Notes from a Spinning Planet—Ireland (22 page)

“Madison!” she yells at me, turning to look me in the eyes. “I cannot believe you! What on earth do you think you’re doing? I told you as clearly as I could that I did not want anything to do with that, that person. And you obviously set this whole thing up just so you could—”

“Let me explain,” I try to cut in.

“No!” she screams. “Let me explain!”

I shrink back into the seat.

She holds her hands out as if she’s trying to keep a lid on something. “Okay, let me calm down first.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m sure you didn’t realize what you were getting into, Maddie,” she continues in a much calmer voice. “You probably thought, ‘Oh, this is so romantic, I think I’ll play matchmaker.’” She turns and narrows her eyes at me. “Right?”

“Sort of.”

“Wrong!” she shouts. Then she calms herself again. “Sorry…I’m the grownup here. I’ll try to act like it.” She turns around in her seat and gives me a fake smile. “Okay, Maddie, it’s like this. Yes, I was in love with Ian—a long, long time ago. And Ian might have been in love with me. But he was also in love with his Irish republic, and he was in love with the IRA. And when I realized he was unable to give that up for me, I broke it off with him.” She snaps her fingers. “And, just like that, it was over. Finished. Done.”

“But, Sid—”

“No buts, Maddie. There is absolutely nothing I have to say to Ian McMahan, and I seriously doubt he has anything to say to me. I can’t believe he even agreed to meet here with me.”

“Ian has changed, Sid.”

“We’ve all changed, Maddie. Now if you would get yourself back into that overly priced French restaurant and retrieve your little partner in crime, we’ll be on our way.”

“But, Sid—”

“I said no buts.”

“Okay,” I tell her. “You made me listen to you. But could you at least listen to me?”

“Do I have to?”

I consider this. “Well, I suppose you could dump Ryan and me here in Derry and just leave us in Ireland. Of course, you’d have to explain to my parents what happened, and I’m sure—”

“Fine,” she snaps. “Make it brief.”

“Ian isn’t in the IRA,” I tell her, and before she can interrupt—and I know she wants to—I continue. “That’s why he wasn’t with Ryan’s dad the day the bomb went off.”

She just shakes her head with a sour expression.

“Would you like to hear where Ian was that day?” I ask, hoping she’ll take the bait, but she just shrugs. “Fine, I’ll tell you anyway.
He was taking a load of kids to Peace House.”

“Who told you that?” Her eyes are narrow, and I can tell she doesn’t believe me.

“Murphy.”

“Murphy, the groundskeeper at Peace House?”

“That’s the one.”

I can tell she still doesn’t believe me. “Really, Maddie. Why would you have a conversation like that with Murphy? And, even if you did, how would you know if the old guy’s senile or not? Good grief, he must be about a hundred by now.”

“He’s not senile.” Then I tell her about the photo I saw and how Glenda at the front desk suggested I speak to Murphy “He told me the whole story, Sid. And he told me not to tell anyone.”

“Why not?”

“Because it could put Ian in danger.”

She makes a humph sound, like she’s still not convinced.

“Ian is a benefactor to the camp, Sid. He contributes a lot.”

She actually rolls her eyes now. “Ian McMahan? The man was poor as a church mouse when I knew him.”

“Like you said, it’s been a long time. People change.” Then I remember something. “You seemed impressed with the restaurant.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Ian planned to stick us with a big bill too.”

“Ian owns the restaurant.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“It’s easy to prove. He gave me his business card, except Ryan has it right now.”

“Fine. Ian owns a restaurant. That still doesn’t change anything.”

“But he left the IRA. He helps out at Peace House.”

“But no one’s supposed to know.” She makes a face. “Yeah, right.”

“Murphy said it was for Ian’s protection, that if his old IRA connections found out, well, you know how they can be. Remember what the cab driver said about one Irishman on the fire and the other turning the spit?”

She just shakes her head and then leans it against the steering wheel again.

“He’s changed, Sid.”

She lets out a long, low groan now. Like an animal in pain.

“Can’t you just talk to him? Like a civilized adult? Bury the hatchet?”

Another groan.

“Sid, what can it hurt?”

