming up business. It’s fantastic. I look around and realize it’s not even a special occasion. It must always be like this on the weekends. I take photos of all of the people; some who know I’m taking their picture and some who do not. It’s a gorgeous evening and even though I want to stay until deep into the night, I’m not very comfortable yet with the DART so I reluctantly hop back on and head back to Howth. This afternoon was a perfect diversion that kept me away from the heaviness of dealing with Aunt Nola’s estate and effectively keeping my mind off the mystery of Kerry Mulligan.

  Chapter Four

  Dublin during the week is different than the Dublin I fell in love with over the weekend. It’s eleven Monday morning and I’m looking for The Mulligan Group’s office. Kerry asked me to meet her there to get started on the paperwork. There are entirely too many people in a tiny space, getting their week started. I stay close to the wall for fear of accidentally stepping out into traffic again. I find the company four blocks from the DART station. It’s a spacious place with glass offic
es and beautiful honey colored wood floors. There is very little privacy so I am able to people watch as I wait in the lobby for Kerry to collect me. I see her in one of the conference rooms, her tall form and vibrant hair hard to miss. I watch her chew on her pen as she concentrates on something in her hand. She is a rare beauty. She is the kind of woman you don’t want to disappoint, even if she is wrong. I’m surprised by my confusion about her. One minute she upsets me, the next minute I want to reach out and calm her by running my hand down her arm or stroking her hair. I hate that I romanticize everything.

  “Miss Danner?” I turn to face the cute, young receptionist who is hanging up the phone. Hopefully, the dreamy look on my face is misconstrued as sleepiness.

  “Yes?”

  “They are ready for you now. If you are ready, I will take you to the conference room,” she says. I follow her even though I know where I’m going. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “I would love a bottle of water,” I say. I don’t know how long this is going to take and I seem to get a dry mouth around Kerry. She nods at me, opens the door to the conference room, and ushers me in. Kerry and I make eye contact. I see her back stiffen ever so slightly. I just don’t understand why she is still upset at me. I sigh. My guard is up again. The sooner this is done, the sooner I can get away from her.

  “Grace, please have a seat,” Kerry says. Her voice is friendly enough, but the smile doesn’t meet her eyes. I want to lean back, throw my feet up on the conference room table, and act like the rude American she thinks I am. Instead, I take a seat and stare back at her. She’s entirely too pretty to be mad at for long. I give her a taste of her own medicine by leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms. A hint of a smile hangs on her lips, but she quickly brushes it off by clearing her throat.