Chapter Five
Beckett
As it turns out, the fourth floor is not the place to find help with Prenchenko’s mailbox. After a bit of door-knocking and a less than excellent impression left on my new landlord—who’s the buttoned-up, suity type—I locate the building operator’s office. Which, incidentally, was steps from the front door where I first walked inside. Go figure. Steve shows me how to work the most convoluted combination lock on the planet, and I’m finally able to retrieve my apartment key from the mailbox.
Now, as I set my bags down in my new digs on the second floor, I feel much more relaxed.
Mr. Prenchenko’s apartment is more than I could have hoped for. Spacious, yet cozy. And while the multiple framed paintings of wild boar are an interesting touch, I’m extra pleased that the huge windows along the back wall overlook a grassy area.
After a bit of light furniture rearranging, I’ve pushed a couch up against that wall, so I can look out the window when I’m playing guitar.
I have a feeling I’ll be doing a lot of that over the next few weeks.
Before I left Dublin, I was filled with a renewed vigor, a fresh purpose. I was going to go to America, visit the same town where my grandmother once lived, and work out what on earth I’m meant to do with my life.
Now that I’m here, it feels… daunting. I don’t know if it’s because I’m overtired and need a nap, or because I started my short tenancy here with the most unusual of elevator encounters, but I feel jumbled. Tangled like a piece of string.
I also know, in my bones, that if I fall asleep now, I’ll be up all night. So instead of lying down, I shower and change into a white t-shirt, shorts, and sneakers.
It’s a beautiful day, and I might as well explore this town. Find out what it has to offer…
Starting with coffee. Being Irish and all that, I’m usually a tea drinker. But today, I think I’m going to need something a little more caffeinated.
I manage to leave The Serendipity without any more awkward elevator encounters, though I do find myself wondering where the towel-clad woman with deep blue eyes— Keeley— ended up today. Still, I push those thoughts aside as I slip my sunglasses on and make my way down the street with the intention of seeing where I end up, no planning necessary.
When I come across a cluster of shops and restaurants, I stop to secure a coffee—an Americano, of course, because when in America…
And that’s when I stumble upon a little music store.
Blue Notes , say the swirling letters on the sign above the slightly tattered blue-and-white-striped awning. There’s a display of electric and acoustic guitars in the window and a poster advertising a local Indie Music Night.
Unable to help myself, I go inside.
“Hey, there.” I’m greeted by a friendly guy about my age with black hair shaved so short, he’s almost bald. He has intense blue eyes that look vaguely—impossibly—familiar, two full arm-sleeves of tattoos, and a huge smile that puts me at ease. “How can I help you today?”
“Hiya,” I reply. “I was just out for a walk and spotted your shop, so I thought I’d come in for a browse.”
“Shop,” he parrots me, his tone delighted. “You’re not from ’round these parts, are you?”
“Arrived here just an hour ago. From Ireland.”
“Ireland,” he says almost wistfully. “Home of U2. Van Morrison. The Cranberries. The Pogues. Thin Lizzy.”
“Some of the best,” I say, liking this guy already. “You a musician yourself…?”
“Ezra,” he offers, sticking his hand out. “Ezra Roberts.”
“Beckett McCarthy.” I shake his hand.
“And yes, sure am.” He smiles. “Drums are my first instrument, but I’ve been playing guitar all my life. You?”
“I’m a music teacher back home in Ireland,” I say. “I teach music theory.”
I don’t mention that the school where I work is a stuffy, overpriced private school, and that most of my students are learning an instrument because a parental figure has forced them to rather than out of interest.
On the side, I give free guitar and piano lessons at a community center in my town. I love to teach kids that want to be there, want to learn.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for my job at the school—it pays well, has good career security, and I get summers off. But a part of me has always wondered what it would be like to have a full-time gig teaching guitar lessons to kids who are passionate about music.
Kids who need music, like I did.
“Cool,” Ezra says. “Do you make music, too?”
His question gives me pause, and I finally settle on: “I used to.”
Luckily, he doesn’t press me, and we continue to casually chat about music. After a while, he asks, “What brings you here to Serendipity Springs? You on vacation?”
“Yeah, a kind of extended vacation. I’m house sitting for someone for the remainder of the summer, living in an apartment building a few blocks over. The Serendipity?”
Ezra smiles. “I know it. My si?—”
He’s interrupted by the sound of chimes above the door as a woman bursts into the store at full speed.
“Ez, you would not believe the morning I’ve had. I got?—”
The woman’s words dry on her tongue as she takes me in, and I have to smile even as her expression takes on a familiar, scowling quality.
“Oh. It’s you.” Her deep blue eyes flare in a way that completely contradicts her flat tone.
