In Virginia Deep

On the road

Michael's car was a 2004 Renault Megane.  We drove in silence except for the radio which was playing songs in Irish. It comforted me. The hard vowel sounds mixed with the musicality of the unnaturally placed consonants. It made me sad that I didn't try to speak it more often. It's not like I had anyone to speak it too not after the Leaving Cert and it was my highest score.

"Did you hear what I said?"

My eyes snapped away from the window back to Michael who was driving, steadily down the way that leads to the C4. 

"Sorry no."

He rolled his eyes. How rude!

" I asked how, how was your journey to Cavan?" He said 'Cavan', with a soft sleepy 'a' at the end that bordered on an 'e'. 

I lean back, tugging at the seat belt as we move into the C4.

"It was alright, you know Dublin to Kells, wait for thirty minutes when they mean an hour and thirty then here I am."

He didn't laugh. None of his muscles pull an inch except the ones tapping incessantly on the steering wheel as he listens to my complaint of our beloved Irish transport system.

"You'll need a car", he said finally smoothly overtaking a purple Sedan that was driving at a leisurely pace.

"A car?"

"A car. Out west you can't always rely on public transport and taxis are exorbitant. Better to have some way to get around especially if you're thinking of going up to Bailieborough often."

I bit the inside of my mouth, a habit I have tried and failed to break, but I only do it when I'm nervous. Which I hoped would less often now that I was out of Dublin. It had to.

"I don't like driving", I said curtly.

"Don't like it or can't", he said, still not meeting my eyes. 

I sat up straighter and glared daggers at his chocolate locks.

"I just don't see the use. Helping the environment and that."

"You could get a hybrid or an electric." This time a muscle at the side of his mouth began to twitch. Was he actually smiling? No. I didn't his face fit the expression. Michael Stowell. Esquire. Smiling. Inconceivable but here he was.

"Do I look like I'm made of money?"

"Of course not. You only just bought a five-bedroom home and were skimping on a 6 bed one. "

My mouth drooped open and I was never more grateful for such a diligent driver. Who did he think he was?

"That doesn't mean I want to lash out on some 2018 or get a loan for a 2019."

He shrugged, both of his hands still on the steering wheel. They were long and elegant, almost delicate looking. I mean what would you expect from a white-collar worker.

"It doesn't have to be brand new."

"I know that it's just..." 

I didn't have a good history with cars. Whatever age.

"Alright."

And that was that for now. The jaunty chords of 'Galway Girl' wafted through the car as we entered Virginia town.  It like Bailieborough was just like I remembered it. The tiny shops lining every corner. The schoolhouse that stood on the edge of town. So quaint and quiet. Perfect to live. Perfect to escape. 

"He began to pull into a parking space behind a cluster of little shops. I looked at him puzzled.

"Aren't we going to the house?"

He put his car in park then turned to me. 

"Ruari said he'll meet us in my office."

He stepped out of the car and it took me a good five seconds before I realized that he meant for me to follow him. I pulled out my phone before stepping out of the car. Four-thirty.

"Should I get my case?", I asked already moving to the boot.

"I don't think you'll want to lug the thing around longer than you have to", Michael replied narrowing his eyes at the boot. 

"What do you have in there anyway. A body?"

A sly smile pulled at my lips at the crinkle in his nose. 

"Ah, so you do have a sense of humor."

His face returned to its impassive mask.

"Let's go." 

It was midsummer so there were children from school lounging around and tourists wandering the streets probably on their way to or from Lough Ramor or Deerforest park: both places I longed to go to after I settled in properly. 

We passed through the colorful storefronts up to the nines for the tourists. The smell of pastries from the nearby bakery wafted through the air and stirred my barely full stomach. We came to a black painted door with a bronze plaque with the words "Stowell and Warners". 

Michael opened the door and we were lead into the familiar long corridor with a red Persian rug lined with four leather chairs. There were a couple of doors all the way to the end of the corridor.

We turned to the second one on the right. Micheal's office was nothing special and perhaps its ordinariness was what made it unique. I sat down on an office chair that I nearly fell out of. Micheal raised his eyebrows as I tried to comport myself. It was so hard not to feel stupid when you were under those grey eyes. I wondered if his clients got acquitted just because he stared down the opposition. 

He moved to a filing cabinet and pulled out a file then sat down in front of his computer. I looked around the green floral wallpaper with his white circular clock and his various certificates. Bachelor, Masters, Member of the Irish Law Society. On the corner was a small bonsai beside a water dispenser that wasn't here on my last visit. 

I looked out the window to the square outside. Just to think I'd be coming here to do my shopping from now on. No big shopping centers with their ups and downs. Don't get me wrong, I loved variety but there is such a thing as too much of a choice, especially for someone as indecisive as I was. 

"You can have some water if you want", said Michael. eyes no leaving his screen, the blue light reflecting in his eyes making them look like a shimmery silver. 

I leaned back and watched him carefully. His eyes were still on his screen. I got up and went to the dispenser filling my plastic cup as I looked at the clock. Four fifty. Ruari should be here soon.

"You might want to let go of the button", Michael called out. I look down and see that the cup has overflown and spit from my hands onto the wooden floor. 

"Oh." I pull back instantly spilling the water on myself. How could I be so stupid? I rush to my handbag to get out a packet of tissues.

"I'll clean it up ", I said not wanting to even glance a look at Michael's face. We were never that tight before and now that he's seen what a klutz I am, I don't know how we'll be. 

I bent down hastily, mopping up the water. 

"Leave it", said Michael "It's fine." 

His tone didn't say it was fine but it was one I didn't want to argue with. 

"I'm sorry", I muttered, throwing the wet tissues on the bin, all the while Michael's eyes had now left his screen and were watching me intently with the same amusement from earlier. He must be wondering what kind of woman doesn't like drawing and is so absentminded all the time. It's what I assume a lot of people think once they meet me.  

I got the thought out of my head as I went to take a seat. It was a minute past five now but still no Ruari. I called him but he didn't pick.

"Maybe he's running late?"

Michael frowned. "We'll wait." So we did. For fifteen minutes. Thirty minutes. An hour. Still no Ruari. 

My eyes kept fluttering open and shut and it got the point that I fell asleep for a whole minute. I stretched out my legs in front of me avoiding Michael's eyes.

"What do you think is keeping him?" 

Michael shook his head softly brown tendrils falling onto his eye before he pushed it back. The parting didn't do its job but it didn't fail to make him look good. 

"I don't know but we should probably get you back home."

I think for a minute he's going to spend the whole night driving me to Dublin when I remember that I don't live there anymore. I live here now. 

"Oh okay." Michael sorts through a cabinet and then goes out to check on his associate. Meanwhile, I send a text to Ruari. 

Hi Ruari, you were supposed to meet us at Michael's office. I hope everything is okay.

I press send when Michael comes back and takes a look around his office, mercifully avoiding the water dispenser. I stepped out into the cool Cavan evening air. Pub songs were in abundance and children's laughter resounded from the houses down the street. I stifled a yawn, as Michael followed me from behind. 

"Was being with me very tiring"? he said.

"No", I drawled. "You are absolutely, imperiously riveting company."

He gave a light chuckle. I imagined that if whiskey could laugh, it would sound exactly like that. 

We came to the car park and got into the Renault. The engine hummed to life as I leaned back in the passenger seat as smooth jazz wafted from the radio and we began our journey to Yew House.