In Touch (Play On #1) (22 page)

There had been no sound, and then, in an instant, noise. Shouts and players all around him, tugging and slapping. He’d scored the try.

The Blues swarmed together, their heads down into one gigantic hug. Padraig would have scoffed if he hadn’t been so damn happy. A month ago, he would have disentangled and left for the sidelines, but today he was in the center of it, and the mass of bodies moved like a giant amoeba on the pitch, morphing and changing in shape as some players pulled one way, other lads another.

The Blues conversion attempt went wide, but it didn’t matter. They had still won. The final whistle blew, and they raised their voice in song, the same one from the cabin.

When Del finally broke the pack to line up for the other team, Padraig strained to find Gillian. She was packing her gear up in a large duffel, bent over, facing away from the pitch.

As a few stragglers ran past, slapping him on the back for the try, Padraig picked up his pace until he was jogging toward her. At the last minute, she noticed him and straightened just as he rushed to her and grabbed her off the ground.

“Hey!” she shouted, and even though she put up a struggle, he silenced her with his mouth. When she finally returned his kiss, she softened, and he set her on the ground, still holding her. They were snogging right in the middle of everyone, and he didn’t give a fuck. Only Gillian.

A loud clearing of throat broke them apart, but neither looked away. Padraig held her gaze until she smiled, and he knew then, that it was all good.

Del punched him in the shoulder. “Coach wants to see you. Like right now.”

He finally broke his gaze from Gillian but didn’t dare let her go. “Now?”

“That’s what he said.”

She squeezed his hand. “Go on. I’ll be right here when you’re finished, and we can head over to the cabin.”

He gave her one last kiss, then turned to follow Del. He walked with Padraig to midfield, then pointed toward Coach and the smug bastard behind the goal. “Good luck, mate.”

“You’re not coming?”

“Nope, he said it was private.”

Jaysus. Now what?

The man and Coach were deep in discussion, but when Padraig approached, they both stopped and turned.

Coach didn’t hesitate and directed an introduction to the man next to him. “As you know, this is Padraig O’Neale, second-row.”

Janey Mack.
Holy shit.
Could it be? He pumped the man’s hand. “Good to meet you.”

Oh, shit. Had she just parked over someone’s grave marker? Gillian shifted the car and reversed back out the way she had come. She had tried to park parallel to the gravesite, but that wasn’t working as Andrew’s stone was smack jammers in the middle of a ton of other graves. Her parents had decided on this impersonal graveyard for his final resting place instead of her suggestion, which was to have him cremated and his ashes sailed out to the middle of the Bay.

That was more Andrew.

But then, she couldn’t have shown him the Mustang. So there was a reason for everything.

“Did I hit anything?”

Padraig turned in his seat, wrenching his head over his shoulder. “Nah. Just a couple of gravestones. But you did smash some flower bouquets.”

“Grrrr…” She drove forward again, nosing the beast in front first, as close to his headstone as she could get. The rear of the car jutted out into the drive that circled the cemetery. She’d move it if anyone needed to get by.

She had spiffed up in a light floral dress for the occasion, except her Converse, and had worn her hair down instead of the braid because Padraig said it was beautiful. This was the first time she’d been out to the cemetery since the funeral, and she was glad Padraig had offered to come with her.

She wiped her sweaty palms on her dress again.

He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Do you want me to come with you or stay here?”

“Give me a minute, will you?”

“Sure.” He bowed his back as he searched for something in his pocket, then drew out a long row of beads with a crucifix at the end. “Would you like to borrow my rosary?”

Gillian smiled at his thoughtfulness. “Nah, that’s all right. You keep it.”

She walked to Andrew’s grave and sat cross-legged beside his headstone. The grass was long, and colored leaves littered the space around her, reminding her of Fruity Pebbles cereal. Probably from the maple tree only a handful of feet away. It was Indian summer in Northern Michigan, when the season went out in a fight, warming the days but cooling the nights, playing with their minds, leading them to believe that winter would never come. The leaves had already started falling from the trees, but a tepid wind still blew from Lake Michigan.

His grave was bare—no gifts or flowers or pictures. Her mum didn’t believe in any of that except leaving him oatmeal raisin cookies on his birthday every year, and that was in the spring. The animals had scampered away with the sweets ages ago.

“Well, I got her going, Andy.” Gillian motioned at the car with a stretch of her arm. “What do you think? Looking pretty good, huh?”

Gillian paused, allowing time for his response, then continued, “Sorry, I haven’t been out to visit you in a while…okay, well never, but…”

Her elbow on her knee, she rested her hand in her chin. “I hate you, you know. What stupid asshole takes too many drugs? Okay...that sounds horrible. I love you as much as I hate you. Is that better?”

A car approached from the direction of the gate and slowed to park about a hundred feet away. Glad she didn’t have to move the Mustang, Gillian turned back to Andrew. “I was thinking of calling her Irish. The Mustang. She is green after all. And before you tell me it doesn’t sound like a girl’s name, it definitely suits her. And since you can’t really argue, that’s what it’s gonna be.”

