Read Online The Pub Across the Pond by Mary Carter - Free Book Online Page B

same. Oh, if your rabbi could see you now, Carlene thought.
    â€œThat’s so sad,” Carlene said.
    â€œAh, but you can help out today with just twenty dollars.” The man leaned in until he was only an inch or so from Carlene’s face. He smelled of cigarettes and tea. “And you never know, do ye? Luck is like the weather. It can change like that.” He snapped his fingers. Carlene jumped. Becca folded her entry, kissed it, and stuck it in the box.
    â€œIs it in Dublin?” Becca said. “The real one?” she added as if the fake one were listening.
    â€œNo, no, I’m afraid not. She’s on the West Coast of Ireland, near Galway.”
    â€œThat’s so cute.” Becca turned to Carlene. “Did you hear that? The pub is a she. Like a truck or a boat.” Carlene didn’t answer, she was back to looking at the women on the poster.
    â€œUncle Jimmy’s daughters,” the man said.
    â€œOh,” Carlene said quickly. She hoped he didn’t remember Becca insinuating they were strippers. Becca linked arms with Carlene.
    â€œLet’s go get soda bread,” she said.
    â€œWait,” Carlene said. She dug in her purse and counted out her money. Eighteen dollars. She thought for sure she’d only spent ten. With her luck she’d probably dropped two. Maybe the wind had carried it away and it was stuck to some beer guzzler’s sweaty gut. She looked at Becca. “I’m two dollars short,” she said.
    â€œYou didn’t buy the Celtic cross necklace because you said you were broke,” Becca said. “And it was only fifteen dollars.”
    â€œI know. But I want to help out Uncle Jimmy,” Carlene said. Becca leaned in and lowered her voice.
    â€œHe’s dead,” Becca said. “I don’t think your twenty dollars is going to help.”
    â€œHis daughters, then,” Carlene said.
    â€œAh, good girl,” the man said. “Twenty dollars, luv.”
    â€œCome on, Becca,” Carlene said. “I’ll pay you back.”
    Becca sighed as if Carlene were her teenage daughter, hitting her up for an extra week’s allowance. She rolled her eyes at the man as she dug two dollars out of her Coach purse.
    â€œDon’t complain about this later,” Becca said. She handed her the two dollars.
    â€œI won’t,” Carlene said. “And thank you.”
    â€œYou’re welcome,” Becca said. “But if your luck does change, you owe me.”

    Carlene and Becca sat at a small green plastic table set up on the sidewalk and daydreamed over generous pieces of Irish soda bread, butter, and homemade jam. “Can you imagine winning a pub in Ireland?” Becca said. She spoke with her mouth full.
    â€œIt rains a lot in Ireland,” Carlene said.
    â€œThat’s the beauty of it,” Becca said. “Job security.”
    â€œI don’t follow,” Carlene said.
    â€œRemember when I lived in Seattle for six months and I called you crying every day because all it did was rain?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWell, I didn’t tell you this because I didn’t want you to judge me, but all I did to get through it was drink.”
    â€œYou still drink. I mean, when you’re not expecting. You own a wine bar,” Carlene said. Last year Becca had opened Wine on the Flats, a wine bar in Cleveland, where they lived.
    â€œThat’s nothing compared to how much I drank in Seattle,” Becca said. “Rain, rain, rain, rain. It was all I could do not to throw myself off the Aurora Bridge.”
    â€œIt’s a good thing you’re not selling those raffle tickets,” Carlene said.
    â€œI’m just saying—you’d make a lot of money.”
    â€œI hope whoever wins it isn’t just after money,” Carlene said. “Did you see how cute the pub was? It was family owned. God, it must be hard for them to sell.”
    â€œMaybe sad enough