Danger Zone (16 page)

“Bill collectors,” he said curtly.

Karen couldn’t believe that anyone was as alone as he seemed to be. “What about your place in Florida. Don’t you have a landlord or something?”

“He doesn’t care if I’m on the moon as long as the rent is paid.”

Karen dropped the subject. No amount of probing would bring forth information he didn’t want her to have.

Colter fell asleep as she drove south, and she crossed over into the Republic at midmorning. She had worried that there might be some trouble at the border but the guard merely checked their passports, glanced at her sleeping companion, and waved them through saying, “Welcome to Eire.” Deciding that he had pegged them for a couple of tourists, Karen smiled brightly and gunned the motor. She’d had some vague idea that Colter might be recognized and was relieved to find he wasn’t as famous as she thought.

Karen picked up the coastal road at Dundalk and had passed through Drogheda and the Republican capital of Dublin before Colter awoke as they approached the Wicklow mountains. It was afternoon and Karen was starving, but she hadn’t wanted to wake him by stopping the car.

“Time is it?” he said, sitting up and looking around. She’d observed before that he came awake very quickly, alert at once.

“About two.”

“Where are we?”

“Wicklow.”

“That’s a big help.”

“About halfway there.”

“Oh, okay.” He stared out his window for a while before saying, “Pretty country.”

“Yes. It’s just as green as it looks in all the travel posters.”

“I always suspected they touched them up,” he said, grinning. He glanced over at her, “You must be tired. Why don’t you let me drive for a while?”

“No, thanks. I want to survive this journey.”

“What is that supposed to mean? I’m not going to pass out at the wheel or anything.”

“ How do you know?”

“I feel fine.”

“Which is the reason you just slept for five hours.”

“You know something? You’re a...”

“Pain in the neck. Yes, you’ve told me. Look, there’s a place to stop and get something to eat. I’m famished.” She pulled the little car into the gravel lot of a low barn sided structure advertising Lunch, Snacks, Sandwiches. Behind them Lugnaquillia, the chief peak in the coastal range, soared to a height of 3,000 feet, looming into a gray mist that still swirled about the summit even at midday. Ahead of them the road stretched away into the distance with rolling fields on either side.

“Why don’t you wait here and I’ll bring you something? ” Karen suggested.

“I’m coming in,” he said firmly, and she decided not to argue with him. The walk wasn’t far and he probably wanted to stretch his legs.

As soon as they got inside, Karen wished that he had stayed behind. She had passed some road construction about five minutes earlier, and what looked like the entire work crew was in the pub having lunch. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the pungent smell of the strong beer being served up liberally from taps behind the bar. An overworked barmaid and an overworked waitress were trying to deal with the capacity crowd, and they were not happy to see two new arrivals come through the door.

“What’ll it be?” the waitress barked to Colter as they pushed their way to the counter.

“Do you have a menu?”

She pointed to a blackboard, on which was scrawled a choice of soups and sandwiches.

“Out of beef and barley,” she said. “You’ll have to make do with the leek.”

“Leek?” Colter said, looking at Karen.

“That’ll be fine,” Karen said hastily. “And we’ll take two egg-and-bacon sandwiches also.”

The woman nodded.

“Is there a place to sit?” Colter asked.

“Just what you see,” the waitress said, gesturing expansively. “Will you have a drop, too?” she asked.

“Ice water?” Karen said.

The waitress lifted an eyebrow, but went to fill the order.

“Nice quiet place you found, kid,” Colter said to Karen, raising his voice above the babble. “What the hell is leek?”

“They’re related to onions. I’ve had the soup, it’s good.”

He leaned against the wall and Karen wished she could find a place for him to sit. He would never admit to fatigue, but he had to be feeling the effects of his first day out of bed.

Just then two of the workers vacated a booth near the door, and Karen grabbed Colter’s hand, leading him to it. He had just settled down gratefully when one of the men returned with a fresh glass of stout in his hand.

“You’ve taken my spot,” he said to Karen, smiling thinly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, we thought you’d left,” she said, rising.

