“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I know your Uncle Donovan!”
“Get out of town!” January exclaimed, eyes bright, and leaned Cillian’s way.
“By the heavens, I knew you looked familiar. You’ve got your family’s eyes, lass.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“’Twasn’t meant as a compliment,” he teased but she slapped his shoulder in retribution, making him laugh.
“My head’s reelin’,” Cillian said, looking on January. “Donovan MacLochlainn’s niece in my very presence. By God, I’ve heard nothing but talk of your talent from here to kingdom come for years. The town’s sick of it, but he carries on and on.” He sat up and looked around. January grabbed my arm, making me wish I could glue her hand there, but I was too distracted to dwell because she appeared nervous. “James!” Cillian yelled across the room. “James! Have you your board tonight?” he asked one of the band members near the bar top.
“Aye!” James answered back.
“But I have a gift for you, James! A Yank! A bloody Yank who can play like an angel apparently.”
Cillian grabbed January’s arm and hauled her to her feet, the look of surprise on her face made my heart race. I stood and grabbed her other arm.
“Come, darlin’, none of us bite,” he said, smiling.
“But - I haven’t prepared anything. I haven’t played Maimeó’s songs in years!”
“It’s like riding a bicycle, lass. ’Sides, you’re Irish. It’s in your blood!”
I was right in step beside January. “Do you want to leave?” I asked, worried.
She sighed but smiled. “The worst thing that can happen is that I forget and they boo me, right? Not so bad,” she said, wringing her hands.
“Let’s go,” I said, taking her warm hand.
“No, no. I think I can do this. They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing, right?”
I smiled.
January took the keyboards and began playing softly before winking my direction.
“An Irishman walks into a pub,” she begins and the bar went silent. “The bartender asks him, ‘What'll you have?’” Her Irish accent was spot on. “The man says, ‘Give me three pints of Guinness, please.’ The bartender brings him three pints and the man proceeds to alternately sip one, then the other, then the third until they're gone. He then orders three more.
“The bartender says, ‘Sir, no need to order as many at a time. I’ll keep an eye on it and when you get low, I'll bring you a fresh one.’ The man replies, ‘You don't understand. I have two brothers, one in Australia and one in the States. We made a vow to each other that every Saturday night we'd still drink together. So right now, me brothers have three Guinness stouts too, and we're drinking together.’
“The bartender thought this a wonderful tradition and every week the man came in and ordered three beers.” January’s playing and voice became more solemn, dramatic. “But one week, he ordered only two.” The crowd oohed and ahhed. “He slowly drank them,” she continued darkly, “and then ordered two more. The bartender looked at him sadly. ‘Sir, I know your tradition, and, agh, I'd just like to say that I'm sorry for your loss.’
“The man looked on him strangely before it finally dawned on him. ‘Oh, me brothers are fine - I just quit drinking.’”
The pub erupted in laughter as January played briskly through their whoops and hollers and when they’d quieted down, she stopped only to immediately start a heart-stopping rendition of Cooley’s Reel. The pub kept beat on the wooden bar tops with their fists and the drummer joined in on the bodhrán.
I watched her. God, how I watched her. She was in her element, totally immersed in her playing and from the look on her face, probably didn’t have any idea people were even listening. I knew that feeling. I reveled in that feeling when I was with The Ivories. She was amazing, breathtaking, actually, and that’s when the realization hit me like a two-ton bomb. I was in the deepest of troubles.
Chapter Five
One Foot
January
When Cooley’s Reel came to an end, I awoke from my piano-induced stupor to shouts and applause. I was rushed in that moment, not really even aware what people were so happy about. I searched the crowd for Thomas to see what he thought of my performance but came across Ailin’s face first. He gave me a thumbs-up, so I smiled back. I continued my search but fell upon the wrong person’s face again in Cillian.
“By heavens, lass! You are everything your uncle claimed you to be and more! I will never give him shite again!” He kissed the top of my head in drunken amazement before turning to talk to James, the Alba whistle player.
I searched the crowd again, almost frantic this time, for no real reason I could fathom other than I just wanted to see Tom’s face. I smiled and shook hands politely, scanning the crowd until I caught his face in the back, standing by the tables we’d sat at earlier with Shane’s friends.