to the letter for now. And maybe I’ll ask Bridget Nolan if she has any ideas—she’s probably around the right age to know. Oh, and thanks a lot for helping with the cleaning, Rose.”
The door opened, ushering in a few customers, who found their way to seats. Maura tucked the letter deep in her bag. If Old Mick had read and saved the letter, he must have had some reason, and it occurred to her that it might help give some clue as to who his relations might be.
“I’ll give these others to me da, when he comes in, shall I?” Rose asked.
“Sure. He’s the one that pays the bills, right? You wantto take care of those two?” Maura nodded toward the latest arrivals. “And when we have a moment, maybe we should go over the staffing schedule.”
“Right,” Rose said, then went to take the newcomers’ order. She chatted for a moment, then came back and started pulling two pints.
Maura began again, “Your dad said that the place doesn’t usually open until midafternoon this time of year?”
“That’s right, or later, especially in the middle of the week. No point in wasting the electric, now, is there? Of course, Old Mick was usually here, and if business was slow, he and Billy would sit by the fire and swap lies. He might have been old, but he stayed on until nearly closing, most nights. Da and Mick Nolan kind of shared the evening hours, but there was nothing like a plan—they just worked it out day to day. I cover afternoons mostly, and I help at night when things are busy. What’re you thinking?”
“I can be flexible, but I want a little time to look around the area. Mick’s grandmother knew my grandmother, so I want to spend some time with her, and I want to go see where my grandfather is buried. It’s kind of hard to plan when I don’t know how long I’ll be staying.” She slid off the bar stool and came around to the back of the bar. “Okay, walk me through what we’ve got here—you know, what’s popular, where everything is.” She noted that Rose had done a good job cleaning and tidying behind the bar as well.
After that there was a steady trickle of customers. Closer to six, another man came in and made a beeline for the bar. “Rosie, you’re looking grand, my love. And who’s this?” he asked, catching sight of Maura. “A new face for the old place?” He extended his hand. “The name’s Bart Hayes.”
Maura shook his hand. “I’m Maura Donovan.”
“American, are you? How did you find yourself behind the bar in this old dump?” He said it with a smile, so Maura had to assume he know the place well.
“My grandmother came from around here. What can I get you?”
The one-line explanation seemed to satisfy the man. “A pint, of course.” He looked around the all but empty pub. “I’d offer to buy a round, but that seems an empty gesture. Will you join me, Maura Donovan? Rosie here’s too young to raise a toast.”
“You seem in a happy mood, Mr. Hayes,” Rose commented.
“That I am. I’ve just landed a big order—that’s a rare thing these days, and cause to celebrate.”
Maura slid his pint across the bar and poured herself a soda. “Congratulations. What is it you do?”
“I work for one of those pharmaceutical companies, over toward Cork. One of them that arrived under the Celtic Tiger and managed to make a go of it. Business has been slow for a while, let me tell you, but maybe now things are looking up.
Sláinte!
”
After a while, Bart Hayes recognized a newcomer and went over to talk with him. It was only her second night, but Maura fell easily into the rhythm of serving. The patrons seemed to enjoy the chance to chat her up. Many were curious to meet the American girl they’d somehow already heard about. The first question was usually, “So, you’re from America?” most often followed by some variation on “Why are you here?” although usually phrased more politely than that. Maura felt a bit embarrassed to be the center ofattention, but
The door opened, ushering in a few customers, who found their way to seats. Maura tucked the letter deep in her bag. If Old Mick had read and saved the letter, he must have had some reason, and it occurred to her that it might help give some clue as to who his relations might be.
“I’ll give these others to me da, when he comes in, shall I?” Rose asked.
“Sure. He’s the one that pays the bills, right? You wantto take care of those two?” Maura nodded toward the latest arrivals. “And when we have a moment, maybe we should go over the staffing schedule.”
“Right,” Rose said, then went to take the newcomers’ order. She chatted for a moment, then came back and started pulling two pints.
Maura began again, “Your dad said that the place doesn’t usually open until midafternoon this time of year?”
“That’s right, or later, especially in the middle of the week. No point in wasting the electric, now, is there? Of course, Old Mick was usually here, and if business was slow, he and Billy would sit by the fire and swap lies. He might have been old, but he stayed on until nearly closing, most nights. Da and Mick Nolan kind of shared the evening hours, but there was nothing like a plan—they just worked it out day to day. I cover afternoons mostly, and I help at night when things are busy. What’re you thinking?”
“I can be flexible, but I want a little time to look around the area. Mick’s grandmother knew my grandmother, so I want to spend some time with her, and I want to go see where my grandfather is buried. It’s kind of hard to plan when I don’t know how long I’ll be staying.” She slid off the bar stool and came around to the back of the bar. “Okay, walk me through what we’ve got here—you know, what’s popular, where everything is.” She noted that Rose had done a good job cleaning and tidying behind the bar as well.
After that there was a steady trickle of customers. Closer to six, another man came in and made a beeline for the bar. “Rosie, you’re looking grand, my love. And who’s this?” he asked, catching sight of Maura. “A new face for the old place?” He extended his hand. “The name’s Bart Hayes.”
Maura shook his hand. “I’m Maura Donovan.”
“American, are you? How did you find yourself behind the bar in this old dump?” He said it with a smile, so Maura had to assume he know the place well.
“My grandmother came from around here. What can I get you?”
The one-line explanation seemed to satisfy the man. “A pint, of course.” He looked around the all but empty pub. “I’d offer to buy a round, but that seems an empty gesture. Will you join me, Maura Donovan? Rosie here’s too young to raise a toast.”
“You seem in a happy mood, Mr. Hayes,” Rose commented.
“That I am. I’ve just landed a big order—that’s a rare thing these days, and cause to celebrate.”
Maura slid his pint across the bar and poured herself a soda. “Congratulations. What is it you do?”
“I work for one of those pharmaceutical companies, over toward Cork. One of them that arrived under the Celtic Tiger and managed to make a go of it. Business has been slow for a while, let me tell you, but maybe now things are looking up.
Sláinte!
”
After a while, Bart Hayes recognized a newcomer and went over to talk with him. It was only her second night, but Maura fell easily into the rhythm of serving. The patrons seemed to enjoy the chance to chat her up. Many were curious to meet the American girl they’d somehow already heard about. The first question was usually, “So, you’re from America?” most often followed by some variation on “Why are you here?” although usually phrased more politely than that. Maura felt a bit embarrassed to be the center ofattention, but
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