Allison Parr - Running Back

“Was she still? Who broke up with who?”

“I have no idea. Paul just dropped it in passing, like he thought I already knew, even though he knew I didn’t, and then was all like, nevermind, no big deal. What an ass.”

“So do you think that’s the real reason the brothers were estranged? A fight over a girl?”

She shrugged. “Makes some sense, right? But you’d hope there was a little more than that to a fight that lasted so long.”

It wasn’t really my place to figure out the O’Connors’ past, but I was still dying to know.

Sunday, because I was sick of waiting around for Mike to come back, I took myself on a long run.

I went farther than we’d ever gone, up over the crest, and then flat across the land. Wind streamed from forty-five degrees. Big-eyed bunnies looked up from between wildflowers and then darted away. The path narrowed into a descending staircase, cut into the bluff, and I hopped over a sign that read No Sheep and pattered down until I hit the ground. I raced over a pebbled beach and then another of sand packed by the withdrawn low tide. I ran until the bluffs curved inward, creating a pocket of dry sand that even high tide couldn’t reach. I paused there, looking out over three jagged boulders that rose up from the shallow water.

In this small corner of the world. humans seemed foreign and strange and unnecessary. I closed my eyes, breathing in the salt and sea, the coolness of rain on the way and freshness of wind.

“Hey, you.”

My eyes flew open and I almost tripped at I ran at him. “You’re back!”

He caught me and spun me around. His lips were hot against mine and I clung to him as though the world would spin away if I let go. I wanted to cry. I wanted to laugh. But mostly, I wanted to kiss him, so I pressed my lips against his. He tasted smooth and subtle and rich, and we stood there, kissing languorously, exploring each other like there was nothing else we were meant to do in this world.

He kissed me so thoroughly my bones melted. There was nothing to me except where our bodies met, our mouths, the heat in my belly, the ache lower, and then there was nothing but the slow and golden sensation, sweeping all clarity out to sea.

Later, as we lay there with matching breaths, I remembered one more thing. I rolled over so I could see him. “I told the pub that you played football, so you’ve been drafted into a match sometime in the future.”

He slowly opened his lids, and I almost giggled. “Please tell me you specified American football.”

I pulled my best, and utterly unconvincing “Who, me?” face. “I forgot.”

He smiled disbelievingly as he pulled me on top of him. “You didn’t forget. I bet they didn’t forget. I’ve been pulled into a conspiracy of Kilkarten.”

I leaned down to kiss him. “So how are you at soccer?”

“I’m no kicker. But I’ll be damned if I let Connelly and his friends beat me at any sport.”

I kissed his ear. “At least you won’t have to deal with rain in hell.”

On Wednesday, Jeremy and the other archaeologists arrived.

All five O’Connors, plus Paul, came out to Kilkarten that morning, and I included them on the tour for the crew. I summarized a history of the land and what we were looking for. Clay that changed color, charcoal pits, beads. Large stones that could be millennia old structures. Ideally, a cache of Roman coins or pottery obviously imported from Rome.

I gave a demo lesson on how to open a unit, how to make good walls and how to sift the earth through a screen. We broke ground close to noon, and after an hour without any amazing discoveries, Kate and Maggie headed out. Lauren sat bickering with Paul on a picnic blanket, while Anna plunged into the dig with enthusiasm, along with two of the local teens she’d befriended. Which, sure. Free labor.

To my surprise, even Mike took a shovel, and I swear I almost lost an hour watching him work. “Okay,” he said during the afternoon break. “While I need this workout, archaeology’s way more exciting when it’s Indiana Jones destroying temples.”

I laughed. “Yeah, he always managed to stay alarmingly clean. But, if I’d been him, I totally would have dug in Ireland.”

He screwed up his forehead and waited for the punch line.

“Because there are no snakes in Ireland!” I laughed and did a little dance at my cleverness.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Come on, that was funny! Indy had a phobia and St. Patrick drove the snakes out. I’m hilarious!”

He couldn’t quite contain his grin, though he tried really hard. “No. You’re in a good mood.”

I flung open my arms. “Are you bothered by my joyous glee? My exuberance?” I stepped right up to him, raising my eyes to his steady warm ones. “Just think. Standing below us even now could be a trove of torques and pins. Within a day, we could be decked out like Schliemann’s wife.”

His brow creased. “Who?”

I laughed. “Mid nineteenth century archaeologist. Discovered ‘Troy’ and this totally ridiculous amount of gold and then his wife tried it all on . Not quite as shoddy as Indy, but close.” I took off my hat and saucered it toward my notebook and backpack, and combed my hair out over my shoulders. “‘’Course, my favorite faux-archaeologist is Sir Arthur Evans. I like to sing about him to the tune of Henry Higgins. He’s the one who built stuff at Knossos on Crete, which was dumb, but it got a lot of tourists and their money, so maybe not so bad.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about but damn , you’re giddy.”

I threw my arms around him. “Thank you,” I said to his chest. “I know you didn’t want this. But thank you.”

His arms around me were warm and strong and steady. He smelled like earth and grass. I pulled back slightly, but he held me in place, looking down with the strangest expression, puzzlement and wonder and brightness all at once.

Behind us, slamming doors and the honking of a car horn broke through the woven sounds of Kilkarten. I pulled away, taking in the three figures headed toward us.

I swung back toward Mike. “How do I look?”

“What?”

Happiness bubbled up through my chest and spread through my limbs until even my fingertips and toes tingled. I redid my ponytail and then pulled it over my left shoulder. “Am I a disaster? Hair standing straight up or dirt on my face?”

He raised his brows. “You’re usually a disaster, Natalie Sullivan.”

I nodded and headed for the parking lot. “Great. Let’s go!”

“Nat!” Jeremy Anderson hailed me with a wide wave of his arm, the lead point in the trio of archaeologists. I grinned and waved back. He looked just like the last time I’d seen him—tall and narrow, like a string bean, with rectangle glasses and slightly unruly hair.

“Jeremy!” I jogged the last few steps to him. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He pulled me into a hug. “Is that tan still from Ecuador? How was Ecuador?”

“It was novel not having people laugh at me all the time.” We exchanged wry grins. “No, it was great. Very impressive. But it wasn’t Ivernis.”

He squeezed my shoulder. “Thanks for doing all of this.”

“Not a problem!” I rocked back on my heels, pushing hair out of my face. I couldn’t stop grinning at him, and my cheeks hurt from sheer happiness. We had worked together for years—I had chosen my undergrad in order to study with him, and Ivernis was as much his baby as mine. No one had believed in us. Yet here we were, on the brink of discovery, and I could taste the anticipation of success.

He indicated the people on either side of him. “These are Professors Grace Ahearn and Duncan Grady. This is my student Natalie Sullivan—my former student. She’s brilliant.”