Chapter 66
New York City, 1984
Perched on the edge of Patrick Murray’s desk, in his large New York newspaper office, her features purposely arranged in a sad pout for the occasion, Megan O’Donnell pleaded, “Chief, admit it, I’m perfect for this story.”
“How many nos you need,” Murray said and mumbled something else beneath his breath as he extended his interest in the sheets of type he was shuffling through.
“A single yes.” She winked. “Would get me off your case.”
“And your Uncle Dev on this fat butt of mine. What the hell you think they’re popping over there—balloons? Your dad, Holy Mother Mary!” Murray had called both those men friend for a number of years.
“I’ll play it careful—promise.” Megan’s pout deepened. “I’ve got this gut feeling the new troubles could have something to do with the IGA. And who knows those kids better than me?”
“IGA.” Murray shook his head in disgust and complained. “World’s become full of initials. Soon need a new dictionary to sort them out.” He picked up a pen and drummed it on the scarred surface of his oak desk.
Megan placed her small hand over Murray’s large paw to silence the pen and her tone dropped to a confidential whisper. “Deirdre O’Neill called me last night. She was dying to confide something, but, of course, she’s been too carefully tutored to allow more than hints. She’s been in Ulster since Saturday. A coincidence? Jason Connors left for London last Saturday. Spend some time with his brother in London, but Dee claims he’s really headed to meet her.”
“Connors’ kid going to Ulster now? Don’t add up. Why did the O’Neill girl call you?”
“We have become deathless friends.” Megan shook her head and grimaced as if the fact lacked appeal. “Ever since that protest got out of hand at the UN last year. Never my idea but now it may payoff.”
“So. You want to go off on a lark? You’re supposed to cover the news not make it.”
“Come on, Chief, I can handle Dede. Trouble on the Islands had slacked off; now suddenly things are heating up big time and it could get worse. If I’m right and the IGA is involved think of the exclusive.”
“Something happens to you. I am thinking of my obituary when the headlines scream Devlin and O’Donnell dissect one fat Murray—alive.”
Sensing that he was weakening, Megan pressed on. “Deirdre O’Neill could unjustly be called a redhead especially at night in that kind of confusion.”
The newsman replaced the concerned friend in Patrick Murray and he said, “You win. See Joyce, she’ll set up a flight and see to your expenses. Watch yourself over there.”
She planted a kiss on his plump cheek. “Love yah.” She whistled the expected response before she fled his office.
She was forced to wait and squirm for better than an hour until Joyce informed her, “You leave Kennedy at nine-ten. Had to book you into Dublin, best I could do. A rental car will be at the airport. Can you drive standard? Good. Remember, you drive on the opposite—all right! Just a thought. You can pick up your expenses at five. I’ll have it already changed. Good luck kid.” Joyce, tall, blonde, with a body that captured their boss’ attention irritated Megan.
Megan muttered, “Thanks,” and closed the office door on a softly repeated, “kid!” It was nearly 4:00pm. She couldn’t make it to her apartment, pack and be back by five. She’d have to wait. If she was lucky the courier might be early.
But—he wasn’t.
At 7:10pm she was congratulating herself that she didn’t have to worry about pets or plants. It wasn’t like the apartment couldn’t use something alive for company. For three years now, she’d been telling herself, she needed to start thinking of this place as home. It was time to make a bigger break, to stop the weekly trek every Friday afternoon for dinner with Pop and hopefully Tom.
Tom—she’d really thought when he found her this terrific Manhattan apartment, with its impossibly reasonable rent, that he had different intentions. She’d hoped he might stop being her ‘big brother’. It hadn’t happened. Then that fiasco with Seamus. She was convinced that frustration caused by Tom’s apparent blindness had caused her to seduce the Irishman.
One suitcase, that’s all the guys ever take. She looked longingly at the rest of her matched set of luggage. Punching clothing flat still didn’t help and she was forced to remove several articles to get the top and bottom latches to meet. She called her answering service, a cab, and then reluctantly dialed again.
“Dad,” she bubbled into the receiver, “great news, I won’t be home for a couple weeks.”
“That’s great news?”
“Wait, let me tell you. I’ve got my first overseas assignment.” She laughed in hopes to disguise the almost lie. “I leave for Dublin tonight.”
“Dublin? What could be news there?”
“Nothing mind boggling. But it’s a start. Parent or not, you’ll have to read it in the paper under my byline. Make sure you tell Tom. Brag a little. Got to go—my cab’s honking.”
She nearly melted in the oven-like atmosphere of a cab with a broken air-conditioner. She almost shortened her tongue as she tolerated the insolent driver who poked his way through traffic and snapped strange versions of English, that she guessed were nasty, to her pleas to hurry.
Forced to take the terminal on a run, she banged her pregnant suite case into the leg of a man stepping up behind her as she swung it on the belt. In her embarrassment she couldn’t bring herself to look up as she whimpered an apology.
“First class can go on now, have a good flight.” The agent smiled holding forth two boarding passes. “Mr. and Mrs. O’Donnell.”
As Megan quickly turned her head the huge, “WHAT!” formed an ‘o’ of her mouth. “Seamus, you’re the one I was beating up on?”
The laughter the man had been restraining burst forth in a roar as he clasped Megan in his free arm and offered, “Show you the bruises, lass.”
She quickly pulled away. “Never mind I’ll take your word for it. Where are you headed?” She asked as they started down the ramp.
“Sure, I suppose wherever this plane is headed.”
“Stupid question.”
~~~
The steward said, “Mr. and Mrs. O’Donnell, this way please.” Neither corrected him.
“The window,” Seamus offered.
“Thanks. Pop fled to the States when I was only ten.” Megan slipped into the well-padded seat. “This is my first time back.”
Removing his jacket, he tossed it up top and loosened his tie before settling in. “You are?”
“You’re?”
They laughed and he offered, “You first?”
A smile played at Megan’s lips as she laid her head back. “It’s been a while; tell me what you’ve been up too.”
“A cocktail?” The steward paused at their seats.
“That’s a better idea. Megan?”
Ordering, accepting, she swirled the ice in the glass before adding the scotch. “Tell me about the North?” She was determined to maintain a conversational tone. “I was born in Armagh, but it’s foreign to me. Dad moved us to the states before I was ten. My mom had died so we headed for the promised land.”
“Your mother? She died in the North?”
“I think so. My father doesn’t say much about it. Somewhere along the way he lost a son too. He has to really be in his cups to even mention my brother’s name.”
Minutes turned into hours as their conversations peaked and withered as they dozed only to be reborn on awaking. Breakfast came and went, when Megan, stealing a glance at her watch, realized, “We should have landed forty minutes ago.”
An unnatural silence suddenly engulfed the first class section as her unthinking announcement alerted the other passengers. Quickly the steward was at her side with, “Nothing to be concern over—lost a bit of time in takeoff.”
Disagreeing, Megan informed a trifle too loud, “We were so on time I almost missed the flight?”
For which the young steward hissed, “Shut up!” Catching himself he was quick with the, “Sorry, lass, but you’re upsetting people.” Still his eyes narrowed in anger as he gave Seamus a hard, mean glance.
Surprisingly, in the temperature-controlled atmosphere, Megan caught the scent of raw sweat as Seamus leaned across her to stare out the window. Breaking cloud cover, the jet had begun to turn. Below a city came into view and Seamus loudly exclaimed, “Belfast!” and pandemonium broke loose.