I thought for some reason, then, about that stack of paperwork neatly stowed in his glove compartment. Even in the short time I’d known him, I could tell that was important to Eamonn, being responsible. Taking responsibility. I didn’t want to take that away from him, but I also didn’t want what had happened between us to be one more thing he beat himself up about. That didn’t feel good.
“Let’s just say we were both caught up in the moment,” I said. “I don’t regret it.”
He glanced over at me. “You don’t?”
Feeling apologetic about some of the ways things had gone down was different from wishing it had never happened at all. I couldn’t regret it, not when I’d been dying to touch him like that since practically the moment he’d come up to me at the bus stop, not when I’d been dying forhimto touchmelike that from the moment our hands brushed over an apple. Even now, I could still feel the low, lingering throb from that orgasm he’d given me in the car. He could get me there in thirty seconds if he touched me again.
“Do you?”
“No,” he said. “Not if you don’t.”
I covered my face with my hands, and when I pulled them away, laughing, I could tell that Eamonn might’ve thought I’d started crying instead. He had a look of concern that evened out once he saw that I was okay.
“I just can’t believe we’re talking about this,” I said, “in front of William.”
He grinned. “He can handle it,” he said. “After all that shit that went down with Maud Gonne.”
I nodded knowledgeably, even though I was thinking of the parts of that history I only knew from the Cranberries song, and from the expression on Eamonn’s face, I felt like he could tell.
“I can’t believe we did all that so close to a church,” he said. “It wasn’t exactly on my mind at the time.”
His voice was light, and I already knew he wasn’t particularly religious, but still I felt another pang of guilt on his behalf. “So maybe you do feel god, at least a little bit.”
He could’ve just pointed out that what he was feeling was probably closer to the vestigial remnants of societal pressures, his mother’s influence, whatever. But he was looking out over the landscape, quiet before he finally turned back to me. “Maybe I do.”
Those black birds were swirling overhead again. They’d settle on top of the trees, like they were ready for a rest, and then in a flurry they’d all be off, calling out to each other as if to say,It’s on, lads, let’s go. Or at least that was how I imagined them now in my head, Irish accents and all.
Eamonn was watching me watch the birds. “So what do you want to do?” he asked. “We can hang out here for a couple more hours, wait for the church to open. We can go back to the car to sleep a little, although…” From the way he trailed off, I knew he was thinking more about the way I’d woken up, how upset I seemed to be at having fallen asleep in the first place,than about the chances of us repeating what we’d done before. I trusted him more than I trusted myself. Ihadbeen the one to initiate things, and I couldn’t say with one hundred percent certainty I wouldn’t be tempted to try again.
“I’d rather not sleep,” I said.
He looked like he’d expected that answer. “I saw a place a little up the road. How would you feel about trying to get some coffee?”
As we were headed backto the car, I reached into the pocket of my jacket to retrieve the key, which I’d taken out of the ignition when I’d decided to follow him. But he surprised me by not immediately taking it.
“Have you ever driven a manual?”
“A long time ago,” I said. “I’m not sure I’d remember.”
“It’s like riding a bike,” he said. “And we won’t be going more than a couple of kilometers. Want to give it a try?”
I didn’t know what made me more nervous—driving a stick shift, driving on the opposite side of a vehicle on the opposite side of the road, or just driving Eamonn’s beloved car at all, when I knew it was important to him.
But maybe it was because it was important to him that I also wanted to try. Something told me he didn’t make the offer lightly.
“Sure,” I said. “But if I’m like, permanently fucking up your car, you have to promise me you’ll make me pull over and we can switch.”
“Oh, I promise,” he said, but he gave me a smile to take the sting out of it.
I had to move the seat up to reach the pedals, which made me blush when I even thought of why it had been helpful to have it a little farther back less than an hour ago. Eamonn gave me a quick overview, reminded me of where the gears were, told me about a couple particular quirks to this car, and then seemed to just trust that…I could drive.
“I don’t know why I agreed to this,” I said.
“You’re grand,” he said. “Don’t forget the clutch.”
Despite his instructions, I immediately stalled out exiting the parking lot, and Eamonn had to walk me through how to get going again. Once I’d pulled onto the main road and settled into driving—with a slightly jerky transition from one gear to another, but it was fine—I let myself relax in my seat a little.
“The kindest thing someone ever did for me,” I said, “was when I was first learning to drive. My first car was a stick, actually, because it was what my dad drove. I was all by myself, and trying to turn left onto this busy road, and there was a middle lane but it had those barriers up to stop people from merging into the turn lane too soon, I don’t know what they’re called?”
