Running Back (13 page)

We walked through the gardens and the rock close, where everything was named
Witches Stone
or
Fairy Glade
or
Wishing Steps
, and then we stopped by the stable before heading for the house tour. I leaned against the low stone wall and stared at the water and fields while Anna took pictures.

After less than a minute, footsteps padded behind me, and an easterly breeze washed his scent over me and lifted my hair. He braced his arms just as mine were and didn’t look my way. “So. Tamara Bocharov.”

When had he even—Kate had mentioned I’d looked like her yesterday. I’d completely forgotten. Had he looked it up before or after last night?

I forced a soft laugh. “If you call her a MILF, I’m going to throw up.”

He turned his head. “Why did you just do that?”

I’d thought I’d handled his discovery fairly well. “Do what?”

“Turn the source of one of your issues into bad comedy material.”

I stiffened. “I think I’m allowed to react however the hell I want to about my family.”

“Yeah, but that
wasn’t
your reaction, you just slapped it on so I wouldn’t see how you really felt. You know, it’s okay to talk about your family issues. I find it kind of helps.”

I turned so my back pressed against the wall and my elbows rested on it. “Really?”

He gave me the crooked grin I loved. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

I smiled apologetically. “Sorry I snapped. But I’m fine with my mom. Really.”

“Then how come you never once mentioned she spent ten years modeling all over the world?”

So, he’d done his research. Or at least read her Wikipedia page. “I’m not going to run around inserting her into conversations. That’d be awkward.”

“No, but you shouldn’t
hide
from it. It’s not a badge of shame.”

“Are you kidding?” I was hot and embarrassed and angry. “Of
course
it is.”

We stared at each other and I felt even sicker. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“I won’t.”

I took a deep breath and collapsed on the swing. “How’d you know it was one of my buttons?”

His arm brushed mine. “The first time I complimented your eyes you freaked out.”

What? No. When had that happened? “No way.”

He tilted his head.

I sighed. “It’s just weird, you know? Like, she thinks what I’m doing is so weird, and she doesn’t even realize how messed up her own career and life was.”

He didn’t say anything, so I let my thoughts verbally roll out. I didn’t talk about my mother often—with my brothers, I always felt like I had to defend her, and the same with Cam, though I knew my best friend only meant to be supportive. “She grew up in this small town in Eastern Russia, where the talent scout from Paris found her when she was only fourteen. It just seems so wrong—these scouts pluck these kids, who didn’t speak any French or English, and move them to model homes in France.”

“Did she like it?”

I flipped my hand over indecisively. “If you talk to her about it, she makes it sound like the best thing in the world. But she’s the least happy person I know. I can’t imagine she was ever that happy.”

“And she wanted you to model.”

Startled, I glanced up at him. “Did I say that already?”

“You said you were a bad doll.”

“Right.” My jaw worked and then I let out a breath of old, stale anger. “I did a couple times when I was a kid.”

For a brief instant, he looked uncomfortable. “I know. I saw them.”

No way.

He ducked his head. “I have powerful Google-fu.”

I shook my head. So he’d seen me as a twelve-year-old in pastel dresses and round curls. Fine. “Did you see the ones of my mom? The Goddess series?”

He shook his head.

I pulled out my phone. It didn’t take me long to find my favorite. “Most of them were fashion shoots, but this was the one that really made her famous. Happened right after she arrived in Paris, and she just went around seeing everything.” The series was my favorite, because for the only time in her career, Tamara Bocharov looked like an actual person—overwhelmed, lost and childishly excited.

“This one’s called The Gray-Eyed Goddess.” My mother wore a white, Greek-inspired dress, her blond hair bound back to intensify her gaze. From other photos, I knew my mother was posed around the Louvre, but this one focused on her face. “They used to call her that. But what’s funny—well, kind of stupid—is that they mixed their names. No one
ever
called her Athena, which is what gray-eyed meant. When they gave her a name it was always Aphrodite, Goddess of Love. Which was appropriate.

“I always thought that if I had to pick a Greek goddess to share attributes, I would be Athena. Wisdom and war. I understand that much more than love or Artemis and her hunting, or Hera, devoted to marriage and children.”

“Wisdom and war...” he repeated. “What about your dad?”

I’d laughed before, the few times I’d told this story, but it struck me now that I didn’t really find it funny. Just sad. “He was her lawyer. Turned out a contact lens company had been using her image illegally for years, so she sued.”

He studied me. “I’m guessing they didn’t just fall madly in love.”

I shrugged and examined the silver around Mom’s pupil, which faded into dark, crushed charcoal. “She was young and beautiful. He was older and successful. Tale as old as time.”

