Running Back (New York Leopards 2)

My chest clenched and my heart twisted. “I think I would have found everything at Kilkarten.” I extricated my hand and forced a smile. “Anyway. I guess I should go.” I shrugged. “Go Leopards.”

And then I left.

Chapter Three

I spent the next week running.

It was amazing, the amount of energy that unhappiness and stress created. Every time I thought about the loss of Ivernis or the meeting with O’Connor, another spurt of speed burst through me.

Now what? I couldn’t base my thesis off research that didn’t happen. I couldn’t study a site if I never found it. I would have to change my entire focus.

In the middle of circling Central Park’s giant reservoir, I came to a stop and stared blankly across the water at Midtown’s skyline, at the hotels and the towers of Times Square, and, off to the left, the familiar peak of the Empire State Building. Cam and I always joked about how scenes would go in the movie version of our lives, and I imagined this was the point where I would fall to my knees and start crying.

“Fuck,” I said, because if I wasn’t going to cry, something ought to mark the collapse of my dreams.

The water didn’t answer me. The trees, heavy with spring buds and the chirp of sparrows, swayed lightly. Behind me, fellow joggers bounced along in the sanctioned counter-clockwise direction, and tourists ambled to a stop every few steps, cameras clutched in hand. No one seemed to notice that the world had just ended.

I sighed and yanked my falling elastic out of my hair, flopping over at the waist so that the thick dirty-blond strands tumbled toward the dirt path. I gathered it in one hand before it trailed against the ground and bundled it back into a messy ponytail, and then readjusted my bobby pins as well.

Time to go home.

* * *

When Carthage fell, when Rome fell, bacchanalian chaos reigned in the streets. When Hailey’s Comet streaked through the sky, people fell into the arms of strangers.

Since this was on a slightly smaller scale, I ran and watched cat videos.

A week after Mike O’Connor had refused to sign the papers, Cam came home to find me once more in front of my lapto

p. She threw her purse into her room, where it landed with a soft thud. “What are you doing?”

I waved at my computer. “This cat’s trying to eat a watermelon. It’s adorable.”

She reached over and closed my laptop case. “Okay. No. You’re not watching cat videos for the rest of your life.”

“But I looked up things that make people feel better when depressed, and this came up.”

She shook her head. “You have to focus on the positives. Like, maybe we don’t sublet your room, but instead you stay here and we have the best. Summer. Ever.”

“Oh, I’m not staying here,” I said. “I’ve decided that I’m still going to Ireland.”

Cam’s eyes narrowed. “What? How does that make any sense?”

I shrugged. “Jeremy’s in Ireland. All the other specialists in our field are there. And even if I can’t dig at Kilkarten, I can still go look at the land, especially the public property surrounding the farm, and look at old records that are only available locally. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing.”

“That’s stupid. You’re going to go there and stare at the land you can’t excavate? It’s going to drive you crazy.”

“Probably,” I agreed. “But it’s better than doing nothing at all.”

* * *

Two weeks after my failed meeting with Michael O’Connor, my brothers came into the city so we could go to the NFL Draft.

I’d been looking forward to it for months. We’d talked about going for the past several years, but since tickets were distributed on a first-come, first-serve basis the night before the Draft began, it took some organization. This year, though, Peter planned a whole trip up from DC with his wife and four-year old, who opted to see a musical. Quinn, who lived in Philly, bunked with Evan in his cramped Village apartment. And the night before the Draft began, the four of us spent hours in line to pick up wristbands that would give us entrance.

I was thrilled to see my brothers. I had bets placed on which teams would draft which players. But right before I was supposed to go meet my brothers to line up to enter Radio City Music Hall, nerves hit me hard.

“I’m just not feeling well,” I told Cam. “Maybe I should stay home.”