Chapter Five

Memory is never a precise duplicate of the original . . . it is a continuing act of creation.

Rosalind Cartwright, The Twenty-four Hour Mind

The Lark was housed in an eighty-year-old brick and tabby building that had always been a pub, as far as Colleen knew, although it had once been known by another name and owned by another family. Her dad had baptized it the Lark some thirty-five years ago, after his favorite Irish poem and song. He and Mother had just married when they bought the place and Colleen was only a twinkle in their eyes.

Colleen ambled slowly around to the front of the building, wanting to see its face before entering; Shane followed.

The name was writ large in a golden Celtic font across an emerald-green frieze above the pub door. The single front door was arched and painted a bright red with dark green trim. The slate roof sloped with a single chimney pot poking up like a submarine tower from a sea of dark shingles. A brass knocker forged into the Claddagh design—two hands surrounding a heart—hung in the middle of the door. It was a home to many and definitely to the Donohue family. The Lark’s facade was as familiar to Colleen as the smile of her dad’s face.

“It never changes,” she said to Shane and leaned against his shoulder.

“I hope it never will. It feels like the only stable thing right now.”

Colleen kissed her brother’s cheek. “We’ll get through this. He’s here with us. That’s what matters most.”

Shane gave her that look, the one that let her know he didn’t agree but wasn’t going to fight with his big sister. Colleen pulled out her ponytail, feeling her hair come loose around her face. “And the hair puff begins,” she said. “Welcome to South Carolina and a hundred percent humidity.”

Shane laughed as he pushed open the front door and together they entered the main room of the pub. She was all of her ages when she walked through that front door—from childhood to preteen to adolescence and beyond. Memories pulsed like electricity.

Dark wood was blushed golden by low-slung lanterns casting their glow across the floors and tables. The back wall glistened with the starlight of glass barware and bottles lined on wooden shelves. Posters announcing bands and singers, some events past and some coming soon, shared space on the walls with signed photos of small-town celebrities. Strung across the back of the bar, pennant flags announced the countries from which they’d received visitors through the years. The flags flapped with the breeze when the bartenders were busy behind the lacquered bar.

Colleen looked at her brother. “The bar stools. They’re new.”

Leather bar stools were lined like the bottles on the shelves, ready for the customers that would come later in the day. Behind the bar, the shiny brass taps with their rounded heads were ready to dispense the requested brand of beer.

“Yep. It was one of the many things Dad did before I took over the finances. He found the stools on eBay and bought a load of them. Brand new. Leather with brass nail-heads. He misunderstood the terms of sale—thought the price for one of them was the price for the lot of them.”

“Oh, God. Sounds like something I would do.”

“Yes, but something you would do and remember doing.”

Colleen walked to a stool and ran her hands over the smooth leather. “They sure fancy up the place.”

“No one here likes fancy; they want things to stay the same. They want to feel that when they’re here time doesn’t pass.”

Colleen nodded. “I get that.” She glanced around the room. The pub was empty of patrons—it wasn’t open yet, and only memories lingered in the corners, having their private life. “I need a beer,” she said and walked behind the bar, grabbed a tall mug and expertly poured herself a Guinness, tipping the glass so that the white froth would rise to the top, evenly skimmed. It was a task that took both patience and skill—a true Guinness, her dad had taught her as a child, took exactly 119 seconds to pour from a tap.

“You still got it,” her brother said.

“Whoa, miss, can I help you?” A tall guy in a baseball cap, muscles bulging like a fake costume under a too-tight T-shirt, entered from the back room and approached Colleen.

“Oh, Hank, this is Lena, my sister,” Shane said with a laugh. “Don’t tackle her.” Shane looked at Colleen. “This is Hank, our bouncer, bartender, manager and all-around do-anything-I-need guy.”

Hank gave a bow and salute. “Mighty fine to meet you. You’re a legend around here.” He pointed to the slow draw of the beer against her glass.

“A legend?” Colleen didn’t look away from the glass until it was full and then she tilted it to allow the foam to settle. She hadn’t tasted Guinness since the day she’d left—avoiding it as the memory spark it could be. She took a long sip and then instantly regretted every day she’d ordered anything else.

“Yes, indeed,” Hank said. “A woman who could outbartend and outwit every man in the place.”

“False,” she said with a laugh, but enjoying the compliment. “It’s just talk. I spilled more beer than I served.”

“That, too,” Hank said. “I heard that, too.” And then came a holler from the back for someone to check on a delivery. “A pleasure,” he said and was off.

Colleen then turned to see a woman slouched at a corner booth, someone she hadn’t noticed when they’d arrived. Only the woman’s back was visible. Scattered over the round tabletop were notebooks, a calendar and stacks of paper. Her head was bent over the papers, the long stretch of her neck hidden beneath a cascade of blond hair. A thick dark Guinness sat untouched beside her, the white foam atop it not yet dented by the first and best sip.

Hallie.

A quiver of both anxiety and expectation ran underneath Colleen’s ribs. She had no idea what to do or say—the ingrained habit of turning away, of slighting her sister, was rising. But she had to find a new way of being with her if they were going to help their dad.

Colleen came from behind the bar just as Hallie turned around. They stared at each other for a moment, a still point in the room. It was the first time their eyes had found each other since that moment in the church ten years ago. Colleen didn’t budge, her mug of beer wavering in the air halfway between her lips and her elbow. Her sister looked older, but of course she would. Her eyes were puffy; she’d been crying. But still she was pretty in the way she’d always been: small mouth, small nose and round brown eyes just like their mother’s. She wore glasses now—tortoiseshell.