Colter put his hand on her arm. “Haven’t you ever heard that you should let a lady have your seat?” he said quietly.

“Depends upon if there’s a lady present, Yank. I’m thinking that anything sitting with the likes of you would be no lady.”

Colter stood, and Karen jumped in front of him. “We don’t want any trouble,” she said hastily to their antagonist, who looked as though he outweighed Colter by about fifty pounds. “This was just a mistake. We’ll go.”

“Your woman makes a pretty speech,” the workman said. “Does she always fight your battles for you?”

Colter lunged for him, and Karen seized the stranger’s hand in desperation.

“Please,” she wailed, “he just got out of the hospital this morning.” She turned, and before Colter realized what she was doing she had pulled open his shirt to reveal the gauze dressing on his chest.

The workman’s expression changed. “I’m no bully to beat up on an injured man,” he muttered and pushed his way past them, losing himself in the crowd.

Colter was white with anger. Looking straight ahead, he walked carefully around Karen and threaded his way through the crush to the door.

Karen followed him and as she passed the counter the waitress called, “Here’s your food, miss.”

Karen kept going, running out the door. She circled the building until she found Colter sitting on a picnic bench set up outside in view of the mountains.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” he said tightly when he looked up and saw her.

“What was I supposed to do, let you get into a brawl with that blockhead when you can barely stand? What is wrong with you, Steven, do you have a death wish? You just finished telling me how much you hated the hospital and now you’re trying to land yourself back there.”

“I wasn’t going to let that clown push me around.”

Karen stared at him. “I don’t understand you. All you want to do is fight. It’s your profession, your hobby, your life. Everybody’s your enemy and you’re going to show them all. Why are you so angry all the time?” Then, to her horror, she burst into tears.

He stood immediately, trying to embrace her. She fought him off until he pinned her arms, and then she fell against him, sobbing.

“All right, all right, I’m sorry,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “Don’t cry, please don’t cry.”

“I was so afraid he was going to hurt you,” she whimpered. “Did you see the size of him?”

“Ah, the big ones just bleed more, that’s all,” he said deprecatingly, lifting her hair off her neck and planting a kiss on her nape.

“Don’t cosset me,” she said, stiffening. “Why would you do something so foolish?”

“I don’t know,” he said wearily. “I won’t anymore, I promise, if you’ll just stop crying.”

“I’m not crying,” Karen said, pulling away from him and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Oh,” he replied, suppressing a smile and putting his hands behind his back. “I see.”

“Good. Now I want you to sit right there on that bench while I go back inside and get our order. Wait for me, don’t move, and don’t get into any more trouble.”

He sat and folded his hands on the table before him, bowing his head. “Okay, teach,” he said meekly.

Karen returned shortly with the food and noticed that Colter’s shirt was stained with perspiration under his arms and in the middle of his back. It was a cool autumn day and she was wearing a sweater. He was overexerting himself.

“Are you hungry?” she asked as she sat across from him, handing him a paper cup of soup.

He nodded. “Pretty much.”

“I hope your appetite has picked up from the hospital; you weren’t eating very much.”

He took out a sandwich, opened it, then closed it again like a book he didn’t wish to read. “Nobody could eat that food,” he said darkly. “Most of it was unidentified.” He jerked his thumb at the sandwich. “Bacon and eggs. That’s breakfast.”

“I’ve seen it on lunch menus all the time since I’ve been here.”

He shrugged, picked it up and took a bite. “Not bad,” he said, brightening.

“I’m so glad. Now finish it; you have to regain your strength.”

He shook his head, chewing. “You sound just like one of the nuns at the school. ‘Eat this, finish that,’” he mimicked. “ ‘The starving children in Asia would love to have that broccoli.’ I always told them to send it to the starving children in Asia because I didn’t want it.”

“And how did they respond to that?”

“Stood me in a corner when I was little, set me to washing floors and painting walls when I was bigger,” he answered.

“Were you a discipline problem?”

He shrugged. “I guess so. I sure wasn’t the star pupil.”

“Didn’t you learn anything while you were there?” Karen asked, putting down her sandwich.

