Page 103 of Road Trip
“It’s a freakin’ mile and a half,” Therese groaned as they finally reached their destination. “Can you imagine walking this far for dinner in Savannah?”
“Yeah, but look where that walk took us. This place looks like Narnia, if Narnia had a sticker on the door saying ‘We Accept Mastercard, Visa, and Amex,’” Maeve said.
The Stag and the Hare was situated in a small tumbledown-looking cottage with half-timbered eaves, a flowering yellow rosebush sprawling across the stone façade, and a green-and-white-striped awning over the arched front door.
“I love it already,” Therese said as they stepped inside the low-ceilinged room. The walls were a light pine, and candles flickered from tables covered with pale pink damask cloths.
The host showed them to their table and handed them drink menus.
“Look at these cocktail names,” Therese said. “Pink Squirrel, Holy Negroni, Cheeky Monkey. I think I want one of each. Also, that’s a job I’d aspire to. Cocktail namer.”
“Check out those prices before you go crazy,” her sister cautioned. “If we’re not careful, we could blow our dinner budget on just a couple drinks.”
“I hate it when you’re being practical,” Therese said. She closed the menu with an aggrieved sigh. “Guess I’ll just have a glass of the house red.”
“Me too.”
Their server arrived back tableside with a bottle of champagne nestled in a silver bucket of ice, and two coupes.
“Veuve Clicquot?” Maeve squeaked in alarm. “We didn’t order this.”
“Compliments of the guests at table six,” the server said,pointing to a corner table, where a dark-haired man and his blond companion were seated.
Maeve turned around to look and Luke Grogan raised his wineglass in a friendly salute. Angela, his wife, gave a wink and a finger wave.
“Who is that gorgeous guy and why is he sending us a bottle of Veuve?” Therese whispered.
“That’s Liam’s oldest brother Luke, and the beautiful blonde is his wife Angela, so don’t go getting any ideas.”
“What does he do that he can afford to shower a couple of strangers with a bottle of the most expensive champagne in the house?”
“According to Liam, he co-founded a software company, sold it for zillions, and now he plays at farming. They live in a mansion that’s straight out ofGone With the Wind. His wife, by the way, is a sweetheart, and they have three adorable kids including a pair of redheaded demon twins and a fairy-princess four-year-old.”
Maeve tasted the champagne that the server poured into her glass and nodded her approval. The server topped off both the women’s glasses, and Maeve raised her own glass and mouthed “Thank you” in Luke’s direction.
The sisters sipped the champagne and scanned the menu. “Thank God it’s prix fixe,” Maeve said. “I think we can just about get out of here on budget.”
“I’m thinking lamb chops,” Therese said. “Is that cruel? After seeing all the adorable lambs in all the pastures everywhere this past week?”
“Think of it as helping the local economy,” Maeve advised. “I’m going to have the roast salmon with caramelized lemon and fennel.”
“And potatoes,” Therese added. “I’ve never seen so many potatoes cooked so many ways as they do here in Ireland.”
“Remember, it’s the crop that saved our people.”
Their server brought a basket of still-warm bread and a crock of butter and took their entrée orders.
When he was gone, Maeve leaned across the table. “Okay. Now, tell me everything Esme said. Spill.”
Therese took a gulp of champagne. “God, that’s nice. I could definitely get used to drinking this stuff.”
“Just don’t go counting your champagne bottles until the painting is sold,” her sister warned.
For the next thirty minutes, in between salads of shaved endive and candied walnuts, and a soup of curried carrots and parsnips, Therese related the details of the IRA robbery and the aftermath, only omitting the impulsive, painful admission she’d shared with Esme about her own real-life trauma.
“This is all so… mind-blowing,” Maeve said, at a momentary loss for words.
“To look at her, you’d think Esme was some really eccentric little old lady who probably sat around penning poems and baking scones. Turns out she’s the Irish equivalent of Patty Hearst,” Therese said.
