forty-six

When Merrit agreed to let the Earrach Festival be held in Liam’s back field, she hadn’t understood the magnitude of the event. First of all, she’d had to learn how to pronounce Earrach, Irish for “spring.” ARR-ack, with trilling rs and an impossibly hard k from the back of the throat. She’d given up saying the word aloud—she sounded ridiculous—and reconciled herself to the Event, capital E intended, now a little over a week away.

Merrit had pictured a tent raised against the inevitable spring showers and portable heaters to lessen the chill. She hadn’t given the logistics much thought until now.

She perused the showroom of Imperial Marquees, astounded by the diversity and extravagance of the available “tents” for hire. These weren’t tents; these were temporary structures. She stooped to peer at a scale model of the Faery Light Marquee with a clear roof and strands of lights strewn throughout.

“Or we have the French Vintage Marquee,” Louise, the event manager, said. “And then you must consider the liners and leg drapes and a platform.”

“Platform?”

“The floor, dear. You can’t have your guests stepping on sheep dung.”

Feeling lightheaded, Merrit excused herself and wandered toward Liam and Zoe. They sat on chairs, perusing spec sheets and portfolios. Zoe held Liam’s hand. She smiled and waved with the other hand.

“We found one that might be perfect,” she said.

Liam slipped his hand out of Zoe’s. He had insisted on coming along, that he was grand, and that Zoe should come, too, if Merrit was going to be such a bloody nuisance about his welfare.

“It’s called the Chill Zone Marquee,” Zoe said. “See? It has seating areas rather than formal table settings, and an area for the band.”

“What band?” Merrit said.

Zoe peered at Liam. “Did I misunderstand?”

Liam shook his head. “Bank holiday on Monday, so why not let the festivities go long into the night? The Matchmaker’s Festival includes traditional music.”

“But this isn’t the Matchmaker’s Festival,” Merrit said. “This was supposed to be—I don’t know—a little party.”

“Ay, a little party.”

Merrit retreated back to the models, cursing the Irish tendency for understatement. “A wee bit of craic” could mean an all-night blowout. “Down the road” could mean five miles to the next village.

She found the model for the Chill Zone Marquee. It looked fine to her. Glancing up, she caught Zoe holding Liam’s hand again. They spoke in a private manner, and Merrit suspected that if she approached, they’d go silent on her.

Liam had taken to Zoe, to be sure. Merrit understood the appeal. He needed variety and stimulation. But still, she didn’t care for Zoe’s overfamiliarity and didn’t care for how she felt not liking it, as if she were missing out on something herself.

Merrit continued past more scale models toward the toilets. A long row of wall panels hid the toilets and offices from view of the showroom. Zoe and Liam sat on one side of the partition while Merrit hovered a few feet from them on the other side. Zoe’s vanilla scent drifted on the air.

Zoe laughed. “Off with you, then. What more do you need?” Her voice turned serious. “I can’t keep doing it, though. I worry about my dad. How he might leave me again.”

Liam hmmed like he did when people came to him to be matched. An open invitation. Merrit settled in, eager to know Zoe beyond her shimmering blue scarves and butterfly accessories.

“He could decide to have you match him someday,” Zoe said. “He could meet a new Annie—God bless her—and leave me alone.”

“Loneliness is a powerful emotion,” Liam said.

Merrit let her head rest against the wall.

“Loneliness.” Zoe didn’t sound sure about this word. “No, abandonment. I used to have a lovely relationship with him.”

Voices rose from inside the office behind Merrit.

“When did the loveliness end?” Liam said.

“Maybe it floundered the year before my mom died, when I was twelve.”

The voices in the office approached the door. Merrit eased her way toward the toilets while still eavesdropping. She missed something Zoe said, but then her voice rose. “Liam, you did it again. I’m after trying to make a point, and you steer me in a different direction.”

The office door cracked open. Merrit ran into the ladies’ and then reopened the door as if exiting. Louise, the event manager, appeared with one of her colleagues.

“’Allo then, did you find your marquee?” she said.

Merrit let the bathroom door slam shut behind her. “The Cool Chill Marquee looks good.”

“The Chill Zone, dear,” Louise said. “Come along then, let’s sort this out.”

Liam released Zoe’s hand when Merrit stepped around the partition.