Running Back (26 page)

Then he walked out the door.

And I slumped to the ground and said to the wall, over and
over,
I
love you.
I
love you.
I
love you.

Chapter Twenty-Four

It’s not exactly easy to say goodbye to someone you’re utterly, madly in love with, especially after they’ve given up on you.

I went with the O’Connors to the airport, except for Anna, who was staying to work on the dig. Kate was very sweet, and Lauren left me with strict instructions. “Don’t let Eileen’s granddaughter hook up with Paul. Or if it happens, don’t tell me. And tell him that I’m leading a wonderful, happy, fulfilled life.”

Mike and I lingered off to the side for a moment. I cleared my throat and smiled. This wasn’t supposed to be tearful or heartfelt. I leaned up on my toes and kissed him.

It was supposed to be a quick goodbye, but his hands slid around my back, around my head, holding me to him as he deepened the kiss. His tongue swept into my mouth. He was hungry and demanding. His hands clenched my body. I clutched him back, gasping, pressing ever inch of my body against his, wanting everything. Wanting him.

And then he stepped back. “So.”

I didn’t want him to leave me. “So.”

He started to say something twice. And then he stopped, and gave me the real smile, my crooked smile, and then he left.

* * *

For the next two weeks, I drowned out my negative emotions by surrounding myself with the euphoria of success. Each day brought a new discovery. A bronze box with carbonized human remains. Dozens of beads. A kiln. Everything was carefully photographed and washed and categorized, while we sent off samples for radiocarbon dating. If we were lucky, they’d come back with dates around the turn of the millennia.

So for two weeks, it was like I had imagined this summer would be. Digging and discovery, joking with the crew, soccer games and visiting small towns on the weekends, nights at the pub with Jeremy.

It was all less than it had been when Mike was here.

When the rain came in full force, and school started back up, we covered up the units with tarps and filled them in and closed up the site for the school year. We took all of our carefully collected objects and sent them off to the university and labs.

And we worked on our paper.

* * *

Back at home, football season began. Anna left Ireland for her senior year of high school I dragged Paul into Cork to watch the games with me, because it was too pitiful to have the local pub put on the channel just for me. That inevitably meant everyone would come ask how we were and why hadn’t Mike proposed and I didn’t want to smile all the time. At least Paul would just sit there and drink his black pint and let me wallow in peace.

Grace and Duncan went back to their university, from which they could work remotely. Grace, to my shock, drew me aside before leaving. “You should know that just in case Jeremy leaves, we aren’t. We’ll work here as long as there are things to find and funding to find them. Duncan and I want to work here as long as we have funding. Which shouldn’t be a problem. But just know that you can come back if you want.”

So that was kind of nice.

The reason she’d said it was less nice.

We’d found so much. I was so thrilled. But we hadn’t found anything to support Ivernis. And I didn’t think we were going to.

Especially after we got the radiocarbon dates back.

I found Jeremy alone in his room on the first Friday in September, studying photos and papers. I closed the door quietly behind me, and he looked up with the frown that seemed to be engraved on his face these days. He slid a packet across the table.

I swallowed, reading the results in his eyes. Still, I took the papers out.

500 CE.

My gut clenched. My words came out as a whisper. “What are we going to do?”

He didn’t meet my gaze, just kept looking between his papers, pen occasionally trailing ink. “We’re going to keep looking.”

“Here?” I shook my head slowly. “I don’t know.”

“Not here.

But what about this site? I thought of Maggie, and Anna, of the Wójcik siblings, of Simon Daly. Of the tourists they hoped to bring, the jobs they wanted to create. I thought about the lay of Ireland in 500 CE, of the Gaelic period and the transition to Christianity and the warring kingdoms that stretched across the island. “There’s still something here.”

Now he finally raised his head. “We’re not looking for
something.
We’re looking for Ivernis. We’re looking for real, tangible proof of the connection between Rome and Ireland. I thought that was what you wanted too.”

Of course it was. “So what are we going to do?”

He sighed. “Try again.”

But what about the people here? Could I leave them for a dream, no matter how vivid? What about the site, the box, the beads?

But what about Ivernis?

“Jeremy—don’t you feel—There’s still a site here. There’re still people who want to work on it.”

He stood. “Then they can work on it themselves. Find another archaeologist who will lead them in another season. We have more important things to find.”

I sat back uncertainly. “I don’t know. Don’t you think we should stay here another season or two?”

“Natalie.” He sat down beside me, and placed his hands on my arms. “You can’t give up your dream just because you’re afraid of hurting people. So they’ll be upset for a minute. Then they’ll get over it. You can’t let a week of discomfort stop you from what you really want to do in your life.”

