Free Notes from a Spinning Planet—Ireland by Melody Carlson Page B

crates and tie things down, as if they’re getting ready for a storm. Everyone seems busy, and we try not to get in their way as we look at the various fishing boats. Then it starts to rain. Not just small drops either. It’s like the sky has literally opened up, and the rain is coming down by the bucketfuls.
    “Let’s get out of this,” says Ryan as he grabs me by the arm and practically drags me through a dark doorway right off the street. My eyes adjust to the dim light, and I instantly recognize that we’re in a pub. It figures. But at least it’s warm and dry, and I noticethere’s even a fire crackling in a small stone fireplace over in the corner. If it weren’t a pub, it would be very inviting.
    Ryan leads me over to a tall table situated right in front of the window, and I sit down and peel off my damp sweater. “This is nice,” I say as I peer out the cloudy glass to see the docks and boats being pelted by the rain.
    “Really?” One of his brows lifts in a skeptical expression.
    “Yeah. Really.”
    “So are you going to wig out if I order a Guinness?”
    I consider this. “No,” I finally say, “I am not.”
    “Cool. I don’t want one, but I appreciate the flexibility.” He smiles, and it occurs to me that he has a very nice smile.
    I’m not sure why, but for the first time since we’ve been in Ireland, I don’t feel all that concerned that I’m sitting in a pub or that Ryan might have a beer. It seems like no big deal. Whether this means I’ve made some kind of spiritual compromise is a mystery to me. But at the moment, I don’t care. I’m just glad to be in a dry place.
    We order our drinks. Coffee for Ryan and hot tea for me. “So how does it feel to be in the same region where your father’s family came from?” I glance around the sparsely populated pub. “Think anyone here is related to you?”
    He studies the guys sitting at the bar. They look like fishermen, but I don’t see any resemblance to Ryan. “Who knows?”
    “Want me to ask if anyone here knows someone by the name of McIntire?” I say in a slightly teasing tone.
    He laughs. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that just yet. I feel like I need to get my bearings first. You know?”
    I nod. “Yeah, it must seem kind of strange.”
    “Yeah. It’s really making me think about my dad. To be honest, I haven’t done that much. I mean, I never really knew him. And my mom didn’t speak of him much. At least not until this past year.”
    “What was he like?”
    “Well, like I said, he was born in America, but according to my mom, his heart belonged to Ireland.”
    “How’s that?”
    “I suppose it was a result of hearing family stories and stuff. But during the seventies, he really got caught up in Northern Ireland politics. He wanted to come over here, but his parents said he had to finish college first. So after he graduated, he came. I guess it was supposed to be just for a visit, but then he decided to stay.”
    “For good?”
    “For good or for bad.”
    “Huh?”
    “I think he was kind of torn. I mean, he really loved my mom, and he knew she didn’t want to live here, not back then when things were such a mess. And then she got pregnant with me, so they went back to America.” He sighs.
    “But then he returned to Ireland?”
    “Like I said, he came back when I was a baby. It was supposed to be a short trip…”
    “But he never came home again.”
    “Yep.” Then he takes a drink of his coffee.
    “Because he died here,” I offer, feeling as if I’m the one telling Ryan’s story.
    “Yep.”
    “How did he die, Ryan? Do you know?”
    “My dad was a member of the IRA.”
    “Really?” I blink in surprise. All I know about the IRA is that they want to reunite Ireland through means of violence. They’re the ones who were responsible for the bombings and shootings when Sid and Danielle came here. And even though they’ve “disarmed,” it seems their influence is still around—especially after