Chapter 10
KANE
Deputy Finn’s burst of laughter in Quinn’s wake jolts me back to reality. “Well, that was interesting. I wonder how she really feels?”
I know he’s joking, but I have no idea what the hell just happened.
I thought things were going well between me and Quinn, but she flew out of here after unleashing a tirade that had something to do with a health inspector and Darren Kennedy’s obvious lies.
I’ve been totally transparent with her about my business aspirations, while doing everything I can think of to help her succeed, despite expansion plans that were put together long before she returned to Pelican Point.
And I haven’t moved forward with anything.
If anyone is trying to derail her, my money would be on Darren Kennedy. It’s in his blood.
My grandmother’s haunting statement about history repeating itself continues to bother me.
From what I’ve learned so far, the tension between our families goes back at least to our great-grandparents, and I have no idea what started it.
Now it’s swirling around me and Quinn like a tornado threatening to hit, and that’s not a good situation for either one of us.
I need to know more. And the only one who can give me answers is Gramma.
Soon I’m sitting at my grandmother’s small kitchen table in her apartment, her favorite Irish folk tunes playing in the background.
The sounds of a fiddle, bagpipes, and a flute all blend together to create the melodies she loves so much.
“Gramma, please tell me more about the history between our family and the Kavanaughs. I need to know.”
“Aye, child. You do need to know.”
Gramma lets out a long sigh, then speaks.
“This story has been passed down through the family for generations. It goes all the way back to the home country. We hail from County Dublin, close to the sea. During the land wars of the late 1800s, there were many disputes over property, especially in the most desirable areas. The start of trouble between our families began over who should have title to the best plots of land in Malahide, closest to the beach. In those days, the elite class controlled everything, and the end result was that both families were cheated out of their properties. Times were hard for our people back then. There was political upheaval, famine, and a lack of economic opportunity. We struggled to get by. Eventually, a group of folks from County Dublin decided to emigrate to America for a chance at a better life, initially settling in Boston. Once there, the O’Briens and Kavanaughs actually got along, banding together to help each other in the new country in a time when Irish weren’t always treated well.
We worked side-by-side in the taverns and pubs, but when prohibition came along, those jobs were lost. In search of opportunity once again, and with a desire to live in a more moderate climate, our families decided to move to Florida.
I’m not sure what happened once they got here, but distrust built up between us once again.
And that’s not all. When I was a child, I often heard whispers about the Friday the Thirteenth curse. ”
“A curse?” What the hell is she talking about?
Gramma nods and continues. “In the early 1950s, the two separate pubs were opened. At the time, the only buildings available for a reasonable price were right across the alley from one another. My father and Connor’s, being the stubborn fools they were, each tried to out-do the other.
There was constant rivalry and pressure for both businesses to succeed, which is why Connor and I hid our relationship from our parents.
The day before we planned to elope happened to be Friday the Thirteenth.
That’s the day Connor received his draft notice, which put a stop to our plan.
Before that, I didn’t put much stock in the curse that our ancestors claimed was the cause of the initial family feud, but from then on, that date has been the source of multiple tragedies for both families. ”
“Really, Gramma? A curse caused the feud? Next you’ll be telling me that leprechauns and fairies are real.”
“Scoff if you want, my boy, but nearly every misfortune that has befallen our two families has occurred on a Friday the Thirteenth.”
I wonder if Gramma knows why my father hated the Kavanaughs so much. “Do you know why Dad wanted to take over Kavanaugh’s so badly? Also, I found some of your letters from Connor in his things. Why would he have them?”
I watch as the color drains from my grandmother’s face. “My letters? You saw them? How is that, when I have them in my memory chest?”
“I found a box of Dad’s belongings in the basement. Among other things, there was a packet of unopened letters addressed to you. They appeared to be from Connor when he was in Vietnam.”
Her eyes become damp with tears. “Unopened? Those have to be the missing letters.” She grabs a tissue and dabs at her eyes. “I want to read them. Will you show them to me?”
I reach over and take my grandmother’s delicate hand. “Of course. I’ll go get them for you.”
I release her hand and prepare to get up from the table.
“Wait. Not yet. Let me finish. I found out much later after Connor returned from the war that he hadn’t stopped writing me.
My father confessed before he passed to intercepting the letters.
I thought he destroyed them. If he did still have them, he didn’t tell me.
His dying wish was for the families to reconcile, but it didn’t happen.
Your father was determined to keep the feud going. ”
“Why would he want to do that?”
She takes a deep breath and lets out a troubled sigh. “It wasn’t about business and it had nothing to do with me and Connor. It was personal for him.”
“Personal? Another thing I found was a photo of two boys. One looked like him and the other was someone named Michael Kavanaugh.”
“Yes. Michael was Connor’s son. They were the best of friends for a long time. We thought the feud would finally end with the two of them. But then, Rose came along.”
“Rose?”
“Yes. A beautiful young lady. They were both in love with her, but ultimately, she chose to marry Michael. Your father never got over it. From then on, he hated the Kavanaughs. And the curse returned in full force.”
“How so?”
“Michael and Rose died in a car accident on a Friday the Thirteenth in 2005. And your father’s terminal cancer diagnosis came on a Friday the Thirteenth in 2010. That’s why I don’t get involved in the St. Patrick’s Day celebrations any more. It’s too painful.”
My grandmother’s sadness falls over me like a cold, wet rain. I can’t imagine shouldering all of those burdens. I’m in awe of her quiet strength. “Oh, Gramma. I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll find a way to end the blasted curse. Stop the feud once and for all. It’s too late for Connor and me obviously, now that he’s gone. But it’s not too late for you and Quinn.”
Later that night, I reflect on everything my Gramma told me. As I pour a shot of Jameson’s, I look over at the wall calendar, zeroing in on an upcoming date with dread.
Friday, March Thirteenth.