Running Back

She told me an incredibly exciting story about artifacts from fifteen hundred years ago that she’d found on their land. I was still bouncing when I went to meet Mike and Lauren, despite the sudden summer thunderstorm. I ran through the village to the pub, clutching my precious notebook close so no ink would be smeared or paper ruined by the rain. I shook myself off when I went inside.

People packed the pub. A band had set up shop in one corner and played traditional Irish music, and a handful of tables had been pushed aside to make room for dancing. I made my way over to Mike, and he handed me a Guinness.

What a coincidence. I had just been in a mood for more Guinness.

We ended up squished at a table with Lauren and Paul. Mike scowled at his cousin. “Don’t you have any other friends?”

Paul took a swig of his pint. “You think I want to be hanging about with a bunch of culchies?”

We didn’t need an Irish-to-American dictionary to know that Paul was being derisive; he alternated insulting adjectives with great fluidity. I actually considered it a form of language immersion.

Mike leaned forward. “So why are you still here?”

Paul’s eyes slid in Lauren’s direction for the briefest second, and he shrugged. “Someone’s got to see Aunt Maggie sorted. Knew you weren’t up to it.”

A muscle in Mike’s jaw ticked. “Look, Connelly—”

“So!” I said brightly. “Who wants to hear what I learned today!”

They all reluctantly turned to face me.

I launched into my story about Mrs. Harrington’s discovery. It had taken place ten years ago when they were making the basement for their new house, but still.

Mike frowned thoughtfully. “So what about all the other layers? If you’re going straight to Iron Age, what happens to the rest of time?”

It made me happy that he’d asked that, like he was an intelligent undergrad in my Intro to Archaeology class. “Well, that’s the big question, isn’t it?”

“Huh?”

I smiled and switched into lecture-lite mode. “The thing about archaeology is its destructiveness. You can’t repeat an excavation and see if you get the same results. You can’t go back and check the positioning of the bricks and stones you’ve already pulled up. We map and take pictures of every single layer—God, how we map—but you’re right. Here, I want to get to the first century, and that means I might be tearing up footprints from medieval manors or twentieth century farmhouses.”

I paused. “I don’t think there’s going to be a ton of really important artifacts. I mean, sure, if we come across a cist burial, that’s going to be an issue. But I’m betting this land has been farmland since the beginning, and the things we do dig through aren’t going to be unlike what you’d find if you excavated anywhere else in the area around us.”

Lauren frowned. “How do you even know where to dig?”

I nodded. “It’s impossible to actually pinpoint the harbor, since there’s so many possible points. Luckily, a coastal survey took core samples of the area three years ago, so we do know there was saline water here two thousand years ago. There’s also, interestingly, a dolmen—that’s a portal tomb, you know, the giant rocks marking burial sites—that is oddly far away from water, which supports water being here, which is why I believe the harbor city is so far inland. I think there was a tributary that silted up.

“But since the area’s so large, I’m bringing in a specialist to do an electrical resistivity survey first, which should tell us if there’s any large structures buried. Hopefully I’ll find quays, or—this is what I really want—a sunken ship. If there’s nothing found that way, we’re going to open units using a systematic sampling, and I’m sure that will find something. It has to.”

Mike regarded me with an unhappy expression. Shoot, I’d gone too far into grad mode. Time to rein it in and act like a normal human.

“Natalie.”

“Yeah?”

“But you’re not going to dig there.”

“Oh, right.” I flushed. “I know that. I just got a little carried away.”

Paul’s eyes narrowed at Mike. “Do you derive some twisted pleasure in parading around as the prodigal son, even as you cut off the village’s chance of bringing in major money?”

Mike looked outraged. “It’s none of your business what I do with my land.”

Paul leaned forward. “Of course it’s not. Of course it should be left up to a bunch of Yanks to decide what to do with a place they’d never seen and they’ll never see again.”

“This is my family—”

“But not your country, mate—”

Lauren slammed her hands on the table. “Will both of you just shut up?”

The mellow tenor and bass of the singers swung out into our small corner of silence. “No, nay never, no more...”

I took a deep breath in the long, tense stillness. “I just love this song!”

Paul flashed a blazing smile at me that was clearly really intended for the other two members of our party to notice. “Want to dance?”

I stole a glance at Mike as I whirled my finger at my chest. “Me?”

Paul smiled. “Won’t be the same as salsa in Ecuador or dancing at one of the super-clubs, but we have better music here.”

I laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m awful at salsa and can’t stand house music, so this sounds like a great alternative.”

Mike stood up abruptly. “I’ll dance with you.”

I shrugged at Paul as Mike wrapped his fingers around mine and marched us onto the dance floor. A handful of other couples swayed back and forth; no grinding to be seen here, not where everyone knew everyone else’s parents. I draped my hand over Mike’s shoulders and breathed in the woodsy aroma. “What a sweet way to ask me to dance.”

“You didn’t want to dance with him.”

I couldn’t help it. A smile burst out of me and I reached out to touch his cheek. “Aw, cute. He made you jealous.”

He glared at me. “I am not jealous of Paul and the chip on his shoulder.”

I tried to wipe the amusement off my face. “Right. No. My mistake.”

Beyond Mike’s shoulder, I could see Paul turning to Lauren, a sly smile on his face. Whoa. He had totally just out manipulated all of us. Respect bloomed. “I think he just did that so he could get you out of the way before asking Lauren.”

“What?” Mike stopped dancing and spun me around so he could face the two of them.

I laughed even as I stumbled. “What did you think would happen?”

His head tilted as he scanned the crowd. “Where did they go?”

“Calm down. Your sister is a big girl. I’m sure she can handle herself.”

He scowled at me. “You worry too much about some things and not enough about others.”

I smiled and leaned my head against his chest. “Maybe.”

The two men started in on “Whiskey on the Jar,” an old Irish song that had somehow ended up in my music collection as a fifteen year old. Probably from my dad’s Thin Lizzy CD. Warmth seeped into me, followed by a slow tide of comfort and safety. I felt the solidness of Mike’s chest before me and the strength of the arms that encircled me, and I wanted to stay wrapped away with him, just like this, forever.

His words sounded like they’d come from far away. “You know what’s strange? You could have come here all by yourself. You have met the village, and seen the gravestones, and Kilkarten, and the cliff top on the coastal path. And I never would have.”

I stared up at him. In my mind, my heart, Mike had become utterly entwined with Kilkarten. He was right, though. If Patrick hadn’t died, Mike and I would never have met.

I couldn’t imagine being here without Mike.