“But I’ll be back,” Caer assured the older woman, patting her hand where it lay on the bar. “And don’t you worry, your mum is going to be fine for years to come.”
“She’s a dear, she is,” Mary said. “Worked so hard for all of us, especially after me da died. Ah, well, this is your last dinner in old Dublin town for a while then. I’m honored ye came here for it. I’ll start ye off with the house brew, and it’s a fine one, I tell you.”
A minute later, Caer sipped her beer with enthusiasm, assuring Mary that it was the best she had tasted since she didn’t know when.
It was a very good beer. Chilled, it would have been even better, Zach thought. Once again, he found himself inexplicably bothered as he studied Caer. She had friends, obviously. And it seemed she was considered something of an angel at the hospital. But there was just something…off about the way she behaved, as if she hadn’t had a date or a drink in years.
When Mary left to get them some of the pot roast that was the daily special, Zach turned to Caer. “Is her mother really going to be all right?”
“For now. No man—or woman—is on earth forever.” She seemed strangely intent on her beer.
“Old, I take it?”
“Oh, aye. But she’ll be all right. Just a wee touch of pneumonia, but they got it under control right away.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
He was glad, at least, that she wasn’t chugging what she appeared to think was the finest glass of anything she’d ever tasted. Rather, she studied her beer, its color, the way it moved in the glass when she tipped it. And she sipped it as if she were tasting fine champagne.
“I can see that you’ll miss home,” he said.
He was startled when she turned to him with a sharp gaze. “And I can tell that you’re chafing to get back to your home.”
“Not home. Rhode Island. But for tonight, let’s just enjoy being in Dublin.”
She nodded at him sagely. “All right.”
It was then that the music started. Zach was pleased that the group on the dais eschewed the latest pop hits in favor of Irish melodies. One man had a beautifully decorated Irish drum, and Zach longed to get his hands on it. The guitars were something he saw every day; the drum was one of the most unusual he had ever seen.
Caer noticed the focus of his attention and leaned toward him. “Symbols of the old and new.” She smiled. “The colors of the flag, see? Green for the Republic. Orange for the Orangemen—the English—and white for the hope of peace. There, on the left, the shamrock, for luck. The rainbow, for the belief that dreams can come true. A leprechaun, because what could be more Irish?”
Mary came back with steaming plates of food. “Homemade,” she assured them.
“Zach was admiring that drum,” Caer told her.
“Do ye play?” Mary asked him.
“Guitar,” he told her. “I just dabble with other instruments.”
“That’s my Eamon there on that drum. I’ll tell him you’ve a fondness for it.”
“It’s all right,” he said. Too late. Mary had already headed over to the band.
Caer’s eyes were bright, and she actually grinned. “Get up and play, why don’t you?”
“Because…I’m in an Irish pub. And dinner was just served.”
“You do play, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Then get on up, will you? Dinner can wait.”
To his surprise, she rose, dragging him from the stool.
At the same time, the lead singer made an announcement.
“We’ve an American fellow in the house,” he said.
Zach wasn’t sure what to expect. He’d never experienced anything but courtesy and hospitality in Ireland, but you never knew.
“The American fellow who gave Davie Adair his big break, working with Kitty Mahoney, when he crossed the pond. We’ll be having him up here to play with us now.”
The place was filled with applause.
Zach seldom felt awkward, but he did then. He noticed that Caer was frowning at him, clearly as shocked as he was that he was known here.
“I didn’t know you were such a big deal,” she said.
“I’m not. Trust me,” he replied.
“Whichever, you have to get up there now,” she told him, her lips curved in a wry smile. He suddenly felt as if the tables had turned—against him.
There was nothing to do. He went to the stage, where the lead guitarist, a young guy with long ink-black hair handed over his guitar with a grin. “What’ll it be?” Zach asked.
Eamon said, “We’ll just do some of the old standards. You okay with that?”