Colleen walked the few steps toward her sister. “Hi, sis.” Colleen spoke first and didn’t break her gaze.

Hallie’s brows drew together in a question. “Hello, Lena.” Her greeting was tepid at best.

“How’s it going?” Colleen exhaled the question.

“Huh?”

Colleen shrugged. “Okay, that was dumb. I just don’t know what to say . . .” She didn’t even try to fake a smile.

Hallie shook her head and motioned for them all to sit. “I have some stuff for us to go over for Dad’s party.”

“Already? Can’t we take a second to . . .” Colleen didn’t know what exactly they needed to take a second to do.

“Not really,” Hallie said and glanced at their brother. “The party’s only two weeks away. And on top of that we must figure out Dad’s health care and his finances because any second now you’ll bolt, and Shane and I will be left holding the bag.”

“I’ll bolt?” Colleen exhaled the words with a cough of disgust. “Are you kidding me? That’s how you want to start this, when I’m here to help?” Hallie’s comment was a preemptive strike and Colleen knew that—she was being told she’d ignored her sister for far too long.

Hallie waved away Colleen’s retort. “There’s a lot to do.”

She was right—there was a lot to do. The table was littered with calendars and lists and pages highlighted with various colored markers. Hallie, the organized one; she always had been. Even her college degree was in hospitality management—event planning her specialty. One calendar was labeled “Family” and the other “Dad’s Party.” On one were slots for ballet and art camp and babysitters, and on the other were slots for caterer, band and guest list. Then there was the large blue folder labeled “Medical.”

“Let’s get started,” Shane said. “Now that the happy reunion is over.”

Neither sister laughed or addressed his, once again, terrible joke. He tried again. “As the Irish say, be sure to taste your words before you spit them out.”

“Shane!”

“Shane!”

The sisters said his name in unison.

An awkward silence passed and Shane spoke up. “Okay, well, we can’t let someone else make decisions for Dad. This is up to us. We have a lot to talk about, to unravel. And listen, this is going to be a great party. We haven’t given a big bash in a long while. I think the last time the town saw something like this was when that movie from Hollywood filmed and opened here. We want to make it special. Aunt Rosie and Fred are coming in. Old friends of Dad’s from Virginia. Probably half the town. I don’t know how the hell we’re going to keep it a secret, but there’s a lot to do.”

Colleen nodded. “We’ve got this. We’re all here together. This is ours to figure out. This is our family.”

Hallie set her glasses carefully on the table. “Our family? Now you want to call it yours?”

Colleen opened her mouth for a quick retort, but was silent. For years, Hallie had begged for reconciliation, and Colleen had ignored her, shunned her. Sure, in the privacy of Colleen’s room or in the middle of a dark night, she’d thought of the terrible things she wanted to say to her sister, but she’d never uttered any of them. Now she felt those withheld words rising and she did her best to swallow them.

There was a reason she’d avoided even a single discussion with her sister: the way she felt at that moment, dislocated and free-falling. She couldn’t bear it. This exact feeling was what she’d avoided for a full decade. “Don’t do this.” Colleen spoke in a whisper.

“Lena?” Shane said and placed his hand on her arm.

Colleen turned her head slowly to her brother. “Take me home to see Dad. I want to see him now.”

Hallie brushed her hand through her hair and began to gather her papers. “Of course you’re going to run. That’s all you’ve ever done.”

“Are you kidding me?” Colleen stood and stepped back, emotions swamping her. “You didn’t give me any choice. What, you wanted me to hang around to watch the never-ending betrayal?”

Hallie didn’t answer, but she didn’t back down either, staring at her sister.

“Hallie, you forced me to leave; you betrayed me; you broke my heart—and now you point the finger at me?” Colleen shook her head. “I’m here to help Dad, not fight with you.”

“I forced you to leave?” Hallie’s voice broke, a crack in the hard facade of anger. “I begged you to come back; to talk to me; to let me explain. I tried to . . . apologize. Do you realize this is the first time you’ve even said my name?”

Colleen leaned forward and placed her hands on the back of the chair. “Do you realize I had to leave behind everything and everyone I loved?” Colleen pushed at the chair, making a harsh scraping sound.

“You obviously have things you want to say to me.” Hallie glanced away. “No matter how sorry I am, it won’t matter to you so go ahead. Get it over with. I’ve waited a long, long time.”

“I do, but not now.”

“Yep, you’ll leave now, saying you love us but never coming back, never meeting your nieces or seeing your family.”

“I do love . . .” Colleen’s words were choked; she was losing grip on her tightly held control.

“If you’d loved us, you wouldn’t have run. You would have stayed, listened. Maybe you’d always wanted to leave.”

“Hallie.” Colleen felt dizzy. “That’s not true. You . . . you betrayed me. You were the only person in all the world I believed would never, but you did.” She held up her hand. For ten years she’d slammed her mouth shut against her emotions. “Not now.” She began to walk away, slowly, carefully, as if she might trip on the very words that had spilled from her mouth.

Shane piped up. “Whoa. You’re not going anywhere, sis. It’s time for me to tell you my idea,” he said as Colleen made for the back door, her heart hammering.

“Can’t wait to hear it,” Colleen called over her shoulder, “as most of your ideas are good ol’ trouble. But right now all I want is to go home.”

“All right, but I can’t leave right now.” Shane dug out his car keys from his back pocket. “Here.” He tossed them to her and she grabbed them in midair. And then he let out a noise that sounded like a grunt their old dog used to emit when he fell from the bed to the hardwood floor. “God help me get through this with the likes of you two.”