Chapter Seven
“My grandma might have shopped here.” I stood in front of a red butcher shop established in 1922. Blue and pink clouds streaked the sky over Killybog’s cheerfully painted buildings. “Take one with the sunset in the background.”
Declan snapped several shots.
I peered around at the pubs and shops, excitement zipping through me. I’d cruised Killybog’s streets via Google Maps dozens of times, but that didn’t compare to walking down the same streets Grandma once had.
An old stone church stood at the edge of town.
“That’s the church from my grandma’s photo.” I bolted down the sidewalk toward it. Behind the building, a stone fence surrounded a landscape of weathered Celtic crosses towering over smooth granite headstones. “Too bad it’s almost dark, or we could search for Coffey rellies.”
A large evergreen wreath hung on the church’s arched wooden door. I stood in front of the entrance, glancing over my shoulder, moving to the right. Having memorized Grandma’s picture, I knew precisely the spot where she and her sister had stood in 1935. It sucked that Rachel wasn’t here by my side.
After Declan snapped my pic, we tried to enter the church.
“Strange,” Declan said. “Don’t find churches locked often in Ireland.”
I grasped the round iron door knocker and banged it against the wood.
“That’s a handle, not a knocker.”
Using my shoulder, I pressed all my weight against the door.
“Easy. Someone will think you’re trying to break in. Never broken into a church but did get kicked out of one once.”
“What did you do to get kicked out of a church?”
A sly smile curled Declan’s lips. “Got into a bit of a…disagreement.”
“With the priest?”
“No, some wanker who was wrong.”
I wasn’t sure if me getting kicked out of the Musée d’Orsay in Paris, twice, was worse than being kicked out of a church.
Across the street, a black-and-gold sign on the front of a blue building read Molloy’s. “Your friend Peter’s pub.” I ran over and posed for a picture in front of it. “This isn’t the pub where you and your friends hijacked the Guinness truck, is it?”
“No, that was Carter’s up the road from my parents.”
“Let’s see if Peter’s working so I can thank him for finding Sadie Collentine. Maybe a Coffey rellie is inside drinking a pint.”
Declan opened the red door to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” A group of older men dressed in dark suits sitting at the bar gave us curious stares. Strangers probably didn’t often pop in to the rural pub. They didn’t appear to know Declan. I gave them a little wave, and Declan nodded hello. They nodded back and returned to the horse races on the TV behind the bar.
Silver garland framed the bar’s mirror, and a sign read Full of Holiday Beer, instead of Cheer. The best decoration of all—red bags of cheese-and-onion Taytos. My mouth watered from chip withdrawal.
Declan introduced me to Peter, standing behind the bar. Thirtyish, medium height, lean with short brown hair, his T-shirt read Lovely Day for a Guinness.
“Well, it’s a Christmas miracle,” Peter said. “How are ya, mate?”
Declan shook his friend’s hand.
“Thank you so much for hooking me up with my Coffey rellie. I’m meeting her tomorrow.” I gestured to the men down the bar. “Any of them related to me, by chance?”
“Any ya fellas related to the Coffeys, are ya?” Peter yelled down the bar.
They all shook their heads.
I hung my green coat over the back of a wooden barstool next to Declan, who was already ordering a whiskey. The pub didn’t carry Brecker Dark, so I ordered Flanagan’s cider ale and three bags of Taytos. Officially on holiday, I skipped my Brecker Dark sales pitch.
Declan and I clinked glasses. “Sláinte.”
“Ya still seeing Charlotte?” Declan asked Peter.
He smiled, nodding. “For as long as she’ll see me.”
“Smart man.” Declan studied the TV, then slid a bill across the bar toward Peter. “Put a fiver on Mattie’s Madness.”
“You can bet on horses at a pub?” I asked.
“Betting is Ireland’s favorite pastime,” Peter said. “Everything from ponies to tractor pulls. Declan ever tell ya about the time we raced tractors and he drove it into a creek?”
I arched a curious brow. “No, he hasn’t. Do tell.”
Declan rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to erase his guilty grin. He gestured to the money on the bar. “This race will be done by the time you call in my bet.”
Peter waved away his sarcasm and snatched up the phone.
“Have you ever bet on the ponies?” Declan asked.
I shook my head.
He gestured to the TV. “Which one do you fancy?”
I scanned the horses’ names listed on the screen and studied the jockeys. “Paddy’s Sassy Lassy. Love the name and the jockey’s lime green and purple outfit.”
Declan laughed. “You’re betting on an outfit when the odds are thirty to one?”
I had no clue what that meant. “You asked which I liked.”
He peered over at Peter still on with his bookie. “Put another fiver on Paddy’s Sassy Lassy.”
Peter’s gaze narrowed. “Mad, are ya?”
Declan shrugged. “It’s what this lass wants.”
