Page 90 of Road Trip
“Take the rest of the torte,” Angela urged, following Liam and Maeve down the path to the pasture. She brandished a white cardboard bakery box. “It’s from your favorite shop in the village, Liam.”
“Christ,” Liam muttered under his breath, “here we go again. Angie, lunch was great. I couldn’t eat another bite. And I had two slices of the torte already, so no, but thank you very much. Send it home with Cormac and Siobhan.”
“Siobhan’s off sweets this week. You take it, Maeve. You didn’t touch any of the desserts.”
Maeve wavered. She didn’t actually want any gooey chocolate torte, but she’d lived in the South her whole life, and Mary Helen had instilled in her the belief that a polite guest never turns down an offer of leftovers. Besides, Therese was a fiend for chocolate anything.
“Well, if you insist…”
“I do!” Angela thrust the bakery box into her hands.
“So lovely meeting you today, Maeve. Come back soon, will you?”
The women hugged an extended goodbye, while Liam waited patiently.
Liam was drumminghis fingertips on the steering wheel.
“Are you annoyed with me about something?” Maeve asked.
He shrugged. “It’s nothing really.”
“Whenever someone says ‘it’s nothing’ I almost always find that it actually is something,” Maeve replied. “Maybe you could save me some anxiety and just come out and tell me what’s wrong?”
He glanced over at her, then returned his eyes to the road. “You came on a little strong with Jamie today, don’t you think?”
Stunned, she sat with his remark for a moment, replaying their conversation in her head.
“You told me he was willing to talk about his mother and the IRA robbery. And he readily answered all my questions. You were there, he didn’t even hesitate. Even his wife chimed in.”
A muscle in Liam’s jaw twitched. “Jamie was being polite, because you were my guest. I didn’t know you were going to put the poor fellow’s whole life under the microscope—and interrogate him—in front of the whole family, to boot.”
“Liam…” She tried to come up with a response, but was too flustered. She stared out the window at the passing countryside, stung by his accusation, fighting back tears.
“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “Maybe this was a bad idea. But if I thought Jamie was uncomfortable talking about Starr, I never would have brought it up. Clearly there’s some kind of cultural gap at work here that an outsider like me can’t grasp.”
Liam continued drumming his fingertips. Maeve wanted to reach over and snatch them away from the steering wheel.
“I’m sure you meant no harm,” he said stiffly. “Let’s just forget about the whole thing.”
“Fine with me,” Maeve said, chewing her bottom lip.
“Ah. There it is—a woman says it’s fine when fine is totallynotwhat she means.”
Maeve turned to face him. “Look. There’s no point in continuing this argument.”
“It’s not an argument.”
She shook her head in frustration. “Argument, disagreement, whatever you want to call it, this is just pointless. I had a really nice time today, meeting your family. They’re all lovely, warm and welcoming. And I’ve enjoyed spending these past few days with you. But I’m leaving here and heading home in a few days, and I’d like to think that we could forget this unpleasant moment and part friends. Okay? So, thank you for teaching me how to appreciate good whiskey, and thank you for introducing me to traditional Irish music. But mostly, thank you for reminding me how nice it is…” She paused, then forced herself to be honest with him.
“Thank you for reminding me how nice it is to feel a connection with a handsome stranger. You’ll never know how much I needed that at this point in my life.”
His stony expression crumbled. “What are you on about? Maeve, you’re blowing this way out of proportion. You did ask why I was annoyed and I told you. So now you’re giving me the kiss-off—the ‘let’s just be friends’ talk? Fuck that. I don’t want to be just friends. You have four more days here, I want—”
“Three, technically. We drive to Dublin Wednesday afternoon to fly back to the States Thursday morning.”
“Then that’s three more days we can see each other,” he said. “I have to work, but my evenings are free.”
“But mine aren’t,” she said gently. “And Therese and I still need answers to our questions—about our great-grandmother’s innocence, and yes, about the portrait.”
