Allison Parr - Running Back

Maggie obviously did not feel the same way toward Mike, because when she returned after placing a kettle on, she said, “Eileen O’Rourke said your family arrived yesterday, yet they haven’t called.”

Mike’s smile didn’t waver. “It’s my teenage sister, Anna. Didn’t bring a thing she could wear, so she dragged the rest off shopping.”

Maggie’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’re twenty-six?” At Mike’s nod, she continued. “You have two sisters, is that right?”

“Lauren’s twenty-three. Anna’s seventeen.”

Maggie raised her brows. “An accident, the last one?”

Mike didn’t look thrilled under his smile. I jumped in, trying to smooth the tension. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. O’Connor. While I never met you husband, he was always very kind to me when we spoke on the phone.”

Maggie regarded us scornfully. “Patrick hasn’t been kind to anyone for the last ten years. And I certainly don’t expect Brian’s son to miss him.” Her lips tightened and she seemed to drift off into her thoughts for a moment, and then she shook herself and rose to fetch the tea.

I leaned in close to Mike so there’d be no chance of her overhearing from the kitchen. “I’m sorry, but did your father try to poison your uncle? What is going on?”

His head almost touched mine as he answered. “Did I mention my dad and uncle had been estranged for twenty years? And that Maggie and Patrick didn’t come to my dad’s funeral or anything?”

Gee, I was so glad I’d been dragged into a family feud. Because there weren’t enough feuds in my life. “Why, no. No, you did not.”

Maggie returned with a tray of mugs and, to my endless joy, shortbread. She placed everything on the coffee table. “And how did the two of you come together?”

Mike took a sip of the boiling tea. Despite the likely loss of taste buds, he didn’t flinch. He just set the mug down and smiled at his aunt. “Natalie tells me Patrick had signed on for an excavation at Kilkarten.”

“That’s right.” Maggie stirred her tea. “Your excavation’s stirred up a lot of excitement.”

I tossed a look at Mike, wondering if he’d told this estranged aunt the excavation was no longer happening. “Do the people here care a lot about it?”

Maggie looked amused. “It’s all anyone’s talked about for the last six months.”

That was unexpected. “But Patrick only signed the final paper work three months ago.”

“It took the village three months to convince him.”

“Um...” I looked again at Mike. I didn’t want to be the one who broke the news that all that work went out the window.

Mike frowned. “Why did the village want the dig?”

Maggie took a slow tip of tea. “A site would boost the local economy. There would be more tourists spending money at the shops and restaurants, more jobs—Ms. Sullivan said she would probably hire a good dozen people to help her excavate this summer.”

Mike turned his frown to me.

I shrugged. “It’s easier to hire and train locals than bring workers over, especially for Phase 1 excavations where not a lot of detailed digging happens.”

“Mrs. O’Connor.” Mike leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. I wondered if it tasted strange, his mother’s name applied to a woman he’d never met before. “Why was Patrick was okay with the excavation? I wouldn’t have thought he’d want strangers all over his property.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Her sharp eyes peered over the brim of her cup. Beside me, Mike tensed. I couldn’t pick out the thickest tension between them—accusation, unease, challenge.

“Patrick was a big proponent of rediscovering Ireland’s early history,” I said quickly and a little too loudly, trying to dispel whatever strange sentiment the O’Connors had stirred up.

It worked. Both of them scoffed. “The money had a large part to do with it,” Maggie said. “And if you’d ever met Patrick, you would have known that once he’d made up his mind, nothing would change it.”

Mike nodded slowly. “I’ve heard stories.”

“’Course you have.” Maggie stirred her small silver spoon through her tea.

Mike cleared his throat. “Is there a bus out to the farm? I wanted to look around.”

His aunt shook her head. “It’s only accessible by car. I’m busy this afternoon, but could give you a lift tomorrow. Or my nephew Paul’s in town. I’m sure he can bring you over.”

Mike and I exchanged a glance, and then Mike nodded.

Maggie lifted her tea. “You can find him at the pub over on Blue Street. Just ask for Paul Connelly.”

We broke for lunch first. We picked up pre-made sandwiches at the local Spar, a tiny chain convenience store, and ate them sitting on a bench looking over the tiny harbor. Boats bobbed in the water, and people occasionally stared. We were stopped three times for introductions before we were finally able to unwrap our food.

I liked it here, with the warm summer breeze and the scent of the sea and the warm bread in our hands. I turned to say as much to Mike, but switched topics when I saw the furrows in his brow. “So what’s up with this estrangement? What happened?”

The furrows melted away when he looked at me, replaced by a grin. “You’re pretty nosy.”

“Who, me?” I widened my eyes. “I just have an active interest in understanding the world. Also, that was a little weird, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t we have talked about Patrick and your dad and your lives, considering that you’d never met before?”

He finished off a bite of his sandwich. “My dad and Patrick grew up on Kilkarten, but by the time Dad was ten, they’d moved to the village—actually, probably to the house Maggie’s in now.” He threw a glance over his shoulder, like he’d only just realized his father might have spent years in that same house. I had to touch his knee before he shook himself and went on.

“Right. Anyway, after my grandparents died—and this was when my dad and Patrick were in their late teens, early twenties—Dad wanted to sell the farm. Patrick didn’t. They had some huge fight and then Dad moved to Boston.”

“What was the fight about?”

He shrugged.

Right. “Personal reasons.”

He gave me that crooked smile.

We finished off our sandwiches. I looked out over the water, dark blue and endless. Mike’s dad had wanted to get rid of the land, and now Mike refused to. What had that fight been about? Did Maggie know? Did Mike’s family? “So I’m guessing you haven’t met this cousin of yours, then.”

The idea seemed to astound him. “Cousin?”

His shock was kind of cute. “Almost. If he’s Maggie’s nephew.”

He groaned. “I should be back home celebrating the off-season and instead I’m meeting lost cousins and bitter aunts.”

I hopped off the bench. “Come on. Let’s go find this pub.”

Blue Street looked a lot like Red Street, with just a handful of shops and houses and the cobblestone road interrupted by a small fountain. A signpost pointed toward shops and the church, written in two languages.

The pub clearly took precedence, busy even at two in the afternoon. A green pennant hung outside the brown brick building, while inside it looked like the Irish pubs at home, except the music didn’t hurt my ears and the TVs didn’t blast. People ate as much as they drank, and off in the back a group of teenagers played pool.

We headed for the bar, and the college-aged kid watching the soccer game from behind it. “Hey,” Mike said. “We’re looking for Paul Connelly. Is he here?”

The teenager dragged his gaze from the screen and raked it over us, with the amount of judgment I usually associated with NYU student bartenders in the East Village. It morphed slowly to recognition. “You’re Michael O’Connor.”