Free The Pub Across the Pond by Mary Carter Page A

were “great” three times in a row. Carlene wondered if she would ever do something so remarkable that she would be great times three. The twins were drinkers, and gamblers, and wickedly handsome. They moved to Atlantic City, and died, one week apart, at age thirty-three. The exact cause of their mysterious deaths, if her grandmother knew, was never articulated, but Carlene always assumed it was due to their wickedly handsome ways.
    â€œYou’re Irish too, you know,” her grandmother often said. Oh, Carlene knew. She knew it the way her lungs almost burst just listening to her grandmother play those songs on the record player. She knew it the way she could close her eyes and feel herself standing on a windswept cliff, see the ocean pounding the rocks below, or feel her small body rolling down the rolling hills with a thousand shades of green.
    Becca made a fist and knocked on Carlene’s forehead. “Anybody in there?”
    â€œSorry,” Carlene said. “I was just thinking about Ireland. My great-great-great-grandmother was—”
    â€œWouldn’t you just die?” Becca said. There it was, she wasn’t really listening.
    â€œI couldn’t even imagine,” Carlene said.
    â€œImagine, running my wine bar in Ireland,” Becca said.
    â€œIt’s not a wine bar, Becca. It’s a pub.”
    â€œIt doesn’t have to stay a pub. It would be my place. I could change it into a wine bar.”
    â€œI don’t know if it’s a big wine country. They do seem to like their pints.”
    â€œI was in Dublin, the real one, remember? And I’m telling you, it’s a very sophisticated city. They’re, like, so European now.”
    â€œThey’ve always been European,” Carlene said. Carlene had never been to Europe, or Asia, or Australia, or the Middle East. Becca had been everywhere.
    â€œYou know what I mean.”
    â€œThis pub isn’t in Dublin. Near Galway, didn’t he say?” Carlene said. Becca shrugged.
    â€œDid you know there’s a large Jewish population in Cork City?” Becca said.
    â€œI did not know that,” Carlene said.
    â€œOh yes. I learned all about it when we toured Cork. Apparently, when the Jews were fleeing to America during the war, the boat stopped in Cork, and when the captain, or like whoever, yelled out, ‘New Cork,’ a lot of the Jews thought they said ‘New York’ and they disembarked.”
    â€œWow,” Carlene said.
    â€œDo you have any gum?” Becca said. “God, I hate this baby. I need something in my mouth all the time.” Carlene stuck her hand in her pocket. She pulled out a couple of crumpled bills.
    â€œWhat do you know,” Carlene said. “Two dollars.” She held the money out to Becca. Becca grabbed both of Carlene’s hands and squeezed them so tight, Carlene wondered if she was in labor.
    â€œYou know I didn’t mean it. You know I do not hate this baby.”
    â€œOf course I know that,” Carlene said. “I never believed you for a second.” Again, she held out the two dollars.
    â€œForget it,” Becca said. “I’d rather you owe me.” She looked at her watch. “Do the Irish eat sauerkraut? I’ve got a yen for some sauerkraut.”
    Carlene laughed. “Sauerkraut is German,” she said. “But I’ll bet we could find some cabbage.”
    â€œThat’s what I meant,” Becca said. “Corned beef and cabbage.” Carlene stood. Becca remained sitting. Finally she stuck her hands out and allowed Carlene to pull her up off the chair. Becca bought corned beef and cabbage and Carlene bought a beer, and they watched children ride ponies with green saddles. Becca reached over and took Carlene’s hand.
    â€œI hope this isn’t making you think of Brendan,” she said.
    â€œNot at all,” Carlene said. “Not at all.” But even as the words were