Slowly she sits up, and when she turns to look at me, I can see tears glistening in her eyes. “What can it hurt?” she asks in a quiet but shaky voice. “Tell me, Maddie, have you ever had your heart broken?”

I consider this. “I felt pretty bad when Ross Hardwick didn’t ask me to the prom.”

“That’s not the same.”

“Sorry.”

“If you’d had your heart broken, Maddie, you wouldn’t ask, what can it hurt? You would know.”

I let out a long sigh now. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Me neither.”

“What do you think Danielle would tell you to do?”

“Run for my life.”

“Seriously, Sid. Danielle married Michael.”

“And look where that got her.”

“But she must’ve loved him enough to take a risk. Now no one is asking you to marry Ian, but it seems you could at least go in and have a civilized conversation with him.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” I’m feeling a tiny bit of hope now, like maybe she’s finally softening. “He’s a nice guy, Sid. And he’s interesting. And I
bet you could use some of what he’s been through for your article. I mean, he’s totally reformed from being a member of the IRA to being a benefactor to Peace House. Kind of like the counterpart to the guy in your first interview, the bomber dude.”

“Sean Potter.”

“Yeah. Kind of a juxtaposition, if you will.”

This actually makes her chuckle. “When did you get so smart, Maddie?”

“Maybe I’m learning from you.”

“Okay, maybe you’re right. Maybe I am overreacting. And I suppose a conversation with Ian McMahan might be interesting. For my article, I mean.”

I nod with enthusiasm. “Yes, for your article.”

She turns on the light in her car now, checks herself out in the rearview mirror, then touches up her lipstick, and looks at me. “Am I okay?”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Well, you don’t have to go overboard.”

“This is going to be good,” I assure her as we get out of the car. “You’re going to be glad you did this.”

“I doubt it. But maybe the food will be good.”

“And it’s on the house,” I tell her as we get to the entrance.

“Well, I’ll be sure to order the works then.”

I open the door for her, but she stalls, and I’m afraid she’s going to bolt again, maybe for good this time. “Come on,” I tell her. “You can do this.”

“What makes you think so?”

I pat her on the back. “Because you’re my role model, Aunt Sid, and I’d like to think that if you can do this, I can do all kinds of things.”

“You ever think of practicing law, Maddie?”

I laugh as we walk through the foyer.

“You have to promise to help me out in there,” she whispers as we head back toward the table.

“I’m here for you.”

When we reach the table, Sid pastes a big (okay, slightly phony) smile on her face as she reaches for Ian’s hand. “Ian McMahan, it’s been so long. How have you been anyway?”

He stands now and takes her hand as a somewhat shy smile barely turns up the corners of his mouth. “I’m doing well, Sidney. And you are looking as lovely as ever.”

Her smile grows more genuine. “I’m sorry to run out on you like that, but I remembered something I had to take care of.” She holds up her hands. “You know how it is being a busy journalist. Always getting calls from the home office, new assignments, stories breaking.”

“You’re a journalist?” he says with interest. “I’m sure you must be a very good one.”

And on it goes. The two of them chatting away like old friends. Okay, I’m thinking perhaps they both have a bit of the blarney in them. Perhaps Sid more than Ian. But as the evening progresses, I relax a little. And Ryan seems amused by their conversation. And the food is fantastic!

“Would you like to have dessert in a private room?” Ian asks as
we come to the end of our meal. “Then we could all speak more freely.”

Sid’s brows lift a bit. “That sounds nice.”

Ian nods to a waiter and then escorts us to a room off the back. It’s very elegant with more candlelight and another fireplace that’s already burning. A table full of a selection of desserts is already set up, along with coffee, tea, and some kind of after-dinner wine.

“Looks like someone was expecting us,” says Sid as she slides into a big, comfortable chair.

“This is nice,” I observe.

“It’s a room we use for dignitaries,” he says.

“Well, I feel special,” says Sid in a teasing voice.

Then Ian asks us what we’d like and acts as our waiter as he brings us dessert and coffee, then finally sits down to join us.

“I thought you might have some questions,” Ian begins, “and that we might all be more comfortable with a private setting.”

“Maddie has already filled me in some,” Sid says, giving me a look that I think must be a hint. “She spoke to someone at the peace camp about you.”

“Peace House?” His brow creases slightly.