Doors slammed, and Gillian turned to see an older couple, the woman with a cane, start to walk slowly along a cement path to a section of the cemetery scattered with small American flags.

Pulling at the grass made her feel better so she did it again, grabbing chunks and ripping them out, then letting the wind carry them from her open palm.

“You’re probably going to roll over, but guess who I’m dating?”

The noise of passing cars filled the void of silence.

“Go on. Guess.”

Nothing, and Gillian had started to feel stupid. Everyone had told her it was therapeutic to come visit his grave and talk to him, but she just felt ridiculous.

“Well, I’ll tell you.” She paused for effect. “A big, buff athlete.” Another pause. “You don’t believe me? Well, it’s true. He’s a rugby player, so you’d approve. Not that I give a shit if you do or not, but he plays for the Blues. He’s from Ireland so that’s my saving grace. He’s in the car waiting for me. He came here with me.” She backpedaled. “For me.”

Her legs had cramped, which was unlike her with all her yoga practice, so she unfolded her legs and stood. “Anyway, I’ve got a man in my life now. Not sure if he is going to stay or go, but it’s a start, right?”

An idea popped into her head, and she headed back to the car. Through the window, she asked Padraig, “Will you hand me the Rubik’s cube in the glove box?”

He retrieved it without questioning what she was doing. Instead, he asked, “Are you okay?”

Gillian nodded and took the cube from him. Before she could pull her hand away, Padraig grabbed her wrist and kissed her fingers. “Give a shout if you need me.”

“I’ll only be a minute more.”

She and Padraig had both tried to figure out the damn thing, getting all the colors on the right sides. As determined as she was, they could get no more than two sides, the white and the blue. So she had messed it up again since only two finished sides looked wonky. It was beautiful in its chaotic colors, she thought, beautiful in its non-perfection. And a treasure for him once again.

Gillian laid the Rubik’s cube at the center of the headstone. She dusted her bum of grass leaves. “Glad you like Irish. She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? I’m very proud of us.”

As Gillian turned to leave, she noticed the old couple watching her. Too far to read their expressions, she waved quickly and hopped into the car. Over the large hood of the V8, Andrew’s headstone wasn’t visible, only the tree behind it, but she spoke with conviction. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Padraig seemed to realize she wasn’t speaking to him and didn’t say a word. He must have been getting used to all her strangeness—that it didn’t faze him she was talking to the dead while he sat right next to her.

She reversed up onto the drive and then set the car in park. Without glancing back, she gunned the engine for Andrew, then gasped when she remembered the old couple.

Padraig laughed. “Nothing like scaring the old folks to an early grave.”

“Oops, shit.” She cringed and drove away, laughing with him.

Gillian waited to the side while Padraig checked in at the American Airlines counter. Wearing only jeans and the Blues club hoodie, he could have passed for any traveler. The rugby season for this year had just finished a few weeks ago and he was already leaving. And she still didn’t know if he’d be back. She’d hinted, oh, she’d fished for information from him on what his next plan was, but he had given her very little, undecided he had said, didn’t know himself.

Boarding pass in hand, he sauntered over to her. She hid her nerves and sadness behind a brave smile.

Last night, they had cuddled while watching
Million Dollar Baby
. She had insisted they watch it before he left, but when the movie revealed the meaning behind his words on their first date, she had cried.

He’d barely said a word throughout the movie. She had lain with her legs across his lap, and he had touched her in sweet, minute caresses, starting with her toes, up her thighs, subtle gestures over her hips, but she still had squirmed.

For once, it hadn’t ended in sex, and she was glad. She couldn’t have handled the emotional intensity.

Gillian called to him. “Do you want to get a coffee before I leave?”

Throwing his arm around her shoulder, he turned her toward the cozy waiting area. “I’ll get them.” The airport was decorated like a north woods lodge—stone fireplace flanked by comfy chairs and small end tables with lamps, done in a Frank Lloyd Wright style. She’d lived in Traverse City almost her entire life, but had never really noticed. Her emotions were running so high her senses must have kicked in to keep up. Everything seemed magnified and dulled at the same time.

He retrieved their coffees and made his way back to Gillian who had taken a seat in an area in the corner. When he handed her the skinny latte, she spoke up. “You seem awful full of yourself today. Must be really looking forward to getting home.”

Padraig placed his coffee on a table and rested his elbows to his knees. He scanned the room. “I am.”

“Ya know, I’d love to go some day. I’ve always wanted to see Ireland.”

He turned to smile at her. “I’m sure you’ll get there.” Padraig wasn’t helping her crazy one bit. Perhaps karma for dragging him to the middle of nowhere and beating the living addiction out of him.

“Do you have someone picking you up at the other end?”

“Me ma. And she might bring my da along, too.”

“Moms are great.”

“They are.”

They were walking tentative circles around each other with their small clipped words. Not wanting to push or prod, they would break the fragile threads on which they hung. Her gut was in bits, her head and heart the same.

“So what are your plans when you get back home?” she asked.

He shrugged, then blew out a long breath. “Not sure. Will see a few mates. Go out for pints. Get some shopping done. Haven’t really thought that far ahead.”

