The Emerald Isle (3 page)

Barkley edged closer, still intent on the oatmeal, so I offered him my index finger for a lick.

“And she’s Irish, for heaven’s sake—and probably six months away from being an illegal alien. Who knows? She may be looking for an American husband so she can become a citizen and stay in this country. Taylor is altogether too inexperienced with women—those outside of his books, at any rate.”

Barkley finished licking my finger, then lowered himself to the cool tile floor, his eyes alert. Mindful of the dog drool on my index finger, I used my middle finger to paint my face this time, then offered him another taste of masque. “The truth is, buddy, I always thought Taylor and I would get together at some point. We’re alike. We’re best friends. And even though there’s no passionate love affair going on between us, that kind of thing fades after a while, doesn’t it?”

Barkley tilted his head and gave my finger a final lick, then sat back and blessed me with one of his brightest doggie smiles. I stared wistfully at him for a long moment, then sighed and washed my hands. Dogs are great listeners, but terrible advice-givers.

I got up, tightened the belt of my bathrobe, and gave my gooey reflection a test smile. The masque had definitely tightened on my skin—either that, or just the thought of Taylor and Maddie made me feel tense and strained all over.

T
he next two weeks flew by in a blur. Since the college semester ended, my boss at the Tattered Leaves bookstore had moved me from part time to full time, so work filled my days from nine till five. I still went to the delicatessen after work, and Taylor still showed up to keep me company—with Maddie. I was actually considering a deli boycott until Taylor took the hint, but then a miracle happened: One afternoon she didn’t appear. The sight of her empty chair cheered me tremendously until Taylor explained that Maddie had to work late.

“She got a job?”

“I found her a place at the college.” Taylor crossed his arms and grinned like a proud papa. “Administrative assistant in the English department. With her humanities background, I think she’s perfect for the job.”

On and on he blathered, ad nauseam. Maddie loved the arts, Maddie loved the English department, Maddie even loved Kipling. Since meeting Taylor only two weeks ago, she had read
The Jungle Book
and
The Man Who Would Be King
, and now she had begun to read
Kim
.

“She’s quite the reader,” I remarked, wondering why my tuna sandwich seemed dry and tasteless today. “I hear the love of literature is an Irish trait.”

“Well, so many of the great writers are Irish,” Taylor mumbled around his sandwich. “James Joyce, Frank McCourt, and W. B. Yeats just begin the list.” He swallowed, then looked at me with amusement in his eyes. “Don’t forget, Kathy—
you’re
Irish. And you’re a writer, too.”

“It’s Kathleen—and I
hope
to be a writer. We still have to see if someone will hire me when I finish school.”

“You’re already a writer—your work on the heirs of Cahira O’Connor proves it. So don’t keep putting yourself down. I still think you ought to try and get those manuscripts published as soon as you finish. There’s still Cahira’s story to tell—and your own.”

“I have no story, and you know it. I’m as ordinary as white paper, so stop pushing me to be something I’m not.” Pretending to pout, I picked up a french fry and dabbed it in a puddle of catsup. My work on the heirs of Cahira O’Connor was a bit of a sore subject and Taylor knew it, but at least the conversation had shifted away from the wonders of Maddie O’Neil.

Taylor turned his smile up a notch. “Still afraid you’re destined to do something heroic in the twenty-first century?”

I shrugged to hide my confusion. “Why do you ask? I’ve gathered the impression that you don’t care one way or the other.”

He sank back, his face sagging like a kicked dog’s. “How could you say such a thing? Of course I care. I thought we were friends.”

“Of course we’re friends.” I ran my fingernail over the plastic tablecloth and struggled to conquer my involuntary reactions to that gentle and concerned look of his. “It’s just—well, you’ve been spending so much time with Maddie.”

“I know. And I’m glad Maddie had to work today, because I wanted to talk to you privately. I’ve been trying to find some time where we could be alone.”

An inexpressible feeling of happiness sprouted inside me. “You have?”

“Yes.” Taylor shifted and hung one arm over the back of his chair.
“I’m about to do something profound, Kathy, and I need your guidance. You’ve never given me bad advice.”

My happiness blossomed and unfurled like an American Beauty rose. Maddie O’Neil had turned his head, but when Taylor needed advice, he turned to his most trusted friend. Me.

I leaned forward and folded my hands on the table. “I’m here for you, Taylor. You can tell me anything.” I studied his face, searching for some insight into his thoughts. “What’s on your mind?”

His hand moved restlessly across the table, then he picked up his fork and planted it on the tablecloth, the tines pricking the plastic. “This isn’t easy for me to talk about, so I’ll just get to the point. Maddie’s father has prostate cancer. He’s been through radiation, chemo, and everything else they could do, but nothing helped. The doctors estimate he has less than a year to live.”

A rush of sweet sympathy poured through my soul. “Oh, Taylor, that’s awful.”

Nodding, Taylor turned the fork upside down. “Maddie hasn’t been able to afford the trip back to see him, but she’s going to have to go soon.”

My sympathetic smile froze into position. What followed could be good news or bad, depending upon whether Maddie would return to Ireland alone…or with Taylor.

“So…she wants to go home?”

“She hasn’t said so, but I know she’ll want to go soon. The thing is—” He paused and blew out his cheeks. “Honestly, I never dreamed it would be so hard to say this. I feel like I can tell you anything, Kathy, but I don’t know how to tell you I want to take Maddie back to Ireland, marry her there, then bring her back to New York. And I want you to go with us so you can be in the wedding.”

