Chapter 9
QUINN
My grandfather’s pub office has become ground zero for St. Patrick’s Day festival planning.
I’ve been putting off organizing his cluttered office, but now I need the space to work.
While I sit in the worn chair in front of the old-fashioned rolltop desk, I picture my grandfather sitting here as he did when I was a little girl, hard at work with his reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose.
Reflecting on Kane’s response to the old photo I showed him, and his confirmation that it was indeed a picture of our grandparents, I wonder what else I might find as I sort through the myriad of old papers, invoices, newspaper clippings, and assorted office supplies.
I was surprised when he relayed that our grandparents were in love when they were young, but since he shared that piece of information there hasn’t been any more revelations regarding the connection between our families.
One of the pigeon holes in the desk has a packet of envelopes bound with a rubber band sticking out of it.
I pull the bundle out, realizing that it consists of faded envelopes containing letters.
Letters addressed to my grandfather in Vietnam written in a beautiful cursive script.
The upper left corner of each envelope reflects a Pelican Point return address and a name—E. O’Brien.
These letters must be from Kane’s grandmother!
My heart thumps in anticipation as I remove a note from the first envelope in the stack.
As I read, the words of a woman in love leap off of the yellowed pages, revealing the depth of her feelings for my Gramps.
The name signed at the bottom of the letter is Eileen.
Definitely Kane’s grandmother. Now that I’ve seen the photo, I can picture her words in my mind, like a movie, ultimately a tragic story without a happy ending.
After I read all of the letters, I sit back, tears misting my eyes. I have so many questions swirling in my head. What happened between them? Why did the letters stop? Kane mentioned a family rivalry, but little else. All of this past history just adds to my confusion about my feelings toward Kane.
A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. Maeve sticks her head into the office.
“Quinn?” I look up and my muscles tense as I see worry in her eyes.
“What is it?”
“There’s a health inspector here. Seems we’ve been flagged for a random inspection.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose as a headache threatens. Just what I need with St. Patrick’s Day approaching.
As if that’s not enough drama for one day, Darren Kennedy shows up right after the inspector leaves.
I stare despondently at the checklist in my hand, reflecting the issues that need to be resolved in order to keep the pub open for St. Patrick’s Day.
Darren’s annoying presence gives me a target on which to focus my irritation.
“What can I do for you, Darren?”
Ignoring my question, he looks back out the door at the retreating figure. “Is that the county inspector I just saw leaving?”
I expel a breath, trying to salvage some semblance of patience. “Yes, it was.”
“Is everything all right? Did he cite you with any violations?”
Why is this man so interested in what’s going on here? “Nothing that I can’t handle.” I hope that’s true. “Why are you here?”
Seemingly ignoring my question again, Darren continues. “I’d be more than happy to help out.” He gives me a slick grin. “I know people in the town hall. I can probably make some calls.”
He’s the last person on earth I’d ask for help. I dealt with people like him all the time in Boston. Accepting help from them always comes with conditions or the expectation of something in return. No thanks. “As I said, nothing I can’t handle. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
“Oh well, I thought the inspector might have been here reviewing the O’Brien expansion plans.” He pauses, then continues in a speculative tone. “Although with you back at Kavanaugh’s now, I assumed that plan would be off the table.”
After dropping that little bomb on me, he saunters out of the pub.
My frustration at a boiling point, I march over to O’Brien’s.
Just when I was softening toward Kane, it looks like he’s still planning to take my pub away from me.
Ignoring the stares of the patrons seated at Kane’s bar, I pound my fist on the smooth chrome of his modern bar top to get his attention.
“Kane, what the hell?”
He wipes his hands on a bar rag and comes out to meet me.
“Quinn, what’s wrong?”
“Are you truly interested in helping me, or are you simply spying so you can shut down my bar and have it for yourself? Is that your business strategy? Buy me out for pennies once I’m forced to close down? How generous of you!”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“First of all, I had a visit from the health inspector who’s threatening to close me down. Wouldn’t that just be oh, so convenient for you? Secondly, Darren Kennedy just told me you’re moving forward with your so-called expansion plan.”
Before Kane can get a word in, I turn on my heel and stomp out of his pub, not caring that I just gave his patrons plenty of fodder for small town gossip.