7. Maeve
Maeve
It shouldn’t have bothered me. Him not calling.
After all, it wasn’t like I wanted him to call anyway.
Right? I told him to leave. I should applaud the man for his respect.
His sensitivity to my needs, but several beers in and sitting on a barstool, watching a guitarist struggle on the stage, I wished Rory was beside me.
I wished he hadn’t respected me so much.
And I hated how much I wished for these things.
“He’s not worth your time,” Eliza said in a sing-song voice, not looking up from her beer pour.
And he wasn’t. I needed to focus on the fundraiser. Get things up and moving. We’d decided that there was no time like the present. The fundraiser would happen tonight. I blasted it online and plastered the event all over the city. It was packed, and it wasn’t even seven.
Joe stumbled up to me and slid a hand over my shoulder. He sighed, smelling like last night’s choices and today’s mistakes. “Someone’s playing my guitar.”
“I told you… it’s the pub’s guitar. I’m giving you access to it, but everyone has the right to play it when they get up on stage. You’ll have to wait your turn.”
He grumbled something incoherent, then said, “What happened to that young lad you spent your time with? Shouldn’t he be here? Singing your sweet praises?”
“Don’t worry about him. Worry about yourself. You’re already drunk, and the night is still young. Careful, or I’ll have to cut you off.”
Another grumble rolled from his lips, this one harsher, and he teetered away. A few moments later, he had shooed the girl who’d been on stage off and started to sing, guitar held tightly in his hands.
“You’re too hard on him.”
“Me?” I said, incredulous. “You’re the one who keeps filling his cup. He’s drunk, Eliza.”
“Yeah, and it’s people like that who keep you in business.”
I was about to retort back, about the community, about the music, but just then the bar opened and in walked the very man who I hadn’t expected to see back here in a million years, or at least, at first glance, I thought it was Rory.
He had the same eyes. Those eyes— green like the mossy undergrowth in a dense forest. Deep and all-encompassing and soon I’d be swallowed up.
But it was the smile that told me it wasn’t Rory.
It was a cold smile. One made without those eyes.
“Is this the Anchoring Pig?” he asked.
“It sure is. What can I get you?” Eliza asked.
He grinned wider, which only seemed to heighten my unease. “Something dark and delicious.”
She nodded and poured one of our seasonal beers, The Rooster. It came from a local family not ten minutes down the road. It was one of my favorite dark beers, reminding me of a dark syrupy coffee.
He thanked her and slid into the barstool beside me, studying me, like a man appraising something of worth. I was just about to excuse myself. There was always something administrative I could have bothered my time with, but then he spoke. “You must be Maeve, the owner of this fine establishment?”
Eliza and I exchanged glances, then I said, “Your Frank.”
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
He held out his hand. I didn’t take it.
“Your brother isn’t here.”
This seemed to surprise him. Then he said, “Ah. A shame.”
“Yes, well, anyway, I’ve got some work I need to catch up on.”
“Wait,” he said, jumping out of his seat. “I’m not here for my brother. It’s you who I really wanted to talk to.”
“The answer is no. It will always be no. I think it was pretty disgusting what your brother did to try to change my mind, but it doesn’t matter. It just showed me who your family truly is.” I stepped away from him.
Frank rushed in front of me. “Look, I’m not my brother’s keeper. I don’t know what’s gotten into him or what he’s done to upset you so much, but?—”
There was a loud shriek from the guitar, and the crowd, including Eliza, Frank, and I visibly tensed. Then a slow slur came from the microphone. An apology, one of Joe’s favorite things.
Frank cleared his throat and said, “I’d like to talk to you, and I think it would be better if we did this in private.”
“Why, so you can make moves on me, too?” I said and moved around him.
Frank grabbed my arm, stopping me in my tracks. It hurt, but I tried not to let it show it.
“Maeve…?” Eliza started, but I knew the best way to stop someone like this was to make as little of a scene as possible. I’d let him get his word in, and once he realized this was truly a lost cause, then he’d leave.
“It’s fine,” I said, heat rising in my cheeks. I yanked my arm free and said in a level tone, “We can talk in my office, but if you touch me again, you’re out of here.”
He held up his hands like he hadn’t just meant to grab my arm a little too tight, but I could see his eyes. They weren’t apologetic. They were hard and surveying. At least Rory had the decency to try to be nice.
Then to Eliza, I said, “Do something about Joe, please.”
Frank and I stepped into my office. He sat in the chair opposite my desk, but I didn’t bother sitting. I wanted to be as close to the door as possible and ready to flee at any moment.
“Well?” I crossed my arms.
“Look, I want to help you, Maeve. We’re buying the shares from your family whether you like it or not. It’s as good as a done deal. Once I get back to my hotel, I’m going to sign the papers and things will be official.”
Anger boiled just beneath the surface of my skin, but somehow, I kept myself composed. I said, “So, what’s stopping you? Why not do it right now?”
Frank shifted in his seat, and realization dawned on me.
I leaned back. “You’re waiting on Rory. That’s why you came to the bar. To see if he was here.”
“Yes, he’s not. A bit unfortunate,” he said dryly. “But he’ll be back. If I know my little brother.”
“You’d have better luck at your hotel. He’s probably just at another bar drinking.”
He shook his head. “No, he doesn’t drink to forget.” Then he cocked his head to the side and laughed. “You must have really put a spell on him for him to do his disappearing act. He hasn’t done that… ever. Well, apart from one girl, and I thought he was going to marry her.”
Oh, that hurt. It was an ache that started in my heart and clawed its way up my throat. I only just managed to ask, “What happened?”
“She left him. He wasn’t the same afterward. At least not for a while. Funny you’d have the power to do that to him.”
I swallowed hard, then turned back to the door. “The thing is, you’re wrong. He doesn’t care about me. I was just a tool for him. So you won’t see him around here. Like I said, you’d be better off waiting at your hotel.”
I opened the door. He stood up slowly, achingly slowly, then he moved right in front of me. Him towering over me like an elephant to a mouse, and I smelled his sour breath, one of long plane rides and too little sleep.
Then he gave me that smile again—that one without bringing in his eyes and said in a soft, subtle tone, “Maybe you’re right, but a bar is much more fun than a hotel room. I think I’ll stay here for a while.”
He stepped around me, opening the door, then closing it softly. It was only then when he was gone that I could breathe, though his scent still lingered.
I could have left it at that. Stayed in my office until it was my time to sing, if that ever happened.
I could have devoured tax forms and sifted through bills, but my hand reached for the phone instead and the sticky note I still had placed on the receiver.
A sticky note with Rory’s phone number. I dialed it and placed the phone up to my ear.
A man picked up, but it wasn’t Rory.
“Hello?” the man said, then in the background, someone was shouting about switching the phone off, and the phone went dead even before I had a chance to respond.
I called the phone again, a third, a fourth— each time it went straight to voicemail.
It probably meant nothing. If anything, Rory might have gone to a pub after our fight.
He probably got drunk and left his phone.
It happened plenty of times here, but something about the voice hadn’t sat right with me, or the person yelling in the background.
Because I was pretty sure I recognized that voice.
I left the office with more than just a little spring in my step.
Eliza noticed, watching me as I crossed around the pub, only saying something when I reached the door, then she said, “Is everything alright?”
“I’m going to find Rory.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “What? No, Maeve, come on. That’s a bad idea.”
“Trust me,” I said and left the bar.