“Have you talked to his lawyer about this yet?”
“No. I wanted to talk to you first.” I sit back in my chair. “So what’s the deal? Are you going to let this play out naturally or do you want me to end it right now?”
“What do you mean?”
She looks so vulnerable, I want to hug her. But I stay where I am because I’m not sure she’ll accept my hug yet. “I know you have feelings for him, and for the past two weeks, you’ve been living together under very difficult circumstances. This whole time you’ve probably been thinking that I screwed you over and didn’t care.”
Her lips tremble. “That about sums it up, thanks.”
My voice goes softer. “Now you know that I love you dearly and that everything is going to work out okay. So do you want to let him stay, maybe show him around the city, enjoy part of his trip, or do you want to full-stop end it?”
“What would you recommend?”
“Are you sure you want to hear my recommendation?”
She sighs, throwing the other tissue at me. “I suppose you haven’t led me astray yet, so I might as well.”
I think that’s about as much of an apology as I’m going to get, so I accept it silently and move on. “Ride it out. Let him do his thing. But look at the relationship not as one that could end your future, but one that will carry lots of nice memories for you. Besides … you said he’s doing good things for the bar. Maybe he’ll do more of that. Wouldn’t hurt to hear what he has to say.”
“But what if I fall in love with him?” she says in a small voice.
Poor kid. She really is in bad shape. “I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you?” I stand, adjusting my purse over my shoulder. “I’m going to call his attorney and talk to her about this case law stuff. I expect after I send her the citations she’s going to want to do her own research, so it could be several days or even a week before we know anything on her end.”
Erin stands and wrings her hands. “So, I should just play along? Is that it? Pretend like everything’s okay?”
“My advice is to just enjoy your friend. Don’t be aggressive, don’t be mad, don’t be cocky. Just be yourself.”
She drops her chin to her chest. “I don’t even feel like I know who I am anymore. I’ve been angry forever.”
I come around to her side of the desk and hug her, whether she likes it or not. She stands there, her arms trapped at her sides, finally giving in and resting her head on my shoulder.
“You’re going to be fine, Erin. I promise, promise, promise.”
“I hope you’re right,” she mumbles into my shirt.
“I am right. I’m always right.” I pull back and kiss her on both cheeks. “Now wash your face, put some makeup on, and have a kick ass time in your amazing bar.”
Erin smiles, her lips trembling a bit. “It’s my bar? Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’s your bar.” I pinch her cheek and leave her there. At the door, I face her before turning the handle. “I’ll be in touch.”
“I’m still going to text you a hundred times a day,” she warns.
“And I’ll answer you better this time. I’m in my regular office working regular cases now.”
“Love you!” she shouts as I walk out the door.
“Love you too!” I stride from the bar without a backward glance. Michaél can eat my backdraft. He’s going to be so sorry that he messed with my best friend’s heart. This is his last chance to make things right, and I sure hope he appreciates it before it’s too late.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ERIN
I FINISH APPLYING SOME BLUSH and appraise the damage. Some puffy residue, reddish eyes, and a bit of blotching that has now been well camouflaged by some very effective BB cream. It’s amazing what a little makeup can do.
“Well, that’s probably as good as it gets, Babe,” I tell the girl looking back at me from the mirror in the ladies toilets. “Cheer up, will ye!” I say brusquely. Even I’m getting bored with my shitty mood.
Just then the door opens and two very pretty girls come in chatting animatedly. “You’re gonna love it, Marnie. The traditional music is awesome and the guy who plays the drum thingy is drop dead gorgeous.” They both smile at me and carry on talking, clearly unaware of who I am. “This place used to be such a dive — full of druggies — but I think it’s under new management or something, ‘cause it’s really turned around.”
“That bartender is pretty cute too,” ventures the friend. “Do you think I should give him my number? He is a bit short though…”
“I don’t think you’re his type…” The girl smiles at her friend, scrunching her nose in sympathy.
I gather up my make-up bag and walk out of the ladies room smiling. They’re the kind of customer that we’ve — I mean, I’ve — been trying to attract. They’re young, upwardly mobile, and interested in exploring other cultures, especially if it’s just a couple of blocks from work or home. Not to mention that they probably have good jobs and money to spend on the weekend.
I’ve got to admit it; the proof is in the pudding. People love the changes that Michaél has made and I’d be mad to continue being angry with him, especially since Ridlee has assured me that he can’t just waltz in here and take half the bar. Time to put my big girl pants on and enjoy the bar’s success. Being nice is so much more fun than being nasty. I’m exhausted by the effort of the last two weeks. It’s definitely time for a change. I almost let out a sigh of relief, such is the wondrous feeling of a huge weight being lifted.
Dropping my make-up bag back in the office, I head back into the bar to enjoy what’s left of the evening. It’s Saturday night and the motley crew of musicians and singers are making themselves comfortable in the corner booth which they have managed to commandeer to the point that people don’t use those seats much anymore, out of some kind of respect or something. Barry is dropping down pints and filling jugs of water for them. I go over to say hello.
“How’re ye?” I ask, amping up the Irish lilt.
“Grand, yeah … good, Erin, How’re you?” come the replies as people open music cases and store coats under seats. A lot of them are ex-pats, others are first-generation Irish, and some are just into the music. There’s even a guy from Pakistan who plays the fiddle. It’s a nice bunch of people and it seems to be expanding all the time. It was, I’ll concede, an awesome idea to have an open session. Hats off to Michaél.
“Are ye all good for drinks?” I ask checking that there’s a glass in front of each of them. They nod or mutter their ascent.
“Grand, so, Barry here will look after ye. If ye need a drink, just give him a nod.” I put my hand on Barry’s shoulder.
“Is Michaél around this evening?” asks Sheena, the squeezebox player. “We could do with a bodhrán player. Steve’s not able to make it tonight.”
“Eh, I’ll ask.” I glance back to where I last saw Michaél. He’s leaning over the bar and one of the girls from the ladies room is whispering in his ear. It’s Marnie, I think. She’s saying something to him while cupping her hand round her mouth. She draws back and looks at him. He gives her his devastatingly cute, perplexed look, and cocks his head, apparently confused by what she’s said. She laughs out loud and leans in again. This time she plants a kiss right on his mouth. He pulls back, mock shocked, but laughing. She’s pointing at the brass plaque behind him on the wall that reads Kiss me, I’m Irish.
I march over, my hands full of empty glasses and set them on the bar in front of him. “Whenever you have a minute, could you wash a few glasses?” Then I lift the counter top and let myself in back behind the bar.