Chapter 6
KANE
Darren Kennedy. What an asshole. When we came upstairs and I saw him standing in Quinn’s bar, It was all I could do to mask my irritation.
She just got here and he’s already circling like a hungry shark, trying to con Quinn into a business relationship.
He and his father are as slimy as they come with their shady business practices.
I should know—supposedly friends and business partners, he almost succeeded in screwing my father out of our bar when Dad was too sick to see what was happening.
As soon as I took over the pub after my father died, the first thing I did was find a new beer distributor so I could cut all ties with the Kennedys.
A momentary feeling of guilt passes through me. Am I any better? Right before Darren showed up, I was trying to talk Quinn into selling. But I have something Darren doesn’t. Integrity.
As I immerse myself into preparations for the Irish Brogue’s annual pre-Valentine’s Day singles night, I try not to think about that dick Darren Kennedy cozying up to Quinn, while also doing my best to ignore the activity of renovations coming from Kavanaugh’s as she begins implementing some of the changes she told me about, putting her own unique stamp on her grandfather’s pub.
My concentration is broken when Gramma walks in. She sometimes stops by for an afternoon tea. She moves behind the bar and serves herself, then takes a seat beside me.
“What are you working on, my boy?”
“Just some things for the annual singles night.”
I set down my pen and look over at my grandmother, waiting for her to tell me what’s on her mind. As she absently stirs her tea with a faraway look in her eyes, I can see something’s troubling her.
“I need to tell you something. Something I didn’t share the other day when I asked about that beautiful young lady in front of Kavanaugh’s.”
I take her hand, wrinkled with age and hard work performed with love. “What is it, Gramma?”
“Well, you already know about the feud between the O’Briens and the Kavanaughs. What you don’t know is, despite all the family obligations and expectations, there was a time when Connor Kavanaugh and I were in love.”
I can’t hide the shock on my face, but I remain silent, letting her continue. Old Man Kavanaugh and my Gramma were lovers?
“We were so young, but determined to be together. We knew we’d never gain our parents’ approval since our fathers hated each other, so we planned to run away, start over someplace fresh, just the two of us. But then, right before St. Patrick’s Day 1964, Connor was drafted and sent off to Vietnam.”
She pauses, then takes a deep breath before continuing.
“At first, we wrote to each other almost every day. But after a while, his letters to me stopped. I was heartbroken. He was gone for six long years. By the time he returned, we were both different people. I was busy in the pub here and raising your father on my own, and he jumped right back in to run Kavanaugh’s when his parents were no longer able to keep it up.
The rivalry between the two family businesses continued into the next generation and we were never able to go back to the way things were before.
I assumed he was no longer interested in a relationship, and I suppose my jealousy and pride got in the way, so it was easier to act as if he meant nothing to me. ”
The revelation stuns me. I can’t comprehend being so close to someone, as in right across the alley, and pretending there were never feelings there.
I do remember my father hating Connor Kavanaugh and I never knew why.
Surely it wasn’t over my grandmother. Why would he care about a long-lost love between his mother and Quinn’s grandfather?
I feel sadness for my dear Gramma who apparently never experienced love with anyone else after Connor, and wasn’t able to rekindle a relationship with him before he died.
After Gramma leaves, I head for the storage room searching for party decorations, but also on a mission. My curiosity is peaked. I know there are some boxes of personal effects belonging to my father and my grandmother in here, and something tells me I might find some answers inside.
Buried under a pile of my father’s memorabilia, including old report cards and sports mementos, I discover a startling connection to the Kavanaughs.
Photos and evidence of a friendship between my dad and Michael Kavanaugh, a red-headed boy, according to what’s written on the back of the photos.
Could he be Quinn’s father? And a pile of unopened letters from the 1960s addressed to Gramma with a military return address.
Why are these unopened? And why are they in Dad’s things?
So many questions that I’ll never get the answers to unless my father decides to speak to me from his grave.
Is history destined to repeat itself? A fractured relationship between our grandparents, then possibly our fathers. What about Quinn and me? Are we supposed to be enemies, friends, or something else?
Later, I see Quinn through the window, her hair gleaming copper in the afternoon sun, as she hangs a new sign in front of Kavanaugh’s.
I come to a decision. It’s time for this family feud to end.
I don’t know how or when it will happen, but I’m determined.
I just need to figure out how to convince Quinn that I’m not the enemy.