Kate Hoffmann - Riley

“I vote for Jimmy McPhee’s,” she said.

“All right then, let’s go.”

They arrived at a small whitewashed cottage just minutes later, Riley pulling the SUV up to the front gate. “Jimmy is a notorious flirt,” he warned. “He’ll probably ask if he can kiss you and he’s sure to grab your arse, so keep a watch out.”

“You said he was eighty.”

“Oh, that doesn’t stop him. He may have slowed down a bit, but whenever he stops by the pub, he has the ladies buying him drinks all night long.”

They knocked on the door and a few seconds later, it swung open to reveal an elderly man with pure white hair and twinkling blue eyes. His eyes widened when he caught site of Nan and he grabbed her hand. “Oh, Lord, my prayers have been answered. I’ll forget about winnin’ the lottery if you’ll just let me keep the girl.”

“Afternoon, Jimmy,” Riley said, snatching Nan’s hand from the old man. “We’ve come to see you to ask a question. Can we come in for a chat?”

“Only if you’ll stay for a cup o’ tea,” he said, stepping back to allow them inside. “Come, come. And mind your manners, Riley Quinn. Introduce me to your lovely friend.”

“This is Nan Galvin. She’s come all the way to Ballykirk from America.”

“America? I have a cousin in America. He lives in Boston. You wouldn’t happen to know him, would you? His name is Bobby McPhee.”

She glanced over at Riley. “I’m afraid not. I live a long way from Boston. In Wisconsin.”

“Sit,” he said. “I just put a pot on. I’ll be right back.”

She and Riley took a spot on the sofa. Riley took her hand and gave it a squeeze. Nan reached into her pocket and pulled out the photo and looked down at it. What were the odds he’d remember a girl from twenty-seven summers ago? Yes, her mother had been an American, so she might have stood out as different. But after so many years?

When Jimmy returned, he poured them all a cup of tea, then passed around a plate of cookies. Nan was too nervous to drink or eat and as soon as he settled himself in a comfortable chair, she held the photo out to him.

“I was hoping you’d remember the people in this snapshot,” she said. “It was taped up on the wall of the pub. It was taken about twenty-seven years ago.”

He took the picture and studied it for a long time, then pulled his glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on.

“They would have been in their early twenties,” Nan continued.

“This would have been about 1984,” Riley added. “About eight years before my da bought in to the pub.”

Jimmy cocked his head to the side, as if he were trying to retrieve a memory from deep in his mind. He pointed to the photo, tapping at it. “One of these boys looks familiar. What was his name? Oh, he was a chancer, that one. He lived out on that farm the other side of Trafask, just around the big bend on the Glengarriff Road.”

“Where the Donnelys live? The place with the pond?”

“That’s it,” he said. “He used to work one of the fishing boats out of Ballykirk. Now what was his-ah, there it is. Tiernan. His name was Tiernan Findley.”

Nan sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re sure? Tiernan?”

“Sure I am. And his da was Carey.”

Her pulse quickened and she had to remind herself to breathe. What did this mean? Had her mother named her after this boy? And why would she have done that?

“I remember him and his da hanging about the pub. He was there one summer and then he was gone. I remember something of a drowning.”

“Do they still live on the farm?” Riley asked.

Jimmy shook his head. “As I recall, his da sold the farm maybe fifteen years ago. Don’t know where he went. But you could ask Kenny Craig. He leased his land before Findley sold.”

Nan’s mind was spinning, wondering what this boy named Tiernan had meant to her mother. Were they just friends? Or had they been more? And why would she have chosen to name her only child after a boy she met in a pub in Ballykirk, Ireland? A horrible thought occurred to her. What if Tiernan had died in the accident and she’d been named in his memory?

The possibilities began to overwhelm her and she felt the room closing in on her. She quickly stood. “I-I have to go,” she murmured. “It was a pleasure meeting you, but I have to go.” She stumbled over Riley’s feet as she squeezed past him and headed for the door.

“I’ll be going, too, Jimmy. But thanks.”

“Is the lass all right?” Jimmy asked.

“I think all this talk of her departed mother might be a bit upsetting.”

By the time she got to the front door, Riley was behind her, his hands firm on her waist. She hurried outside, drawing deep breaths of the fresh afternoon air. “He’s dead. I know it. My mother named me after that boy because he died. He was her friend and he died. And maybe she loved him.”

“You don’t know that. We don’t have all the answers yet.”

He drew her toward his car, but Nan stopped short. “I think I’m going to walk home,” she said. “I just want to let this settle for a while.”

“All right,” Riley said. “Are we still on for tonight?”

She nodded. “Yes. Of course. I’ll see you at seven?”

“Sounds grand,” he said. He walked with her out the gate, then kissed her cheek. “Don’t drive yourself mad over this, Nan. We don’t know anything for certain yet. Worry about it when you know for sure.”

He obviously didn’t know anything about her, Nan thought to herself. She had always been an expert at turning molehills into mountains. She nodded and started off down the road in the opposite direction.

When she turned back, she saw Riley watching her from beside his car, a look of concern etched on his handsome features. He was right. Wasting energy wondering about things that might not be was silly. Maybe Tiernan was happy and healthy and he’d be able to tell her all about her mother. She’d put her worries aside for now and think about them later.

She gave him a wave and he returned it. Maybe it was fate that she’d rented his cottage. Maybe she was destined to meet him so that he’d be able to help her with her search. But was that all it was supposed to be? Or were they meant to be more to each other?

So many questions. But was she really ready to know all the answers?

“WELL, AREN’T YOU a Dicky Dazzler.”

Riley gave his older brother, Kellan, a pointed glare, then turned to Danny, who stood behind the bar at the pub. “Go find me a good bottle or two of wine,” he said. “Not the cheap stuff. And bring up three or four bottles of that Belgian ale.”

“Red or white, yer royal bog-trotter?” Danny asked.

Kellan slapped his younger brother’s hand. “Good one, Danny. Clever and cutting all at once.”

“Funny,” Riley muttered. “And give me a whiskey while I wait.”

His brother poured him two fingers and slid the glass across the bar. “So what’s the special occasion? You’re wearing a shirt that’s been pressed and a jacket you only take out at Christmas. And why is it you always dress like a culchie but you have more money than God?”

Though Kellan made a fine living as an architect and Danny did well as an artisan blacksmith and metal sculptor, Riley had been the most fortunate financially. The royalties from his CDs brought in a third of his annual income and performing made up the other two-thirds.

Still, both Danny and Kellan had a solid future in front of them. The one thing about fame was that it could be fleeting. Riley never knew when the crowds would move on to someone else, when the offers of work would dry up and he’d become just another washed-up pub singer who’d made a few decent CDs.