I grin at the small raven-haired woman in front of me for the second time today. “Keeley, hi. Hardly recognized you with your clothes on.”
Ezra’s dark eyebrows fly up. “Excuse me?”
His tone is menacing, and when I look at him, I suddenly realize why his eyes looked so familiar.
He has the exact same eyes as her. Which means…
“Not like that,” I backtrack quickly, holding up my hands as if to show her brother that I’m innocent. “We met in the elevator this morning.”
“And my sister was naked at the time?!” His deep voice goes up an octave, almost comically squeaky.
“Toweled,” I correct.
“What?” Ezra spits, and I’m surprised he doesn’t crack his knuckles.
“Relax, big bro. It was all a big misunderstanding.” Keeley rolls her eyes and crosses her arms.
Now that she’s actually wearing clothes, I don’t feel the need to keep my eyes away from her, and I notice details I missed earlier. Like how long her eyelashes are. How her lips are full and dark pink in color, and her nose is pierced and sports a small silver hoop. I also note that her t-shirt reads “Fries Before Guys,” which I hope is a motto she is currently embracing if that fool in the elevator really was her ex.
And then, my eyes zero in on the silver ring glinting on her middle finger. It’s an Irish Claddagh ring depicting a heart held by two hands, with a crown atop it. Symbols for love, friendship, and loyalty.
Claddagh rings are super common back home, sometimes used as wedding or engagement rings, but more often worn to signify a connection to a family member or loved one.
I have one given to me by my grandmother hanging around my neck on a chain, but I didn’t think they’d be as popular here in America.
“I was wrapped in a towel, very much not naked, and Beckett and I got stuck in the elevator together,” Keeley explains to her brother, but her mouth suddenly twists. “Then, we bumped into Andrew.”
“I hate that guy,” Ezra mutters.
“I can’t say I was a fan, either,” I say under my breath before I can stop myself. Unfortunately, I don’t say it quietly enough, and Keeley shoots me a look.
I almost think she’s going to snap at me, but instead, she glumly mutters, “That makes three of us.”
The sight of her looking so downtrodden pulls at something within me.
It also serves as a reminder of why I don’t date. Not anymore, at least.
After Roisin walked out of my life last year, I took a break from all things relationship.
We dated for such a long time, I thought it was a given that we loved each other. But after my Gran died, something fundamentally shifted between us. I wasn’t making time for her as I picked up the pieces of my family and tried to be the glue that held the McCarthy clan together in Gran’s absence. I could feel myself pulling away from her. Could feel the wedge between us growing wider and wider. But I couldn’t stop it.
And so, she left me. I don’t blame her for leaving me.
I was closed off.
Distant.
Not good boyfriend material.
When she broke up with me, I think she wanted me to fight for our relationship. But I couldn’t rise to the occasion. She called me a selfish dope and a spineless eejit and much, much worse. I hated to see her in pain, hated to see how my actions—or lack thereof—were affecting her. Though I wanted to have her by my side, deep down, I knew she deserved much more, much better, than what I was able to give her at the time.
I’d done the right thing by her, letting her go. I imagined Gran looking down from heaven with a wry smile and a word of advice: “Sure there’s a lid for every pot, Beckett. And Roisin? She wasn’t your lid.”
Since then, I’ve not had much desire to pursue another relationship. I’ve also decided that I’d rather be alone than be an unfit partner to someone.
“I should get going,” I say, sensing that it’s time I make my exit and give Keeley time and space alone to talk to her brother. “Nice to meet you, Ezra.” I nod at him, then can’t help but give Keeley a little wink. “And Keeley, a pleasure, as always.”
“Meeting someone twice does not constitute the use of ‘always,’” she replies, her tone still a little tart, but I swear I see her lips twitch. Like she might possibly enjoy a little verbal sparring.
Glad that I might have brightened her mood even just a little, I head out the door of Blue Notes. It’s only when I’m outside that I remember my Americano, sitting untouched on a shelf inside the store.
I don’t want to interrupt Keeley and her brother, so I cut my losses, and instead of continuing my walk, head back in the direction of The Serendipity.
Maybe I could go for a swim. Because if the conversation about geriatric aquarobics earlier is anything to go by, apparently there’s a swimming pool in my new apartment complex.
Imagine that, back in Ireland. Unheard of. If you want to get wet back home, just go for a walk because it’s always raining.
A swim in the sunshine sounds like exactly the sort of thing I should be doing during my time here.
But by the time I’m back in my apartment, the thought of going for a swim is exhausting. The jet lag is weighing heavy on me, and I didn’t get to consume the necessary caffeine I purchased. And so, against my better judgment, I find myself curling up on the couch under the window and letting myself be pulled into a deep, dreamless sleep.