“Yes,” I say quickly. “I noticed a photograph of you there, and I asked Murphy some questions.”

“You spoke to Murphy?” Ian looks surprised.

I nod. “He’s really nice. And for some reason he trusted me. I told him a little about my aunt and Ryan’s dad and stuff. And then I asked him about you. I hope you don’t mind, but he told me about your involvement with Peace House.”

I can tell Ian doesn’t really want to talk about this, but I explain how Ryan was having a hard time accepting Ian’s role in his dad’s death. “Neither one of us could figure out why you didn’t drive him to the airport that day,” I finally say, just laying my cards on the table. “It was suspicious. He was killed, but you weren’t. Can you see what I mean?” I glance over at Ryan, and he seems relieved that I brought this up.

Ian nods slowly. “Yes. I guess I never looked at it like that. I always figured everyone would know how upset I was to lose both a brother and a friend that day. And I suppose I blamed myself too. I thought maybe if I had been driving, well, things would’ve gone differently. I ran it through my head over and over.”

“Ryan doesn’t know why you weren’t driving that day,” I say.

So Ian tells us all about how he’d been getting involved in the peace camp. “It was your aunt’s influence,” he tells me. “She’d been very committed to it, and after she left—and I realized all that I’d lost—well, I looked into helping out myself.” He looks at Sid now. “It was amazing. When I started working with the kids, getting to know them one on one, I felt things changing inside of me. It’s as if the children helped me to heal. And finally I realized I had to cut all ties to the IRA. I’d been working on doing just that when Michael came back. And although I spent time with him, I felt torn. I’d already committed to transport those children from Belfast to Peace House even though the dates for the transports hadn’t been nailed down. Just the same, I felt I had to stick to that commitment, especially when I couldn’t find anyone to do it for me.” He sadly shakes his head. “And then…well, you know what happened.”

Ryan nods now. “Thanks for telling me, Ian. It makes sense.”

“As broken up as I was over what happened that day,” he continues, “it sealed the deal for me. I knew I would never go back.”

We talk and talk, finally moving on to lighter topics. Ian tells us how he spent some time in France and how much he enjoyed their food. “And I met Jean Marsilius and enticed him to come back and help me start this restaurant.” He waves his hand. “That was about seventeen years ago.”

“It’s a beautiful restaurant,” Sid tells him.

“Thank you.”

I’m not sure if it’s the candlelight or what, but their eyes seem to be glowing, and the atmosphere has definitely warmed up in here, and I’m not talking about the fireplace.

“Goodness,” says Sid. “It’s so late, and we still have to drive to Malin.”

“Do you have more interviews?” he asks.

“No, it was just our destination.”

“Oh.” He nods.

“Why don’t we spend the night in Derry?” I suggest.

“Yeah,” says Ryan. “You don’t like to drive at night anyway, Sid.”

“There are good hotels nearby,” Ian offers, “and lots of good sights to see in Derry County.”

So that settles it. We thank Ian for a lovely dinner, and he calls ahead and makes a reservation at a hotel that’s only three blocks away. “My friend William runs this place,” he tells Sid. “I think you will be pleased.”

His friend’s place turns out to be perfect. Not one of the huge,
impersonal hotels but still with all the bells and whistles. Not only that, but his friend gives us the “friends discount,” which pleases Sid.

Sid and I share a room again. “Thanks, Maddie,” she tells me before we go to sleep. “For everything.”

And before I go to sleep, I thank God for working this thing out. Okay, I realize that Sid and Ian aren’t falling madly in love or getting married or anything. At least not that I know of. But they didn’t kill each other either.

A
fter two delightful days in Derry, with Ian as our devoted guide, we had to part ways this morning in order to make it down to Galway and Shannon Airport in time for our flight home. Ian and Sid promised to stay in touch through e-mail, and Ryan said he actually caught them kissing last night! But we agreed not to tease her about this.

Now we are flying home, and I can hardly believe its only been two weeks since we came here. Seriously, I feel like a totally different person.

“You seem pretty relaxed,” my aunt observes as she closes her laptop and leans back into the seat.

“Why not?” I say.

She laughs. “Don’t you remember how frightened you were on the flight out? I thought I was going to have to ask the flight attendant for a sedative for you.”