“But—Jeremy, I’m not sure what I want anymore.”

He frowned. “You’ve known what you wanted since you were seventeen years old. You’re just—confused right now. You had a complicated relationship with O’Connor. Don’t stay here just because you’re trying to hold on to him somehow.

That made sense. “But...”

“Natalie. You’re thinking too emotionally. Just take some time to reflect. Make sure you’re thinking about
your
dreams.”

But I’d always thought with my heart. My heart had always said to look for Ivernis, while everything logical sent me elsewhere. “I’ll think.”

He hugged me when he left. “You’ll make the right decision. I know you will.”

I smiled a little sadly. Because to him, the right decision was clearly marked by Roman writing, and to me, that might no longer be so.

* * *

The week was ugly.

I didn’t know what to do.

If I didn’t go with Jeremy, was I giving up? Or was going tantamount to chasing rainbows? Were the only people who found pots of gold those who sat by a river for months on end and mined it?

I wanted to talk to Mike about it.

I wanted to badly enough that my heart ached, that my head spun, that I picked up the phone a dozen times and wondered and worked myself into a fit. I talked to Cam, of course, but she just wanted me to do what would make me happy, and I had no idea what that was. I couldn’t talk to Jeremy and I wasn’t close enough to any of my other professors.

But I didn’t talk to Mike, because I already knew what I wanted to hear from him. I wanted a reason not to go with Jeremy, because if I wasn’t canvassing Ireland looking for a site, it would be much easier for me to go to New York and stay there until the next field season. And if I was in New York, maybe I could see Mike. Because even if we couldn’t be together because he needed someone who didn’t only see the end of things—he
deserved
someone who didn’t only see the end—maybe we could be friends.

But I didn’t want to make my decision about Kilkarten or Ivernis if it was really me making a decision about Mike.

The night before my flight home, I went to the pub with everyone. The amount of warmth that washed over me when I looked at these people almost drowned me, almost made me drown myself by turning into a blubbering mess. Instead, I cheered and toasted and drank down pints poured.

Paul dropped down beside me. “So I guess we won’t be seeing you around here anymore.”

“Why?” I swirled the dregs of my pint. “Because I’m just going to follow Jeremy?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I don’t know. Do you still talk to Lauren?”

He shrugged and looked away. “We were just having some fun.”

“Don’t give me that.”

He shrugged. “She lives in the States, I’ll be back in France for school. And we never talked much, so it would be pointless to keep in touch.”

“Direct quote, huh?”

He made a face and waved down Finn for another pint. “Since we’re both sad and lonely, maybe we should keep each other company tonight.”

I swatted the back of his head hard enough that his nose hit his glass. “Don’t be gross.”

He laughed, and then pinned me with those serious black eyes. “You two were good together, you know.”

“I know.”

“So what happened?”

“I told him I didn’t believe in forever. And he interpreted that as not believing in now.”

“You’re joking.”

I put my drink down and stared at all the rows of colorful bottles. “I’m not going to go with Jeremy. I’m not going to keep looking for Ivernis. I’m staying here.”

“That’s grand.”

My lip started to wobble. I’d wanted Ivernis for so long, but it wasn’t real. Or maybe it was, but so was this. What if Jeremy found Ivernis and I’d left?

But there was so much here I wanted.

I wiped away streaking tears. “I’m sorry. I never used to cry before I met Mike.”

Paul regarded me with frank terror. “Come on, then. Let’s get you to Aunt Maggie.”

She made me tea and gave me shortbread, and I felt better in minutes. I curled up on the faded couch in the fading light and imagined two men I’d never met playing here as boys.

Maggie sat down across from me. “I fell in love with Brian when we were fifteen years old. I thought we were soul mates.”

“But you weren’t.”

She regarded me with frank surprise. “Weren’t we?”

Oh. Foot in mouth. “I guess I just assumed—since you both married other people—”

“I never loved Patrick. Poor Patrick. Maybe he would have been happy with someone else.”

“But I don’t understand why you didn’t follow Brian. If you loved him, and he loved you. I mean, I know you were mad that he went off and that he spent all that money—but if you loved him—what was your reason?”

She sighed. “He destroyed my dream. That’s not easy to let go of.” When I just stared at her, she went on. “I’d started up a library and I agreed to let him take a loan out against it. Which he never paid back, so the bank foreclosed on the center.” She shook her head. “I loved him, but he was a mad one. Ruined his family. Ruined me. Sunk all his money into a cause but never knew when to stop, and ended up running from the gardaí to America. Left Patrick to clear everything up. Which he did, credit to him.”

“He sounds—” A little like me. “Like a jerk.”

