Running Back (10 page)

He twisted to look at me, a thinking smile on his lips. “Do you think my family’s functional?”

I nodded. “And warm. Angry, sometimes, but at least they’re not cold. And they like you. Isn’t that what this is about? Lauren said she wanted to come here to bond. They probably just want to spend time with you, not spend your money.”

He frowned and picked a flower too. “I didn’t even know I should be worrying about Mom until Lauren pointed it out. Now I worry all the time. Is she lonely? Unhappy?”

My shoulders rose and fell. “Maybe that’s just life. No one’s happy. Maybe everything gets stale and sad.”

“What, like we’re pieces of bread? No. I don’t believe it.”

“Why not?” I thought of my parents in their big, sad house. “Especially when we push our relationships past their expiration dates.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, you know. Love only lasts a handful of years. Like, four.”

Fierce lines creased his brow, and his gaze darkened. “That’s bullshit.”

I fell back down in the grass, the sky stretching endlessly above me. The sweet smell of the flower I’d torn up tickled my nose. “Why? It’s biological. You mate, raise young together, and then go your own ways after the kids can take care of themselves.”

“We’re not animals.”

“Well, we’re not plants.”

He frowned at me. “Okay, what about swans? They mate for life.”

“They also fly.”

He stared at me like I was insane. “So—you don’t believe relationships last past four years?”

I toyed with the grass. “Of course they do. I just don’t think we’re biologically meant for life-long monogamy.”

“My parents had the best relationship in the world.”

I shrugged as best I could from my prone position. “I’m not trying to argue. And I don’t expect you to agree with me.”

He looked offended. “But you think I’m being naïve.”

That was awkwardly uncomfortable enough that I sat upright and cleared my throat. “I don’t think you’re naïve. And I’m not anti-relationship. I actually think it’s a very—nice—idea, but it’s also encultured. I mean, I’m not surprised you believe in it—your community is very, uh, conservative, with traditional values—”

“Nat. You’re being offensive.”

“I’m not trying to be offensive, I’m just saying, I studied anthropology—”

“Which is not a golden ticket to judge people.”

“I’m not judging! I just—I’m trying to point out that you have a bias—which is normal, everyone has biases, it’s part of being human—but it’s important to recognize your bias and understand when it comes into play—”

He stood. “Well, maybe part of your bias is that your parents have an unhappy marriage so you don’t believe there could actually be happy ones.”

“Below the belt.”

His gaze dropped below the belt, and I flushed when he raised his eyes again, hot and steady. I cleared my throat and looked away. “And, okay, probably a valid point.”

“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.”

Chapter Eleven

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?”

Lauren groaned. “Oh, sore subject.”

“What? They
didn’t
?”

Mike looked aggravated. “They
did
, they were just too late. What was I supposed to do?”

My mouth flapped open. “So would you rather be playing for them? Would you leave the Leopards?” I felt personally betrayed.

He laughed. “No. Not anymore. They’re my family.”

“Actually,” Anna put in from the couch, “we’re you’re family. They’re just a bunch of dudes who knock people down.”

I excused myself around nine, when Kate started yawning. Back in my room, I spent the next hour writing emails. I started with Cam and Mom, but the O’Connors’ relationship made me send notes to each of my brothers. When I came back from Ireland, maybe I’d see if we could all get together for dinner.

And then a new email popped up. And I stopped breathing.

The subject line was innocuous. The sender was Dr. Henry Ceile.

Dear Ms.
Sullivan
,

I
hope you’ve been well.
I
see you are in Ireland working
,
once more
,
on one of Dr.
Anderson’s projects.
I
am about to begin excavating an Iron Age site in Ulster
,
and I would like to extend an invitation to join me as one of my site managers.
I
would be happy to meet with you and speak about this opportunity.

Best
,

Dr.
Henry Ceile

I was still staring at it when someone knocked on my door and it swung open. I looked up to see Mike.

“Hey,” he began, and then stopped and frowned. “You all right?”

I waved at the computer, too stunned to speak, and Mike came over to read it. “What is this? A job offer?”

“Yeah. From this guy who’s never gotten along with my advisor. He’s trying to poach me!”

Mike couldn’t smother his smile. “Are you interested?”

I almost choked on oxygen. “In working for the devil? No way.”

“Why not? You’d at least get to work on a site in your field.”

“Thank you, for reminding once again that I will never be able to excavate at Kilkarten.”

He stared at me.

I took a deep breath. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. Just—I would never betray Jeremy like that, by going to work for Ceile. That would be tantamount to saying that Jeremy’s crazy, that I agree with Ceile that Ivernis doesn’t exist. Would it make sense professionally? Sure. But—it would make me sick with myself.”

He slowly sat. “You’re still upset you’re not excavating Kilkarten.”

I let out a strangled laugh. “Of course I am. You knew that.”

“I didn’t realize how strongly you felt.” He studied me. “Are you upset with
me
?”

I avoided his too-clear gaze. “I don’t know. I guess my emotions about you are all tangled up.”

“But that’s the main block between us.”

I shrugged and nodded. “It’s the elephant in the room.”

“Okay. I get that. But—maybe for tonight we can forget it and just be friends.”

I nodded. “I’d like that.”

So for that night, we talked and watched Irish television. He told me about his teammates and I told him about my travels and we made mangled attempts at accents, starting with Ireland and spreading all over the world. He tore apart my fantasy team and I taught him how to write his name in ancient Greek. It was one of the best nights I’d had in a long time, and when he finally slipped out the door, I stared after him for a long, long time before falling into a deep sleep.