Their coffees sat on the table between them, growing cold. Gillian grabbed his hand and linked her fingers with his. “You’ll keep in touch, right?”

“Of course. I’ll text you from my Irish phone so you’ll have my number. You can call anytime.”

That was better. But when he bit his bottom lip, it seemed as if he regretted the words that had escaped.

“I might be a bit busy when I first get to Cork.”

Oh, shit. He was already backpedaling. Gillian swallowed her disappointment. “Oh, right…well, we can email then.”

“I need to sell my car for one.”

She pinched her eyebrows in confusion.

“I need to pack up some boxes to get them shipped over here. Take care of my finances. Organize the rental of my apartment…”

She jerked so quickly to standing the chair bumped the coffee table, both cups tipping over. There was little spillage with the lids on, so Padraig righted them both and swiped the table with some napkins. Hands on her hips, she stood in front of him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Over the airport speaker, a female voice, sounding overly happy and rehearsed, announced priority boarding for his flight to Chicago for first class, business, and passengers who needed special assistance. The announcement finished before he raised his full frame from his chair to stand directly in front of her, invading her personal space.

“Aw, c’mere to me.” He pulled her into the wrap of his arms, resting his chin on her head. “Gill, I think I’m in love with you. I’m coming back. For the Eagles. For the Blues…” He paused. “But mostly, for you. I’m even thinking of getting a tattoo with Gill—”

“What?” Gillian tried to push away, but he pulled her back into his arms, firm around her waist and back, then lifted her off her feet until her face was level with his.

“I’ve been offered a position with the Eagles for the World Cup, and I’m going to take it. And I’ll stay here and play for the Blues for a while. Until I grow too old and rickety.” Padraig smiled. “You know Shano got a spot, too?”

“Seriously? You guys are going to play for the Eagles?”

He chuckled. “That we are.”

He kissed her until she melted. When the kiss finally broke, she asked, “When are you coming back?”

“After Christmas.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Only Scotch and Del.”

She pushed off him to land on her feet, but a clumsy fall of arms and legs. “They knew before me? When did this happen?”

“Hey now, miss, they had to know. I wanted to surprise you.” He tried to draw her in again, but she stepped away.

“I’ll need a place to stay…”

Hands on her hips, she made one distinct nod. “You better start looking.”

He laughed, but then set a serious tone to his voice so she couldn’t mistake his intentions. “I wanted to give you something… Ya know, so you think of me.”

He handed her the Munster T-shirt out of his backpack, the one he’d worn when they went north to her cabin. It was folded, but a pungent odor wafted from the fabric. “I didn’t even wash it…so you can smell me when I’m gone.”

His pinched mouth and convulsing stomach muscles told her he was trying desperately to hold in his laughter.

“Lovely.” She had tried to put on a Cork accent, but it came out sounding like “lowflee.” It was an awful attempt, but it broke his straight face.

“I thought all the ladies loved the smell of their man close to them to feel safe and comforted when they miss ’em.”

“Uh…no.”

He exaggerated confusion with a dropped jaw. “What are ya sayin’, like? You ungrateful knacker.”

She punched him lightly in the gut. “What’s that mean? Doesn’t sound good.”

“I’ll let you find out when you come visit.”

She couldn’t wait. “When?”

“As soon as ya like.”

“Okay, I’ll book a flight for tomorrow. Will that give you enough time to get settled?”

He laughed. Behind him the line to the gate had diminished to only a few remaining passengers. “Here, I’ve got to get going. I’ll call you as soon as I land.”

Even knowing he was coming back, this was harder than she’d imagined. She already missed him and he was standing right in front of her. “I’ve got something for you, too.” She handed him a bag with a box inside. “But you can’t open it until you’re on the plane.”

Standing on her tiptoes, she gave him one last peck, then drew out his arm as she stepped away, giving it one last tug before she let it drop. “I’ll see you in Ireland”—she gave him a big grin to take back with him—“or when you get back.”

She left out the door as they announced general boarding for his flight. She couldn’t help herself and watched him through the window as he picked up his duffel from the floor and moved toward the loading gate.

She wondered if he would wait until he boarded before opening her gift. She chuckled to herself at the irony. Padraig answered her question when he stepped out of the line and waved for the people behind him to pass. He dropped his bag and pulled out the box.

Inside were her very old, very used high-top black Converse. That he hated.

After he opened the lid, he threw back his head and laughed. She couldn’t hear the sound, but she could feel it, as strong as if he was standing right next to her.

She realized then she had never said she loved him back. Nothing said “I care about you” better than a pair of stinky old shoes. She chuckled to herself. Nothing said “I love you” better than making that person laugh. Because, above all else, she wanted him to be happy, to lighten his load just for a minute. He hated the damn things so much, he couldn’t help but think of her when he saw them. Good. And she’d wear his jersey to sleep at night. After she washed it.

When he slipped back into the line to board, the sun blinded him from her momentarily until he stepped out of its steely path back into the shade of the building.

She’d get another pair of Converse, perhaps red next time.