My horse started out way behind, then pulled ahead as they came around a bend. Cheering, I sat on the edge of my stool, leaning forward. Paddy’s Sassy Lassy was nose to nose with Declan’s horse in the homestretch. My Lassy won by inches.
“Woo-hoo!” I punched a celebratory fist in the air.
Peter placed 130 euros on the bar.
Declan slid the money in front of me. “Fair play to ya. And that’s after paying the vig.”
“Holy crap. Maybe I can earn side money on horse betting.”
The men down the bar raised their pints in congratulations, giving me a thumbs-up and expectant looks. I bought them a round of drinks, then stuck my money in my wallet before I threw it all away on the jockey in the super-cute pink-and-black outfit. I would use it to buy a new purse. Although removing the satin lining had weakened the pungent floral stench, the smell of curry lingered. Maybe merely in my head, but it was there.
Ten minutes later, Declan was placing another bet when a tall dark-haired guy, midthirties, entered the pub. Declan glanced over at him, and panic flashed in his eyes as his body tensed.
“Hello, Declan,” the guy said, slowly approaching him.
Declan gave him a sharp nod. “Liam.”
Liam gave me a faint smile and nod.
“Heard you’d moved to Cork,” Declan said.
“Got married last year and bought a house just up the road.”
“Ah, grand. Congratulations.”
Liam glanced over at me.
“This is Caity, a coworker,” Declan said.
Coworker?
Liam shook my hand. He sat next to Declan, who was staring into his glass. Liam broke the awkward silence by ordering a whiskey.
Declan polished off his drink and ordered a double. “Be right back.” He disappeared down a dark hallway. I hoped he was going to the bathroom, not escaping out the back door and ditching me.
Why was Declan avoiding this guy?
Liam took a swig of whiskey.
I took a sip of ale.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a grand idea,” Liam told Peter, swirling the golden liquid in his glass.
“He’ll come around.” Peter’s tone was more hopeful than confident.
This wasn’t an accidental encounter. Had Peter snuck in a call to Liam when phoning in our bets? I slid my gaze to the empty hallway.
Liam raised a curious brow. “A coworker, are ya? I’d heard he’s a tour guide now.”
“Not really a tour guide.” I explained our job, giving it a glamorous slant. I also mentioned we were there thanks to Peter and Declan finding my rellie.
Declan returned. He slammed his whiskey and motioned to Peter for another. “So how are your mum and dad?” he asked Liam.
“Grand. You should call on them.”
Declan nodded faintly, focusing on the TV.
“You know, they didn’t just lose a daughter—they also lost a son. It was hard on them that ya didn’t come around. Hard on us all.”
Liam was Shauna’s brother?
Declan nodded in understanding. Yet he knocked back his third whiskey in one gulp, then stared into the empty glass.
Liam swirled his whiskey some more and polished it off. He placed money on the bar, picking up our tab. “They’re in the same house.” He gave Declan a pat on the back. “Take care, mate. Tell your family Happy Christmas.”
Declan nodded, still focusing on his glass rather than Liam. “You too.”
Liam told me good-bye and walked out.
I let out a whoosh of air, almost expelling my lungs from my chest. I wasn’t about to narc on Peter for calling Liam, because it was good for Declan to finally face him—and his past.
However, he’d successfully avoided both.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Feckin’ brilliant.” Declan slid off his barstool. “Let’s go.”
“Um, I’m not done with my drink.”
He polished off my nearly full pint in three gulps.
“You can’t drive,” I said.
He slipped his car keys from his jeans pocket and dangled them in front of me. “You’re right. Drunk-driving laws are fierce now.”
I stared at the keys, my heart racing. “I can’t drive.”
Declan driving while over the legal alcohol limit would be safer than me driving sober. However, I didn’t want him to risk losing his license. At least his family was at his aunt’s in Waterford, so our first introduction wasn’t me bringing home their drunken son.
My heart skipped a beat.
We’d be alone at Declan’s house.
“It’s just up the road. You probably won’t encounter another car the entire way.”
He’d once mentioned Killybog was almost a half hour from his parents. Far from just up the road. He dropped the keys on the bar in front of me. He shook Peter’s hand and left.
I reluctantly grabbed the keys and my coat. I thanked Peter again for his help and headed toward the door, car keys clutched in my hand, a sick feeling in my stomach. Not just because I was about to put our lives in danger, but I had the feeling Declan wasn’t going to discuss Liam. It hurt that he didn’t care to share his feelings. Visiting Killybog and our families’ homeland meant different things for us. Being here should provide him the perfect opportunity to come to grips with his past so that we could have a future. I didn’t expect him to spill his guts about Shauna, but if we were going to have a relationship, he at least had to be able to discuss her brother. And introduce me as a friend rather than a coworker.
Damnit. Declan was usually the responsible one taking control of a situation, making it all better, coming to my rescue.
What if I wasn’t able to rescue him?