“So youareIrish.”
Lynch shrugged. “In a manner. I grew up there, and I have friends there. Like family, really, of which your grandmother was one.”
“Gran never mentioned anyone from Ireland. She only talked about what it was like for her as a child.”
“We have not seen her for some time,” Lynch admitted. “She was good friends with my godfather, Rob Connolly. Did she never speak of Inis Oírr? It’s where she learned to make the sweater the barman over there is wearing.”
At the name, pronounced “Inish-eer,” something tingled in the back of my mind. A memory that maybe I’d never known I had.
I turned toward Andy, who had pushed the thick sleeves of his cream-colored sweater up his pudgy forearms while he steamed milk. My heart throbbed again at the memory of Gran making it. She had tried to teach me how to knit several times, but I had always been too busy to take up the craft she said was part of my heritage.
Inis Oírr. The Aran Islands. Yes, I knew it.
I turned back to the table and took a large sip of my coffee, somewhat guiltily. “She did mention it.”
We sat there for a moment, evaluating each other. I hoped he would volunteer more information about himself, but none came. Finally, I lost patience.Sorry, Gran, I thought. She would have always cautioned me to wait.There’s never a need to ask,she’d always say.Everyone tells a seer everything eventually.
But this man had been following me for over a week, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he knew something about the shadowed voices in the hall. I didn’t have time to wait, and I doubted he would let me hold his hand while I dug around for answers.
“So, why were you sent to find me, Dr. Lynch? How did you know about my grandmother’s death?”
Lynch looked around the coffee shop, spending a moment or two examining the few remaining customers. They were locals, all plain and all recognizable to me, though Lynch couldn’t have known that.
Finally, he bent down and from a sleek, leather briefcase removed a large white document, which he placed on the table before putting his reading glasses back on. “I had hoped to do this somewhere else, but it appears this is our chosen venue. Unless you’d like me to escort you somewhere private.”
Something else inside me buzzed at the word “private.” It wasn’t unpleasant. But it wasn’t comfortable either.
“I would not,” I replied.
There was a quick green look. “Very well. I am the executor of your grandmother’s will,” Lynch informed me. “Upon her death, I am required to make contact with you immediately and serve you with her last wishes. Now, do you still prefer to proceed…here?” He waved a graceful hand around the steadily more trafficked cafe. “Or perhaps remove to a more private location to go over the contents of this document?”
I stared at him, baffled and suddenly very aware of the contrast between his overall poised demeanor and clothing and the way my sweat-soaked hair and garments clung to my skin. I was also aware that his stories didn’t match up.
“A week ago, you were an academic at an Irish Studies talk,” I stated. “Then you were a scientist, ‘Dr. Lynch.’ Maybe atOregon. Then some other unnamed institution. And now you’re an attorney too?”
He rolled his eyes, which only made me more irritated.
“This isn’t a game to me, Doctor–Mister–whoever you are!” I hissed, which was the only alternative to shouting at him. I doubted his muffling spell would completely hide that.
Not one person in the room turned toward us. Goddess, even his spells were perfect.
It was infuriating.
Unconsciously, I started to chew the edge of my thumbnail, as I often did when I was stressed or frustrated.
Lynch cringed visibly. “Do you know you carry more germs on your hands than anywhere else on your body?”
I ripped my hand from my mouth and glared at him. “My grandmother, the only family I have in the world, just died by what I suspect were very violent and painful means. You keep showing up and playing coy with your disappearing acts and flexible job titles. If you’re really here to do what you say you’re here to do, then you at least owe it to me to be honest, because to be quite frank, I don’t have any more patience for your cryptic bullshit.”
Lynch recoiled as though he’d been slapped. “Violent? What do you mean by that?”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll keep those cards close to my chest for the time being.”
He examined me for a moment more, expression torn between what seemed to be irritation and pity. Finally, his jaw softened, and he inhaled deeply before speaking.
“I am sorry if I’ve caused any additional duress,” he said. “I am only here to guide you through this difficult period. As for my, er, flexible job title, you may satisfy yourself to know that I am in fact a physicist as well as a solicitor. One can earn more than one degree in a lifetime, you know.”
He pulled a phone from his pocket and proceeded to pull up a faculty page bearing his profile on the University of Roma website, then passed me a business card with his name and lawyerly credentials printed neatly across its plain white surface. I glanced at the screen and took the card, finding through touch that yet again, he appeared to be telling the truth—or at least part of it.