Running Back (25 page)

I looked back to Jane. “Yes.”

“But you’ve never modeled or anything before?”

“No.”

“And how long have you two been dating?”

“I’m sorry. Is this an article on Ivernis, or Mike?”

She smiled brightly, teeth flashing like only American teeth
did. “Both. It’s a human interest story.”

“Well.” I wanted to leave, but dinner hadn’t even arrived. “I
don’t really want my personal life written about. I’d rather talk about
Ivernis.”

Jane leaned forward. “Look. You have this academic character,
this Dr. Ceile, who’s trying to discredit you because of your personal life,
right? Because of your mom and your boyfriend.” She nodded at Mike. “And that’s
offensive and ridiculous. If he discredits you, it should be because you’re
searching for the Irish Atlantis.”

I raised a brow. Mike tapped his foot against mine under the
table, a clear indication not to be a smart ass. I mostly resisted. “Sounds
about right.”

“So my job is to make people like you. And if they think Mike’s
in love with you, it will be easier for them to love you.”

That was kind of weird logic, but okay. Still—”If you’re a
sports journalist, how is this going to help the archaeologists involved on the
dig? Everyone’s going to expect you to be on Mike’s side, which is my side,
which is not going to convince the academic community that we’re to be taken
seriously.”

She leaned forward. “Because I plan to write the story for our
sister site, which does mainstream news. And I plan to make sure people will pay
attention. I’m not a hack, you know. I’m not doing this as a favor to Mike, I’m
doing it because there’s a story here.”

My fingers knitted together. “There is?”

“You’re a woman passionate about her career, and you’re being
mocked because it’s easy to make Ivernis sound ludicrous and you sound
frivolous. Mike told me about all the work you did to get your grant and prove
an Iron Age site existed here. I want to show the world you did that work.” She
shrugged. “Also, it doesn’t hurt for the public interest that you ended up in a
relationship with the Leopards’ running back.”

Underneath the table, Mike took my hand and squeezed.

Jane placed her recorder on the table. “Are you in?”

I swallowed. “I’m in.”

* * *

We kept digging. Sometimes, in the field, everyone
laughed hysterically and told stories and played mindless word games, but other
days there were too many hours of where you were entirely in your own head. Too
many repetitive hours of sticking the shovel in the ground, bending at the knee,
lifting, throwing, over and over. Nothing there. Nothing here. No Ivernis.

On Thursday, I took a moment’s break and swept my eyes over the
land. A smile twisted my lips. Would it hurt if I came here, years later, and
there was nothing? Just sheep. Just grass and wind and heather.

Not Ivernis, here. Just Kilkarten.

I closed my eyes and breathed in the salt and earth.

Maybe I loved Kilkarten more than I loved Ivernis.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt, coming back here.

If I’d been asked four months ago for my reaction to not
finding Ivernis, I wouldn’t even have been able to consider the possibility. If
forced under pain of death to give that option thought, I would’ve guessed I’d
be utterly devastated.

Thirty-one teams didn’t win the Super Bowl every year. And the
next season, they all went out and tried again.

My heart would ache if I never found Ivernis. But even if I
never found it, even if my heart hurt, I would still come back here if it meant
I was with Mike.

Because that was really all there was to it. I loved Mike. I
couldn’t promise that I would love him in two years, or seven, or twenty. But
right now, I loved him more than my lost city.

And I knew that by the time it ended, we might be so entwined
that I wouldn’t be able to separate from him completely, and I would just have
to cut off a whole part of myself, and that I would bleed when that happened.
But right now I just didn’t care. Because I agreed with the poets, that it was
better to have loved...

I kept shoveling. The sun moved; the mist came and went. We ate
and laughed and napped. Pete told me about the calf born that morning. MacCarthy
admitted he was considering moving to Dublin. Three-thirty came and went, and
people started to get antsy. I considered calling the day early. Mike was only
here two more days. Might as well spend every last second I could with him.

Or maybe I’d go home with him.

“Natalie!”

Across the field, Simon Daly waved frantically, jumping up and
down and shouting my name. “Come look!”

I dropped my shovel and started to run.

His unit was a massive ten by five, and they’d shoveled about
two feet down. Most of the workers stood along of the edges of the unit, but I
jumped right in with Simon. Mike and Jeremy weren’t far behind me. “What’d you
find?”