“Real beast?”

I snorted real laughter. “Married one too.”

“That sucks.”

“Ah, well.” I looked down at the picture for a long moment.

Mike didn’t move. Behind us, bursts of laughter spilled from tourists and cameras flashed brightly.

“I’m always so angry whenever I’m with them,” I finally said. “But the rest of the time, I worry. Isn’t that ridiculous? I think my father thinks my mother is silly and petty, and Mom thinks he’s abrasive and uncaring, and I kind of think they’re both right. And I shouldn’t worry, because it’s none of my business, and if they get divorced, wouldn’t that be a good thing if it’s what they want?

“My mother just emailed and said one of those reality shows offered her a judging position. But not all those shows are nice, so I worry she’s being exploited and they’ll make fun of her. And if
Dad
found out he’d be furious.”

“Would it make her happy?”

I turned around again, back to the serene water and gentle waving trees. “Is that what we’re supposed to base our decisions off of? What makes us happy?”

Mike caught my arm and turned me slightly, and then he smiled the crooked smile, my smile, and it said,
you would make me happy.

And so I kissed him, and he kissed me, and I was happy.

“Natalie! Mike!”

We broke apart and found Anna waving at us. “Come on, we’re headed to the house!”

“Oh my God,” I muttered as she ran after the others. “I can’t believe she saw that.” Then I scowled. “I can’t believe she’d didn’t look the least bit surprised.”

Chapter Fourteen

After touring the house, we walked down to the lake,
and later stopped in Cork at a Mexican restaurant Lauren had found online. We
still returned to Dundoran by eight, since Anna had plans with a cohort of names
the rest of us couldn’t remember.

The next week was an endless stretch of happiness. In the
mornings and afternoons, I talked to locals about the surrounding land, visited
nearby libraries and town halls and read newspapers and local publications. In
the evenings, the O’Connor family took me in, and we’d either hang out at the
inn or meet up with acquaintances or thrice removed relations in Dundoran.

And the nights, I spent with Mike.

That Friday, I met with Mrs. Harrington from three towns over
when she was visiting her sister in Dundoran. She told me an incredibly exciting
story about artifacts from fifteen hundred years ago that she’d found on their
land. I was still bouncing when I went to meet Mike and Lauren, despite the
sudden summer thunderstorm. I ran through the village to the pub, clutching my
precious notebook close so no ink would be smeared or paper ruined by the rain.
I shook myself off when I went inside.

People packed the pub. A band had set up shop in one corner and
played traditional Irish music, and a handful of tables had been pushed aside to
make room for dancing. I made my way over to Mike, and he handed me a
Guinness.

What a coincidence. I had just been in a mood for
more
Guinness.

We ended up squished at a table with Lauren and Paul. Mike
scowled at his cousin. “Don’t you have any other friends?”

Paul took a swig of his pint. “You think I want to be hanging
about with a bunch of culchies?”

We didn’t need an Irish-to-American dictionary to know that
Paul was being derisive; he alternated insulting adjectives with great fluidity.
I actually considered it a form of language immersion.

Mike leaned forward. “So why are you still here?”

Paul’s eyes slid in Lauren’s direction for the briefest second,
and he shrugged. “Someone’s got to see Aunt Maggie sorted. Knew you weren’t up
to it.”

A muscle in Mike’s jaw ticked. “Look, Connelly—”

“So!” I said brightly. “Who wants to hear what I learned
today!”

They all reluctantly turned to face me.

I launched into my story about Mrs. Harrington’s discovery. It
had taken place ten years ago when they were making the basement for their new
house, but still.

Mike frowned thoughtfully. “So what about all the other layers?
If you’re going straight to Iron Age, what happens to the rest of time?”

It made me happy that he’d asked that, like he was an
intelligent undergrad in my Intro to Archaeology class. “Well, that’s the big
question, isn’t it?”

“Huh?”

I smiled and switched into lecture-lite mode. “The thing about
archaeology is its destructiveness. You can’t repeat an excavation and see if
you get the same results. You can’t go back and check the positioning of the
bricks and stones you’ve already pulled up. We map and take pictures of every
single layer—God, how we map—but you’re right. Here, I want to get to the first
century, and that means I might be tearing up footprints from medieval manors or
twentieth century farmhouses.”

I paused. “I don’t think there’s going to be a ton of really
important artifacts. I mean, sure, if we come across a cist burial, that’s going
to be an issue. But I’m betting this land has been farmland since the beginning,
and the things we do dig through aren’t going to be unlike what you’d find if
you excavated anywhere else in the area around us.”