She raised a brow. “Don’t most people, when they’re so single-minded in following their dreams?”

I blushed.

She shook her head. “There’s a difference between having a dream and never waking up.”

* * *

Jeremy drove me to the airport. I cleared my throat. I felt like I was breaking up with him. “I’ve been thinking about Kilkarten. And it’s a really hard decision, but I’m going to be working on my thesis for the next few years, and I think the best thing to do is to work on this site. And it’s something I find really interesting, and I really like the community here, and...yeah. That’s what I’m thinking. And doing.”

He was silent a long time. “I know.”

My head shot up. “You do?”

“You’re in love with him.”

I turned slowly. “Jeremy. That’s not why.”

“Yes, it is. Subconsciously, you’re hoping he’ll come back, and you’ll be tied together by this place.” He let out a long sigh. “I didn’t want to lose you like this.”

I kept shaking my head. “That’s not why.”

He slanted me a disbelieving glance.

And that’s when I saw it. I was just like him. He couldn’t see what he didn’t want to see. He couldn’t see that people had other reasons, and they were fine reasons, even if he didn’t agree with them. To him, I would always be the student who left because of her ex-boyfriend. The girl who traded Ivernis for a boy, not the person who gave up an intangible dream for something real. “I hope you find it.”

His fingers tightened around the wheel. “Oh, I will. I’ll keep searching until I do.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

There was always a thrill in coming home, just like there was a thrill in leaving. Part of it was just that “Welcome to America!” video Customs played, with a waving flag superimposed over amber fields of grain. Over the top Americana, but it kind of tugged at my heart. Just like the customs officer who said, “Welcome home, Ms. Sullivan.”

Cam proved her best friend credentials by coming all the way out to the airport so she could help me maneuver my luggage on the AirTrain and then on the subway, and then up our four flights. We ordering cheap Chinese food and laughed and told stories and went to a dive bar that gave us free pizza when we bought one drink and I remembered why I loved this city.

But New York was also grayer than I remembered. There were no rolling fields, and the water wasn’t wild, and nothing smelled right. Instead, it was all sewer smells and clouds of pot swirling out from side streets. Yapping rat-dogs shivered in the rain and men on cell-phones cursed loudly at ticket booths and everyone had the same boots and the same shirt and the same black leather jacket. Part of me wanted to pull out my own jacket and put up my hair just like all the rest, and go up to the bar on the twenty-fifth floor and empty my wallet for cocktails as I stared at the Empire State Building and fended off advances from men old enough to be my father.

But most of me wanted to sleep a lot, and my stomach felt funny. I supposed it was because for the first time I wasn’t as excited to arrive as I was sad about the place I had left.

“Maybe,” Cam said, “it’s because you’re heart-sick.”

I considered that. “I think I’m nervous about the conference.”

So I distracted myself for the next week by being social and remembering why I loved it here. The way I could get a veggie burger at a split second’s notice or fro-yo or good burritos, and how all the streaming sites worked and I could watch my shows the day after, like a normal person. And how the world had gone on and new blockbusters had come out and new songs were popular. I went out with my grad school friends and met up with my brother Evan for artisan white pizza in the East Village, in a tiny restaurant whose windows were papered with awards.

“Count her lucky that she got out,” he said when I told him about my mother. “My mom was so much happier afterward.”

“I guess. I think it is good for her. But I feel bad for Dad.”

Evan snorted. “Don’t.” He caught me watching. “What?”

“Don’t you ever want his...I don’t know, approval?”

He jammed a slice in his mouth and spoke around it. “You think I want him to walk me down the aisle? Come to parades? Yeah, right.”

“But don’t you wish he would?”

“What’s wishing got to do with it?”

“Nothing, I guess.” I wished love was real and dreams existed, but leprechauns granted wishes and leprechauns didn’t exist.

* * *

Mom’s new place had high ceilings and large windows, but it was small and filled with unfamiliar furniture. Still, she’d brought several things from home—pictures of my high school and college graduations, a poster of her when she was nineteen, signed by dozens of famous photographers. She hugged me tightly. “Darling, you look horrible.”

“Thank you, Mom.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. And I think I look great.” I held out my tan, muscled arms. “Look how gorgeous these muscles are. I’m in great shape. And my hair is all sun streaked.”

“And you have the saddest eyes in the world.”

Not quite true.

“What happened with this boy? I don’t understand why you’re not with him.”

I
don’t understand why you’re not with Dad.
Except that wasn’t fair, and I did. “Because.”

“Because what?”

“Because.”

She stirred her tea and apparently decided to give the subject a rest. “Have you seen your father yet?”

“No! I don’t want to.”

Her face collapsed. “Natalya...”