Simon moved aside and gestured. “Practically broke my shovel.
It’s rock. Big, solid rock, but I don’t think its bedrock yet, because look
here, I hit the edge and it curves real nice.”

I looked at the other corners of the unit, which didn’t show a
hint of stone. “I don’t think it’s bedrock, either. But the survey didn’t pick
up anything here—oh, of course.” We were in the north-west quadrant of the site,
where the soil make-up had been moist enough that the radar had only penetrated
a few centimeters. “It wouldn’t have. All right. It might just be a boulder.
Still—Colin, get a whiteboard and write down the time and date and longitude and
latitude and add an arrow north. Anna, get the camera.” I arranged the
whiteboard with trembling fingers and then stepped back and took several
snapshots.

I took one of white-faced Jeremy for good measure.

And then I jumped into the unit and started digging, and so did
Jeremy, and then came Grace and Duncan. And slowly, slowly, the dirt vanished
and a capstone appeared, and then, layer by layer, more stones, backstones,
purposefully placed to hold the first, a subsurface burial tomb.

I met Mike’s eyes.

And then I sat down and started to laugh and cry.

* * *

That night the rain hammered down like the seventh
Chapter of Genesis. But our floral room was cozy. The lamps cast warm pools of
light and the room smelled like Earl Grey and bergamot.

Mike and I stayed warm and cozy under the blankets. I
leaned against him and let out a content sigh. “I’m so happy. We’ll have
funding, we’ll have things to excavate...” It shocked me, how much the weight
disappeared. Now we didn’t even need the reporter’s article—we’d saved
ourselves. “And thank God, because everyone kept talking to me about all their
plans—about catering business, and Eileen about expanding the inn, and O’Malley
wants to get a set dinner done, and Tim’s brother, the carpenter, wants to build
protective structures.” I laughed. “I’d tried to resign myself to finding
nothing—I’d pretty much done it—but now I feel like the whole world has
realigned and everything is right again.”

“And you know what the best part is?” Mike murmured.

“That we found Ivernis?”

He pulled me closer. “That if you’re not out searching for
other sites that might be Ivernis, you’ll be able to come back to New York in
the off-season.”

My chest fluttered. He wanted me with him. I wanted to be with
him. “Hey.” I propped myself up on my elbow and looked down at Mike. “Something
I want to tell you.”

He traced my brows, my cheeks, my lips, his forefinger brushing
lightly over sensitive skin. I caught my breath and he smiled. “What?”

I pressed a kiss to his finger, then to the skin behind his
ear. With my hand resting on his chest, I could feel the shudder that ran
through him, and I smiled and drew back.

An arm’s length away, my phone buzzed. I glanced at it,
hesitated, and then sighed. “It’s my mom.”

“Resist.”

“No, I should see what it is.”

And the odd note in Mom’s voice made me glad I’d picked up, as
did her almost timidity when she asked if I had time to talk. “Of course. Just—”
I glanced at Mike, and then grabbed at my sweatshirt, making an apologetic moue.
He waved his hand and gathered his things instead, and quietly shut the door
behind him. “Okay, tell me what’s wrong.”

She led up to it with all the little lines about how irritating
Dad was, lines that I thought meant nothing, and finished with, “So I’m moving
out.”

The entire world blanked. I forgot how to breathe or see, and
then I wanted to babble in overtime to make up for the seconds I’d lost. “Are
you sure? When did you decide?”

“About ten years ago. Honey—I know this is going to be hard for
you—”

I tried not to let her hear me hyperventilating. “Me? No. I’m
an adult. Are you okay?” Of course she wasn’t okay.

Oh my God, I couldn’t believe Mom would leave Dad.

She sounded like she doubted my adulthood. “I know, but it’s
still hard for children—even grown ones—to handle divorce.”

Divorce?
Whoa, I’d been thinking
separation. “Have you—have you tried couple’s therapy?”

“Yes. Honey—this has been a long time coming.”

I knew that. I just didn’t think it would ever actually arrive.
“But why didn’t you do it years ago?”

She sounded like her heart was breaking.
My
heart was breaking. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to until you
were out of the house. Until you’d found your feet. And—maybe I’d forgotten
about being happy.”