Lauren frowned. “How do you even know where to dig?”

I nodded. “It’s impossible to actually pinpoint the harbor,
since there’s so many possible points. Luckily, a coastal survey took core
samples of the area three years ago, so we do know there was saline water here
two thousand years ago. There’s also, interestingly, a dolmen—that’s a portal
tomb, you know, the giant rocks marking burial sites—that is oddly far away from
water, which supports water being here, which is why I believe the harbor city
is so far inland. I think there was a tributary that silted up.

“But since the area’s so large, I’m bringing in a specialist to
do an electrical resistivity survey first, which should tell us if there’s any
large structures buried. Hopefully I’ll find quays, or—this is what I really
want—a sunken ship. If there’s nothing found that way, we’re going to open units
using a systematic sampling, and I’m
sure
that will
find something. It has to.”

Mike regarded me with an unhappy expression. Shoot, I’d gone
too far into grad mode. Time to rein it in and act like a normal human.

“Natalie.”

“Yeah?”

“But you’re not going to dig there.”

“Oh, right.” I flushed. “I know that. I just got a little
carried away.”

Paul’s eyes narrowed at Mike. “Do you derive some twisted
pleasure in parading around as the prodigal son, even as you cut off the
village’s chance of bringing in major money?”

Mike looked outraged. “It’s none of your business what I do
with my land.”

Paul leaned forward. “Of course it’s not. Of course it should
be left up to a bunch of Yanks to decide what to do with a place they’d never
seen and they’ll never see again.”

“This is
my
family—”

“But not your country, mate—”

Lauren slammed her hands on the table. “Will both of you just
shut up?”

The mellow tenor and bass of the singers swung out into our
small corner of silence. “
No
,
nay never
,
no more
...”

I took a deep breath in the long, tense stillness. “I just love
this song!”

Paul flashed a blazing smile at me that was clearly really
intended for the other two members of our party to notice. “Want to dance?”

I stole a glance at Mike as I whirled my finger at my chest.
“Me?”

Paul smiled. “Won’t be the same as salsa in Ecuador or dancing
at one of the super-clubs, but we have better music here.”

I laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m awful at salsa and can’t stand
house music, so this sounds like a great alternative.”

Mike stood up abruptly. “I’ll dance with you.”

I shrugged at Paul as Mike wrapped his fingers around mine and
marched us onto the dance floor. A handful of other couples swayed back and
forth; no grinding to be seen here, not where everyone knew everyone else’s
parents. I draped my hand over Mike’s shoulders and breathed in the woodsy
aroma. “What a sweet way to ask me to dance.”

“You didn’t want to dance with him.”

I couldn’t help it. A smile burst out of me and I reached out
to touch his cheek. “Aw, cute. He made you jealous.”

He glared at me. “I am not jealous of Paul and the chip on his
shoulder.”

I tried to wipe the amusement off my face. “Right. No. My
mistake.”

Beyond Mike’s shoulder, I could see Paul turning to Lauren, a
sly smile on his face. Whoa. He had totally just out manipulated all of us.
Respect bloomed. “I think he just did that so he could get you out of the way
before asking Lauren.”

“
What?
” Mike stopped dancing and
spun me around so he could face the two of them.

I laughed even as I stumbled. “What did you think would
happen?”

His head tilted as he scanned the crowd. “Where did they
go?”

“Calm down. Your sister is a big girl. I’m sure she can handle
herself.”

He scowled at me. “You worry too much about some things and not
enough about others.”

I smiled and leaned my head against his chest. “Maybe.”

The two men started in on “Whiskey on the Jar,” an old Irish
song that had somehow ended up in my music collection as a fifteen year old.
Probably from my dad’s Thin Lizzy CD. Warmth seeped into me, followed by a slow
tide of comfort and safety. I felt the solidness of Mike’s chest before me and
the strength of the arms that encircled me, and I wanted to stay wrapped away
with him, just like this, forever.

His words sounded like they’d come from far away. “You know
what’s strange? You could have come here all by yourself. You have met the
village, and seen the gravestones, and Kilkarten, and the cliff top on the
coastal path. And I never would have.”

I stared up at him. In my mind, my heart, Mike had become
utterly entwined with Kilkarten. He was right, though. If Patrick hadn’t died,
Mike and I would never have met.

I couldn’t imagine being here without Mike.