“Just... What’s the point of falling in love if you’re just going to fall out of it?”

“Oh, honey.” She sat down next to me, letting out a deep breath of old, stale sadness as she wrapped her arms around me. “You can’t let what’s happening between Dad and me affect you.”

“Yes, I can.”

She smoothed my hair back from my head. “No. Look at you. You’re so successful—you have a good career, and good friends, and this boy who seems like he loves you very much...”

“But you had all of that and you ended up in an awful marriage.”

“Your father...he’s not always very good at emotions. I don’t think he ever really learned to develop them.”

I drew back so I could see her face. “What if I’m like that? What if I’m—romantically stunted?”

“Why would you think that?” She sounded horrified.

“Because I
am.
I have this different world view than everyone else, and everyone sees love as this perfect, beautiful, rainbows-and-puppies emotion and I just can’t
see
that. Or I couldn’t, but now I do, now I feel it, and I don’t trust it, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Why don’t you just follow your heart?”

“
Mom.
” I swiped at my eyes. “That is so unrealistic and nonsensical. What does that even mean?”

“It means I want you to be happy.”

I didn’t need love to be happy. “What about you? You left all of that. But now what? Will you be happy here, all by yourself? Won’t you be lonely?”

“Natalie. You don’t have to take care of me.”

I pressed my lips together. “But then who will?”

“I will.” She pulled me into her arms. My mother would never be soft and warm, physically or emotionally, but she was still my mother, and I loved her. “I will take care of myself. And right now, I want you to take care of
you.
”

* * *

That afternoon, Jane Ellington’s article on Mike and me came out.

I read it without blinking. It was a gorgeous article, and the accompanying photography was stunning, but I fixated on a little piece of filler description: “It’s very clear that the archaeologist and the running back are in love.”

Very clear.

Except I’d never managed to say it to him. Not once.

* * *

I was on a mission.

I stormed into Cam’s bar, brushing past the surprised doorman, and almost knocking into three customers as I marched to the front of the bar. Cam looked up and waved. I stopped before her and took a deep breath. “Cam. Have I even told you I love you?”

A couple of the patrons looked up at my brusque, almost aggressive tone. Cam just raised her brows. “Why? Did I do something? Are you taking it back?”

“No. I mean—it’s a real question.”

Surprise crossed her face, and then she shrugged. “I’m sure you have.”

“Really? You can remember?”

She paused to think about it. “Well—I guess I can’t
explicitly
remember.”

I knew it. I hadn’t. I planted my hands on the bar and leaned forward. “Camille Chan. I love you.” I immediately felt lighter.

Cam didn’t seem to notice. She just screwed up her face affectionately. “Aw, I love you too.”

“Ow-
ow!
” a frat-ish guy hollered from behind me.

Cam jerked up her head. “Shut up or you’re kicked out.”

I slumped on a stool. “Oh my God. I’ve never said ‘I love you’ before.”

Cam started putting together something blue and high-proof. “That’s ridiculous.”

“No, it’s true. Who would I say it to? My parents? My dad and I don’t. My mom. I can’t remember. I think she tells me, occasionally—noticeably when she moved out, but
I
don’t.
And you’ve been my best friend for seven years.” I shook my head. “I’m emotionally stunted I’m a freak. Maybe a sociopath.”

“You are not a sociopath.”

“Maybe I am!”

“Stop it.”

I took a deep breath. “He said he loved me, and I wasn’t able to say it back.”

She raised her brows. “Maybe you don’t actually love him.”

I met her gaze, and her face softened. “Oh, Natalie.

“I just miss him so much and I want to see him and I don’t know how.” I tried to subdue the misery in my tone.

I must not have done a very good job, because Cam handed the blue concoction to me along with a sympathetic smile. “Maybe you’ll run into him somewhere. On the subway.”

I smiled wryly in return. “Maybe. If we lived in a rom-com.”

“God, I wish. Then work would always just be a montage of me doing dishes and pulling pints but thirty seconds of fast music later I’d be out having fun.”

“I don’t think dishes would make it into the montage.”

“Huh. Yeah. I guess they’re usually about the couple moping. Like you’re doing! Aw, what a cute montage moment.”

“Maybe I should just give up.”

She set down her cloth and focused entirely on me. “Why? Because you’re scared?”

“Because...” I gestured wildly, unable to get rid of the tight, frantic feeling in my chest. “I don’t know what to do with it. It’s too big. It’s pointless. Maybe I should just shelve it. It seems so unnecessary.”

“Natalie. I love you. You make me happy, and laugh, and think, and I like spending time with you. Is that pointless? Is joy pointless? No. Tell him.”

And she was right. I knew she was right.

But first, I had to get through the conference.