Chasing River
Page 32
I do. I may not have all this figured out, but whatever time and space I’ve gained from leaving River hasn’t changed what I’ve struggled to accept as possible until now. “Only if it ends with her falling in love with him and them living happily ever after.”
Rich green pleading eyes stare down at me. “I truly hope it does.”
EPILOGUE
AMBER
“Look at that! Me pint seems to be empty around the same time that me instrument cocks up. Now, how’s that?” Collin chirps over his microphone.
I look across the bar to River, who’s already holding a glass to the Smithwick’s tap, shaking his head at their demanding musician. He’s grinning, though. He’s been grinning all day since the first customer walked through the doors of Delaney’s at eleven this morning. A steady stream has followed since, old regulars and newcomers, curious to step foot into the “new and improved” Irish pub.
It’s a zoo in here now.
Fourteen months after the bombing, with overwhelming support from the community to get the new building up and running, River and his family are once again pouring pints. They’ve done surprisingly well to replicate the look of the old place with antiques and mismatched tables that fit eclectically well.
“Would you mind passing this on to him so he’ll start playing again?” River leans across the bar to chase the request with a kiss. He’s also been doing that all day, and all day yesterday, since picking me up from the airport.
I weave through the crowd with the pint in hand, narrowly avoiding several elbows and backs.
“Oh . . . I must be special, to have this one serving me.” Several whistles sound around the crowded bar and my cheeks burn at the attention. “Thanks, love.” Collin winks at me once before sucking back a large gulp. He sets his glass down beside him and begins strumming his guitar again. “Would you look at that? Is there anything beer can’t fix?”
A chorus of “no!” explodes.
“Amber!” Marion hollers from her makeshift station some fifteen feet away, stirring a cauldron’s worth of stew that sits on a portable heating element. “Ya must be hungry!” River said she’s been cooking for days, getting ready for the grand opening.
“I’m good, actually!” I yell back, because it’s getting so loud in here.
“You’re too skinny. Come here and take this now. Don’t make me call your father and tell him ya turned your nose up at me stew.”
Rowen passes between us with a tray full of drinks, his stride different from before but solid. If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t know he relied on a prosthetic leg. Luckily the nerve damage that the doctors warned about is minimal. “She’s trying to fatten you up so you can bear her grandchildren.”
I laugh, though I’m sure he’s right. I’ve traveled back and forth from Portland to Dublin nearly once a month for almost a year now, and I don’t think I’ve left once without Marion or Seamus making a comment about a wedding or a baby. “River said you and your old girlfriend have been spending a lot of time together. Maybe you two can hurry it up then?”
He snorts. “Irene and I are just friends. She can’t handle all these birds clamoring all over me, waiting to get a look at my stump.”
“Oh my God.” I smack him playfully across the arm, but I’m laughing.
He grins. “By the way, have you seen Ivy lately?”
“No, but I talked to her. She’s loving San Francisco.” Ivy’s a bit of a nomad, it would seem. She left Dublin last fall, ready for another change. I keep meaning to go down and visit her in California.
“Good. Well . . . tell her I said hi when you talk to her next.”
“I will. She’ll be happy to hear that.” Whatever they were to each other, I’m glad Rowen and Ivy left things amicably.
“Amber!” Marion slops a spoonful into a Styrofoam cup and holds it out to me, her expression stern. Seamus sits beside her, watching with amusement.
“You had better take it before she tries to spoon-feed you,” Rowen warns.
I make my way over and accept the cup with a smile, earning her nod of approval. “Grand turnout, isn’t it?”
“It is! I’m so happy for you.”
She lifts her pint in the air. “And for you. You’ve been a blessing to us all, lending your help, bringing such joy to River in these difficult times.” Sadness flickers in her eyes as she takes a sip, and I know she’s thinking about her oldest child. River told me that she visited him just last week, on his birthday, after months of no contact from anyone in the family. She’s the only one who has. Apparently, he begged her to try and convince his brothers to see him.
I can’t bring myself to persuade River to visit.
“Amber!” River waves me over to join him behind the bar. I’ve spent so much time in Delaney’s in the last two months, helping get it ready, that it feels comfortable for me now. I even know how to pour a perfect pint of Guinness. Rowen and I have regular competitions.