“How to get by.”

“And not to trust anyone or rely on anybody but yourself,” she supplied for him.

He looked up from his last bite and said, “That’s a good enough education for me.”

“I don’t agree,” Karen said softly. “If that’s what the people at the orphanage taught you they did you a disservice.”

He looked away from her into the distance where the mountain melted into the drifting clouds. “It wasn’t their fault,” he said evenly. “All they had time for was food and clothing, supplying the necessities. There were just too many kids.”

“And no time to love them,” Karen said.

He didn’t answer. He picked up the empty wrappers and rolled the paper into a ball, tossing the wad into a rusted garbage can standing nearby.

“Let’s hit the road,” he said. “I don’t think we’d better hang around for any more of the locals to drop by.”

Karen silently concurred, and once they were back in the car she tried to pick up speed a little and make better time. The Irish roads were narrow and winding, single lane for the most part, a challenge to her ability to drive a standard transmission car. They were descending once more toward the sea; she could hear it murmuring in the background and smell the salt in the damp breeze. Colter fell asleep again, and she passed through the larger towns of Wexford and Waterford, hitting the latter at rush hour and sitting in traffic for fifteen minutes. Karen almost woke her passenger for the breathtaking beauty of Youghal Bay, where
Moby Dick
had been filmed. But she decided to drive back later when he was feeling better and could appreciate it, and continued southward, hitting Cork at dusk.

Colter stirred as she crossed one of the bridges over the River Lee and skirted the harbor, picking up a side road marked for Kinsale in English and Gaelic.

“Sorry I keep passing out like that,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s that happy juice they’re giving me. I’m not taking any more of those pills.”

“You certainly are,” Karen said firmly. “I’m getting the prescription filled first thing in the morning.”

“God, you are a tyrant,” he complained. “I think you want to keep me in a coma.”

“That’s right. At least I know you’re resting then. And your being unconscious offers the added benefit of my not having to listen to any more of your lip.”

She looked over at him and saw that he was laughing silently.

“What’s so funny?”

“To think when I met you I was convinced you were such a nice girl.”

“I am,” she said defensively, peering at the road sign that directed her down a cobbled street. “What does that say?” she asked him.

“Cobh,” he answered. “Where do they get these names?”

“That’s ‘Cork’ in Gaelic. We’re going the wrong way.”

“Great.” He glanced around at the warren of tiny streets and alleys leading down to the river. “How could you get lost?”

She turned to stare at him in outrage. “I like that coming from the man who snored during this entire trip,” she said archly. “I think I’ve done very well so far.” She pulled up to a stoplight and examined the array of signs fixed to the lamppost. “Oh, I see. I’m supposed to turn left here.” She retraced her route, saying, “I can’t tell which way south is anymore since the sun went down.”

“If you go far enough south we’re going to be swimming,” he observed crossly. He closed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. “What am I doing here?” he asked. “How did I let you talk me into this?”

“Oh, shut up,” Karen muttered, gunning the engine. “I’m doing the best I can.”

They hit Kinsale about twenty minutes later, and Karen followed the directions from the center of town to an un- paved road leading in the direction of the water.

“This must be it,” she said, turning onto it. “I wonder what that says,” she added, pointing to a hand lettered sign in Gaelic fixed to a tree.

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t say ‘Cliff, ten feet ahead,’” Colter muttered.

“Do you see anything?” Karen inquired.

“Trees.”

“Where do you think we are?”

“Tree City?”

Karen stopped driving and turned to face him. “Will you please cooperate?” she said. “I’m tired and hungry and the last thing I need right now is your sarcasm.”

“All right,” he said, chastised. “Why don’t we get out and look?”

Karen complied, and they left the car behind, walking down the road about a thousand feet. They rounded a curve and were suddenly confronted by a vista that brought them both to a halt.

A cottage stood alone in a clearing on the edge of a bluff. Below it they could hear the pounding of the surf and above it stretched a limitless night sky, spangled with an infinity of stars.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Karen whispered.

“It sure is,” Colter answered, putting his arm around her. “And well worth the trip.”