Dee set the carafe down and tipped toward Ballybeg’s postmaster. “I never ever want to restart your feckin’ heart again, Connor Kelly, so behave yourself.”
She swayed her hips extra hard when she went back to the other end of the bar, and I turned to Connor, my eyebrows raised.
He sighed. “She does CPR one time…one feckin’ time, and she thinks she’s all feckin’ that.”
I stared at him in shock, and it took a moment before I asked, “Youactuallyhad a heart attack?”
Mrs. Nolan, who’d just walked into the bar, slapped Connor on the back of his head. “He sure did, and Dee saved his life. Connor, you ask her for beer again before five in the evening, and I won’t just tell Sheila, I’ll tell your ma.”
Connor went pale. “Now, Eileen, you do no such thing. Ma finds out, and it’ll turn into the feckin’ Night of the Big Wind all over again!”
Mrs. Nolan sighed. “Dee, love, I’m going to be at my usual table. Mr. Nolan is going to join us today.”
“Saoirse, one full Irish for Mrs. Nolan and one without mushrooms for Mr. Nolan. I’ll draw you a pint in a second, Eileen,” Dee called out.
The older woman turned around and regally went to the table I always saw her at.
“She thinks she’s the mayor of the village or somesuch thing,” Connor grumbled. “Always in everyone’s business.”
“I can hear you, Connor,” Mrs. Nolan scolded him just as Dee said, “I think she can hear you.”
Connor finished his coffee, dropped a couple of euros on the bar, and walked out, still complaining about how no one was serving him what he wanted.
“You having the full Irish?” Dee asked me as she began to polish glasses after finishing whatever it was she’d been doing on her laptop.
“I’m still digesting last night’s pie,” I told her.
She laughed. “Are we fattening you up, Yank?”
“Speaking of which, is there…like a gym or a place I can work out, lift weights?”
Dee nodded. “Aye, there’s a spot. Just past the green, behind the old community center. It’s nothin’ fancy, mind you. There will be no towel service.”
“I can manage withoutserviceof all kinds.” I grinned. “I mean, you promised to put chocolate on my pillow every night, and you haven’t, not even once, and see how well I’m doing.”
She rolled her eyes. “Mickey Byrne runs the place you need.”
I waited for her to explain who the hell this Mickey was.
She smirked, setting the beer glass she just polished on the shelf. “He’s a retired boxer. Went pro in his day but came back to Ballybeg years ago. As I said, the gym’s not much—some old weights, a few punchingbags, a makeshift ring. He trains some of the local kids there. Keeps them out of trouble.”
A boxer in Ballybeg? I couldn’t help but be intrigued. “He fought professionally?”
“He most certainly did,” she said with pride, and it was obvious this Mickey person was highly regarded by Dee. “He fought all over the world. Had a mean left hook. But Ballybeg’s his home. He set up that gym to give back. It’s become a bit of a sanctuary for the kids who need it.”
“He’ll let me use his place?”
“Why not?”
Why not, indeed?
It was a rare pleasure to be in a place like Ballybeg, where everything was out in the open, and the people were unapologetically themselves. This was a community that wouldn’t pour a pint for a man with a heart condition, but they’d happily nick a biscuit for a toddler and turn a blind eye when a dying old man pinched the pub owner’s arse—just for the fun of it.
“Where can I find this…ah…gym?”
“You know where Paddy’s garage is?” When I nodded, she continued, “It’s right by there. Paddy and Mickey are old friends.”
As I walked the ten minutes to Paddy’s garage, the thought hit me—I didn’t want to leaveBallybeg on Tuesday when the Porsche was fixed. I wanted to stay a little longer. I was enjoying myself, and while I knew I’d eventually get bored, I wasn’t there yet.