River holds one arm out and I happily settle against his chest, willing to stay right here until my plane leaves for Oregon in five days. He nods toward someone. “Look who decided to visit us.”
I turn and find myself face-to-face with Detective Garda Garret Duffy.
“He even ordered a beer. Can you believe it?” River jokes, setting a pint down in front of the lanky man.
Duffy dips his head. “Good to see ya, Amber.”
I smile at the sound of his leprechaun accent. “You too. I hear you’ve been busy.” I’m much more in tune with Ireland’s happenings than I am of those of my own country now, especially since last October when Jimmy Conlon—the mastermind behind the St. Stephen’s Green bombing and the head of the “IRA” gang that Aengus belongs to—was gunned down on a quiet side street at night. Three months after that, someone killed his rival—that Beznick guy—in prison. The prison that Aengus is serving his time in. They have yet to charge anyone with either murder.
“I have. Cheers.” He lifts his glass and takes a sip. “So . . . River tells me you’ve been doing a lot of traveling. Must be tiring. And expensive.”
“It is,” I admit. I’m basically working at the hospital to pay for flights. I think my dad’s going to have a coronary soon. “But it’s worth it.”
“Have ya given any thought to applying for a longer stay?”
“I have,” I say warily.
“And?” Duffy’s eyes twinkle as they flash to River’s. “What’s stoppin’ ya?”
My suspicious nature tells me this isn’t so much a curious bystander’s question as something the two of them have orchestrated. Peering up at River’s mock-innocent face, his jaw covered in a day’s worth of stubble, I can’t help but laugh. “First your mother, now the police. Do you have no shame?”
He grins. “I won’t give up. Never. Not until you tell me to go to hell, and even then, I’ll still be waiting.”
I stretch onto my tiptoes to kiss him.
“Would you just say yes so the bastard will start pouring beer again?” Rowen yells from his side of the bar, earning a bunch of cheers.
“Alright, already. Quit your whining,” River hollers back, kissing me once before pulling away to grab two empty glasses with skilled hands. “Maybe if you weren’t so slow . . .”
Rowen throws his arms up. “Can ya believe this? Have some respect. I’m an amputee!”
I shake my head at the two of them as they get the crowd riled up with their banter.
“Amber.” Duffy leans in. “In all seriousness, I have a few connections which should make some of the approvals easier. Of course, you’d still need to meet all the requirements if you want to work, but I can help. If you’re ready.”
I smile.
And nod.
confluence:
A flowing together of two or more rivers or streams; a coming together of people.
Amber’s Travel Bucket List
1. Have a torrid affair with a foreigner. Country: TBD.
2. Stay for a night in Le Grotte della
Civita. Matera, Italy.