My breath caught in my throat. He wanted me to go to Ireland with him and Maddie? To be in their
wedding?

Something automatic took over, and I think I managed to give him a strained smile. “I can’t go with you to Ireland.” My voice sounded
false and unnaturally bright in my ears. “Haven’t you ever heard that three’s a crowd?”

He hauled his gaze from his fork and returned his attention to me. “Kathleen”—a warning note lined his voice—“don’t be silly. You’re my friend, and you’re Maddie’s friend, so of course we want you in the wedding. You brought us together.”

How blind men are! I lowered my arms to my lap so he couldn’t see my hands clenching and unclenching beneath the table. “Have you asked Maddie about this? Most women like to plan their own weddings.”

“I haven’t asked her anything yet”—his gaze fell to the tablecloth—“but I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’s going to say yes when I propose. And I know she’ll want you in the wedding. She’s been away from Ireland for a while, so I don’t think she’ll have many girlfriends for attendants, and she has no sisters, only a brother. But she wants a big Irish wedding, and I want you there even if I have to make you the best man.”

An odd coldness settled upon me. My best friend was about to wreck his life, and he wanted me to witness the head-on collision.

“Taylor, you’ve only known Maddie two weeks. That’s not nearly long enough to make a decision about marriage.”

“I’ve thought of that. That’s why I want to spend several weeks in Ireland confirming our feelings and getting to know Maddie’s family. I was thinking we could leave as soon as our passports come through, and stay through October.” He looked at me with dewy moisture in his beautiful blue eyes. “I thought it’d be nice to be married on October 16; Maddie has mentioned that’s her father’s birthday. Then we can honeymoon in Ireland and come back to New York in time for Christmas and the beginning of the winter semester.”

Ripples of shock spread from an epicenter in my heart, sending waves of numbness to the crown of my head and the tips of my toes. Quickly I counted on my fingers. “You want me to go to Ireland for four
months?”

I noted a familiar softness around his mouth and knew he was about to smile. “By the time we get our passports, it won’t be that long. And Maddie and I will need a few weeks to arrange the wedding details.”

I swallowed the scream of frustration that had risen at the back of my throat. “And what am I supposed to do all that time? I can’t just go hang out in Ireland—”

“You can finish your work on Cahira.” Taylor dropped his fork and leaned over the table, dangerously close to me. “Think of it, Kathleen—you’ll be right
there.
Right where Cahira lived and died, on the same ground, beside the same hills, under the same skies. You can visit libraries and museums and look at ancient artifacts. You can soak up local color until you’re as green as a shamrock.” His blond brows arched mischievously. “Don’t tell me you’ve never wanted to go to Ireland. I know better.”

I shook my head as mixed feelings surged through me. “Sure, I’ve wanted to go, but that’s just Cinderella talk, Taylor. You’re talking about leaving in a few weeks—and staying away for months! I can’t go. I have a job, I have a dog, I have school. I can’t just walk away from my entire life.”

“When else are you going to go?” A blue flame of defiance lit his eyes. “I know you, Kathleen. If you don’t come with us, you’ll stay here, finish school, marry the first guy who asks you, and settle down to raise the statistical average of 2.2 children while you write sweet little feature stories for the local paper. You’ll drive a station wagon, shop for groceries three times a week, and volunteer for room mother at your kids’ school. And every night you’ll fall into bed too tired from doing the little things to even
dream
about the big things. Is that any kind of life for an heir of Cahira O’Connor?”

I drew a deep breath and flexed my fingers until the urge to slap him had passed. “That sounds like a pretty good life to me. Why should I want more than any woman I know? I’d be
thrilled
to raise two happy kids and write stories for the local paper, as long as I fell
into bed at night with a wonderful husband! I don’t
want
fame or danger or excitement. I don’t need those things. But you must need them, Taylor. Why else would you want to go all the way to Ireland to marry a girl you barely know?”

Taylor’s blue eyes darkened as he held my gaze. “Because I know I can’t live without her. And I know her well enough to know she would want to be married with her family present, so that means Ireland. And I cherish
you
enough to want you with me.”

I managed a choking laugh. “You cherish
me?
”

He nodded. “I do. And I know you, probably better than you know yourself. I know Ireland is your motherland, whether or not you want to claim it, and Cahira’s legacy is yours, whether or not you want to acknowledge it. You need to come with us, Kathleen. My happiness wouldn’t be complete without you at my wedding.”

Then why don’t you marry
me,
you idiot?
I stared at him, thinking the words I didn’t dare speak because I knew
him
as well as he knew me. He thought of me as a sister, a friend, even a confidante, but I had never been a lover. And I would never be his wife.

I tore my eyes from his and looked at the floor, pretending to search for my purse, then bent down to dash the wetness from my eyes. “I gotta go.”

“But you’ll think about it?”

I picked up my purse, then met his gaze again. “You haven’t asked Maddie yet. She just might turn you down.”

Taylor laughed as if sincerely amused. “I don’t think so.”

I shrugged and stood, then plucked a ten-dollar bill from my wallet and dropped it on the table. “Here’s the money for my dinner, along with one free piece of advice—don’t buy a plane ticket before you talk to the bride. You wouldn’t be the first overconfident man to royally embarrass himself.”

Laughter floated up from his throat again, and I joined in as I walked off, hoping that for once life would prove me right.