Allison Parr - Running Back

“So do you also not believe in love?”

I shrugged, wishing we’d never started this conversation. “I believe in oxytocin and vasopressin. I believe in attraction and attachment.”

“But you don’t believe in forever.”

I also came to my feet. The wind played with his hair and pulled tendrils of mine loose. “I believe in having a solid enough partnership that you stay with it because it’s better than being lonely and you want to be part of a solid family unit.”

“Because it’s better than being fucking lonely? ”

“Mike, don’t take me out of context—”

“I don’t think I am. You don’t believe in love.”

“I think people fall in love, I just don’t think it sticks. Why do you care? This should not be such a big deal.”

He massaged his shoulder like he’d filled with too much tension. “I think it’s sad.”

I prepped myself to run. “Well, maybe I’m sad, then. Let’s head back.”

I didn’t see Mike again until early evening the next day, after I’d returned from meeting up with a historian in Cork. The woman had been very informative and interesting, and while she’d given me several new insights into the county’s history, I wasn’t sure it would be directly helpful for learning more about Ivernis.

I ran into Mike when I was heading up to my room—or more accurately, he ran into me, stepping out of the library as I passed. I halted, worried that he might still be mad at me from the night before. Instead, he grinned at me. “Gibbons.”

“What?”

“Gibbons are monogamous. And they don’t fly.”

I smiled. “I forgot gibbons. I saw a pair at some zoo in California.” They’d swung around on their long, flexible arms, playing and flirting until the female had grown bored and climbed a tree. The male had followed, trying to get her attention and generally making a nuisance of himself as she tried to get some peace. Still, after a while she’d given in and they’d gone tree swinging again. Cam and I had watched, rapt, for half an hour. “You looked that up?”

He shrugged as though it was nothing. “I look everything up. My sisters think I’m a space shot, but I’m actually very well informed.”

I raised my brows. “You can be a well-informed space shot.”

He grinned again and leaned against the wall, closing the space between us until I could feel the heat from our bodies. “Come to dinner tonight?”

“Um.” I seemed to be having trouble finding oxygen. “Okay.”

He leaned forward and my breath caught. He drew his thumb slowly over my cheekbone and my heart stuttered to a halt.

He straightened, that charming grin taunting me. “Sorry about that. You had an eyelash.” He placed his hands in his pocket and sauntered down the hall.

I had to lean against the wall to regain myself, and he’d just turned on to the stairs when I pushed upright and shouted after him. “Michael O’Connor! My eyelashes are nearly invisible!”

Only laughter answered me.

We went out to dinner at O’Malley’s, the one nice restaurant in the village center. It was half empty when we arrived, but after twenty minutes every seat was taken.

“News travels fast,” Kate said without looking up from her menu.

I had to agree. Every person craned their head our way, from a table of weathered old men in low hats and heavy jackets to a group of girls Anna’s age. Only the smallest children seemed to be clueless, crying loudly as their parents failed to pay attention to them.

It only took fifteen minutes before the first person approached, and the noise level dropped noticeably. Mike tossed me a quick smile as a middle-aged man cleared his throat beside Kate. “Mrs. O’Connor?”

She lowered the menu. “Yes.”

He tipped his hat. “I’m Eamon Murphy. Knew your husband when he was a lad.” His gaze flitted toward Mike. “You’re the image of your dad.”

Kate smiled politely. “I believe he mentioned you.”

“Good to have O’Connors back in town again. Doesn’t seem right without you.” He waited.

Kate waved toward them. “My daughters, Anna and Lauren. My eldest, Michael. And this is Michael’s friend, Natalie.”

I heard the thumps of several kicks. A foot smacked into my leg. I couldn’t tell if it had been meant for me or someone else.

“Ah, the archaeologist.” Eamon smiled, wrinkles spreading out over his leathery cheeks and brow. “I hear something’s dodgy with the excavation? You better fix that.”

This time, I was the kicker. Mike winced.

Eamon missed it, as he’d turned back to Kate. “We’ve all been very curious about you. Expected you to come back years ago.”

Kate’s fingers stiffened around her silverware. “Well. I didn’t.”

He didn’t take note of the shortness in her voice. “Lovely city, Boston. I can see why Brian wanted to visit, you know, though we always thought he would settle down here.”

I searched for something to diffuse Kate’s pained look. Anna beat me to it, speaking up in an exact mimic of her mother’s tone. “Well. He didn’t.”

Eamon chuckled, and the talk turned to more mundane things. By the time the food arrived, several other locals had edged up to our table. Everyone was very curious about Brian O’Connor’s life in America, though the curiosity was tinged with a wide array of other emotions—disapproval, excitement, disdain, hurt, vicarious interest. Kate did her best to give succinct explanations, but each time another person approached and asked, “Why didn’t he come home?” she tensed even more.

So it was a relief when we left, retreating to the inn where the only other guests in the parlor were a German couple and a family from County Meath. I figured I’d head to my room, but Kate and Lauren roped me into a game of Go Fish. I was torn, since they were probably only asking to be polite, but I couldn’t help myself. The warmth they radiated was addictive and bone-deep. Anna might be angry, Kate sad, Lauren stressed and Mike protective, but they weren’t cold. They felt warm.

I wanted to feel warm.

Mike, Lauren and I sat on the floor before the fireplace while Anna curled up against her mother on the sofa, watching as Lauren dealt out the cards. “We should see if anyone has any pictures of Dad. Aunt Maggie should.”

“ Aunt Maggie?” Lauren sloppily picked up her cards. I sneaked a look. “Jesus.”

Anna sat straighter. “She is. She’s our only aunt.”

“I’m sure she has pictures.” Kate hugged her youngest to her side, her voice just shy of normal. “Of course, she’s suffering her own loss right now, so maybe we should save that for later.”

“I’d think she’d want to look at them. Because Uncle Patrick’s probably in them too, right?”

“Laur, hold your cards closer,” Mike said in a beleaguered voice, like he’d told her time and again.

“Why don’t you just not look at them?”

“Because they’re staring me in the face. Besides, Natalie’s cheating too.”

My head flew up. “That’s not true.”

Mike grinned at me. “And she lies.”

I narrowed my eyes. His danced. Anna kept talking. “Well, we’re going to her house tomorrow, aren’t we? For the month’s mind thing. We can ask.”

“We’ll see.” Kate closed her eyes as she stroked her daughter’s head. “We’ll see.”

The evening went on. Somehow I ended up in involved in an intense discussion with Lauren and Anna on Girl Scout Cookie names. I was vastly outnumbered by Bostonian fools who thought Caramel Delights was legitimate.

“Hey,” I tossed at Mike, after we figured out the difference in cookie names came from which of the two Girl Scout baking companies produced it (thus destroying a satisfying and endless argument forever), “isn’t it weird, then, that you ended up playing for the New York Leopards? Didn’t the Patriots bid on you?”