“And—what. No. Mom. Paris? That’s just rose-colored glasses. I
mean, it was
Paris.
And you were eighteen. Of course
it’s beautiful in hindsight.”

“Well, I want it back. I think I deserve it.”

Shit, I was a crap daughter. “Of course you do. You do.” I
swallowed. “Will you be okay?”

“Of course! I’ll be fine. Cheryl’s letting me stay with her
while I look for a place.”

My eyes widened. “Wait, when are you leaving?”

“That’s why I wanted to call you. This weekend.”

I went silent for long enough that she had to say my name. I
took a breath and forced out the question. “Did you ever think this would
happen? In the beginning?”

Her silence almost rivaled mine. “Never.”

I watched the rain.

“Because you loved him.”

“So, so much. Don’t doubt that, Natalya. I loved him with every
part of my soul.”

* * *

Mike knocked and walked back in while I sat curled in
the window seat, staring out at the drizzle. “What’s wrong?”

I looked up, but it took a moment for Mike to come into focus.
“My mom’s moving out.”

He stopped. “Wow.”

I stared at the murky green mess. “It’s surreal. I guess since
they were unhappy
forever
—it was the status quo. I
didn’t think it would ever change.”

“Then I guess it’s brave of her.”

“Yeah.” I straightened. “Oh my God. How is she going to
survive? She’s always had someone to take care of her.”

“Well, she
is
an adult.”

“Yeah, I know.” My gaze went back to the rain and then I
sighed.

“What had you wanted to tell me earlier?”

The rain was no longer friendly; the lights no longer warm. Or
at least I couldn’t feel it. “I don’t know.”

“I thought—I thought maybe you wanted to talk about afterward.
Since I’m going home on Sunday.”

No, Mike. Not now. I didn’t want to talk about afterward
because there was no afterward. Because things ended. They ended, and they were
buried, and they were lost forever.
That
was the
only forever.

I heard him take a step closer to me, and the ghost of his
reflection showed in the darkened window. “I wanted to tell you something
too.”

I shook my head, my arms holding my knees against my chest.

His hand curved over my shoulder. “Natalie, look at me.”

I closed my eyes.

“I’m leaving tomorrow. Training camp starts soon.”

“I know.”

“Natalie.”

Slowly, I turned and looked at him. He knelt before me and took
my hands between his. His eyes were warm and bright and steady, just like they
were every time he looked at me. I felt muddled—my heart felt so full, but like
tight vines constricted it, and I couldn’t breathe.

He traced the counters of my cheek and jaw. His mouth crooked
up in my favorite smile. “Natalie. I love you.”

My chest felt like it exploded, like there were shards of metal
and air and everything was dizzy and messy. I kept my eyes on his like they
anchored me, like I’d spin away if I let go, carried off until I vanished from
existence.

He loved me.

And I loved him. I loved him with every part of me, just like
my mother had loved my father.

My breathing came faster, and Mike must have known something
was wrong by the furrow of his brows. “Natalie?”

The words broke out of me, the wrong ones. “But it doesn’t
last.”

The furrows increased. “What?”

I clutched his hands, desperately trying to make him
understand. “Love doesn’t work. It just never
works.
”

I could feel him draw away. His face shuttered, the mask I
hadn’t seen in so long falling back in place. He shifted his balance so his
whole body leaned away from mine. “So you don’t love me.”

“No, Mike, I—” My throat convulsed and I had to pause and work
back tears. “Mike—nothing lasts forever.”

He stood slowly. “I should finish packing.”

I followed him to the door, still unable to make any words come
out. I couldn’t process. I couldn’t think. This was going too fast. I needed to
make him understand that I did love him. But my throat wouldn’t work and my lips
wouldn’t move, and when they finally did, nothing useful came out. “Mike, stop.
I’m not saying—we’re still—This isn’t it, right?”

He stopped, his shoulders ram rod straight, and then he turned.
The smile had vanished, and his eyes were so bright I almost believed it came
from a sheen of tears. “I don’t think you get it. I didn’t want to
date
you. I wanted... Forever. Which you don’t believe
in.” He took my face in his hands, and pressed his lips to mine. He tasted like
salt and wind. Mine.