3. Go scuba diving in the Great Barrier Reef. Queensland, Australia.
4. Watch a burlesque show. Paris, France.
5. Toss a coin and make an epic wish at the Trevi Fountain. Rome, Italy.
6. Get a selfie with a guard at Buckingham Palace. London, England.
7. Go horseback riding in the mountains. Banff, Alberta, Canada.
8. Spend a day in the Grand Bazaar. Istanbul, Turkey.
9. Kiss the Blarney Stone. Cork, Ireland.
10. Tour vineyards on a bicycle. Bordeaux, France.
11. Sleep on a beach. Phuket, Thailand.
12. Take a picture of a Laundromat. Country: All.
13. Stare into Medusa’s eyes in the Basilica Cistern. Istanbul, Turkey.
14. Do NOT get eaten by a lion. The Serengeti, Tanzania.
15. Take a train through the Canadian Rockies. British Columbia, Canada.
16. Dress like a Bond Girl and play a round of poker at a casino. Montreal, Quebec, Canada.
17. Make a wish on a floating lantern. Thailand.
18. Cuddle a koala at Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary. Queensland, Australia.
19. Float through the grottos. Capri, Italy.
20. Pose with a stranger in front of the Eiffel Tower. Paris, France.
21. Buy Alex a bracelet. Country: All.
22. Pick sprigs of lavender from a lavender field. Provence, France.
23. Have afternoon tea in the real Downton Abbey. Newberry, England.
24. Spend a day on a nude beach. Athens, Greece.
25. Go to the opera. Prague, Czech Republic.
26. Skinny dip in the Rhine River. Cologne, Germany.
27. Take a selfie with sheep. Cotswolds, England.
28. Take a selfie in the Bone Church. Sedlec, Czech Republic.
29. Have a pint of beer in Dublin’s oldest bar. Dublin, Ireland.
30. Take a picture from the tallest building. Country: All.
31. Climb Mount Fuji. Japan.
32. Listen to an Irish storyteller. Ireland.
33. Hike through the Bohemian Paradise. Czech Republic.
34. Take a selfie with the snow monkeys. Yamanouchi, Japan.
35. Find the penis. Pompeii, Italy.
36. Walk through the war tunnels. Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam.
37. Sail around Ha long Bay on a junk boat. Vietnam.
38. Stay overnight in a trulli. Alberobello, Italy.
39. Take a Tai Chi lesson at Hoan Kiem Lake. Hanoi, Vietnam.
40. Zip line over Eagle Canyon. Thunderbay, Ontario, Canada.
41. Rent a moped. Greece.
42. Barely avoid mutilation and/or death by pipe bomb: Dublin, Ireland.
43. MAKE A FOREIGNER FALL MADLY IN LOVE WITH ME. IRELAND.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
If you’re reading this now, it is because you have made it to the end. I hope you made it here with a smile. I had so much fun writing this book and creating Amber and River’s story. Perhaps it is because I was just in Ireland last year, and it sparked a great deal of nostalgia. Perhaps it is because of my weakness for all things Irish. Whatever the reason, I’m desperate to visit there again, this time armed with a great deal more knowledge of the country’s rich history and its struggles.
Thank you to my readers, who continue along with me on this journey. Whether you buy a print copy at your local bookstore, order it online, or borrow from your library/sister/friend/mother, you are helping to give me the opportunity to write books.
A special thank you goes out to a few readers in particular:
To the bloggers who continue to share my book releases within their world.
To my followers on social media, who answer the random questions I put out there every once in a while, when I’m trying to gain insight that’s not clear from my Google searches.
To the readers who helped me come up with ideas for “Amber’s Travel Bucket List” at the end of this book. Of course, when they submitted entries into the contest, they didn’t know exactly how I’d use those ideas. There were many great entries and it was a difficult process to select a handful. Thank you to Amanda Pedulla, Danielle Beckles, Kate Kirk, Amy Barnes Smith, Amanda Tse, Kaley Stewart, Jenny Doss, Peggy Ryan, and Maddalena Di Rienzo, for providing ideas that worked best for this story and for Amber.
To Stefanie Smith—my resident Irish “bird.” I put out a request on Facebook a few months back, looking for a reader from Ireland who would be willing to answer random questions from me. Stefanie accepted that challenge and soon found herself being quizzed about all things Ireland, IRA, and the like. I’m not entirely sure that she didn’t soon regret accepting the job, but she has tolerated me for over two months, providing answers and invaluable advice. Thank you so much, Stefanie (and Ray, the very knowledgeable chef!).
To my publicist, KP—for keeping the momentum going while I’m deep in my writing hole and for running to my aid when I come out in a panic.
To my agent, Stacey Donaghy—for your mutual love of all things Irish. Sometimes I think you are my own personal Superwoman, there to save me when I need it.
To my editor, Sarah Cantin—Every time I submit a first draft to you, I bite my nails in anticipation that you’re going to come back and tell me that I just can’t take it there. I swear, as I typed “IRA” into the first draft of this book, I was sure it would be this time. Thank you for, once again, letting me run with it.
To my publisher, Judith Curr, and the team at Atria Books: Suzanne Donahue, Ariele Fredman, Tory Lowy, Kimberly Goldstein, and Alysha Bullock—I get complimented all the time on what beautiful books I have, and I owe that to you.
To Lia and Sadie—You recently asked me why my books don’t have pictures in them. I said that all the words put together make a picture. That sparked a round of “why” questions as well as some frowns. I can’t wait until you’re old enough to see that picture.
To Paul—your cooking, cleaning, and laundry skills are far better than mine.
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LAURA TUCKER PHOTOGRAPHY
K.A. TUCKER published her first book at the age of six with the help of her elementary school librarian and a box of crayons. Today, she is also the author of
the Ten Tiny Breaths series, Burying Water, and Becoming Rain. She resides outside of Toronto with her husband, two beautiful girls, and an exhausting brood of four-legged creatures.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Kathleen Tucker
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