And for the first time, I truly regretted Patrick’s passing.
Not because I wished I’d never met Mike, but because I was so, so happy I had.
Gratitude and guilt stirred within me. How many other ways it could have gone. I
could have been three seasons into an excavation before Mike came to Ireland.
What would that have been like? Would I have liked him so much then? If I hadn’t
needed him to sign the papers and he hadn’t distrusted me and his friend Rachael
hadn’t liked to matchmake, we could have met like two ordinary people and
grabbed a drink in a bar. I bet it would have been wonderful—we had the same
sense of humor, the same mentality about life—we ran on the same frequency.

But maybe we would have had our drinks and our fun and gone our
separate ways after a while, passing with smiling masks like shallow and
pleasant neighbors, who never bothered to see past the veneer. We never would
have torn off those masks and opened old wounds if we hadn’t been forced.

We danced through three more songs, until I spotted Kate,
sitting at a table with Maggie and several other adults.

“It has to be weird for her.”

“Hmm?”

“Your mom. All these people she doesn’t know, but who knew her
husband before she did. Like meeting characters out of a fairytale. They weren’t
supposed to exist.” I slowed to a stop. “You should ask her to dance.”

“You don’t mind?”

I smiled. “I can always ask Paul.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re hilarious.”

I laughed and handed him off to his mother, whose face lit up.
I dropped down at the bar next to Lauren, whose hair poofed out like a cartoon
character’s. “I thought you were dancing with Paul.”

She snickered and took a sip of her drink. “Yeah. Verbally.
Mentally. Think he hates all of us.” She thumped her beer down on the counter
and looked directly at me. “But I like you. You’re good for Mike.”

Was I?

“But he’s still sometimes too much, you know? Like earlier.
It’s not
his land.
So I was thinking.”

A touch of unease crawled up my spine. I turned so I could see
Mike. He was smiling at his mother, and I saw her laugh. I wasn’t sure I’d ever
seen Kate O’Connor laugh. “Oh?”

“I was thinking... You can dig Kilkarten.”

A thousand needles pricked my body and I swung back in her
direction. “Wait,
what?
”

“Anna and I talked it over. If there’s some lost city there, we
want it uncovered.”

I gaped at her. “But... I thought it wasn’t a democracy.”

One of her brow’s winged up. “What is
that
supposed to mean?”

“Just... Have you talked to Mike? I thought all three of you
had to agree.”

“Oh, yeah, that. Well, it is a democracy. It’s not Mike’s
decision.”

My heart seemed to be pounding at twice its normal pace. “You
can’t make him sign.”

She smiled. “Oh, yes, I can.” She raised an arm and hollered
over the pub’s noise. “Mike! Get over here!”

My head whirled even as every second passed in slow motion. I
charted Mike’s path toward us with each step he took.

Lauren and Anna wanted me to excavate Kilkarten.

I could see the whole future spread out, a future I’d turned
off months ago when Mike first refused to sign. I could see the dig, the
discovery, the report. The articles in journals, the news segment I’d dreamed up
for mainstream media.

And then I heard Mike’s voice in my head, saying he would never
let me excavate Kilkarten, because of “personal reasons.”

Now the real Mike stopped before us, beer in hand, smile on his
face. His gaze kept touching mine. “What’s up?”

I placed my hand on Lauren’s arm. My voice came out faint.
“Lauren, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

Mike looked back and forth between us. “What’s not a good
idea?”

Lauren pushed off her bar stool. “Natalie’s excavating
Kilkarten.”

Mike swung a surprised look my way. “No, she isn’t.”

Lauren crossed her arms. “Yeah. She is.”

Mike looked at me. “What’s she talking about? You can’t
dig.”

“That’s right.” My head felt like it was floating off. “You
said that. But I don’t know why not.”

He stared at me. “Because.”

I beseeched him with my gaze. Because
why?

Lauren’s voice was unyielding. “Mike, you’ve been saying
‘because’ since I was fifteen. It’s not going to cut it anymore.”

“Dammit, Lauren!”

Several people looked our way. Anna caught sight of us and
hurried over. “What’s going on?”

Mike’s jaw and fists clenched. “I’m not having this
conversation here.” He turned and walked out the door.

Lauren’s mouth fell open and then tightened into a white line,
and she strode after her brother with clenched fists. Wide-eyed Anna followed in
her wake.

I hesitated a moment before also pushing out through the heavy
wooden door. While the pub stayed brightly lit, mist hung throughout the rest of
the village, and when we stepped onto the path leading back to the inn, the
white fog faded out the swaying cypresses and the sea. Goosebumps rose on my
exposed skin.

Ahead of me, Lauren caught up with her brother’s longer
strides. “You can’t just walk away from this conversation.”

He stopped abruptly and turned back on her, crossing his arms.
“It’s not going to happen.”