Page 26 of Trying Sophie

Chapter Nine

Sophie

“So Gramps, fill me in on what’s really going on with the pub.”

I sat down on the sofa to join him for our daily cup of tea.

“The pub’s fine,” he responded gruffly and wouldn’t meet my eyes. If he had his way we’d put of this conversation indefinitely.

“Oh really?” I stared, waiting for him to crack.

Recent experience taught me if I didn’t speak he’d eventually cave. He hated when women looked at him with expectations.

After several seconds of tense silence, he relented. “It’s the economy.”

Setting his mug in front of him with a thud, the liquid sloshed over the side of the cup and onto the sturdy pine table. Before he could strain himself, I scooted over to wipe up the mess.

“I can do that Sophie. You’re not here to play nursemaid.”

“I know you can, and no, I’m not,” I agreed. “But I’m closer and I don’t want to give you a chance to dodge my question by focusing on something else.”

I smiled and he grinned back. We both knew that’s exactly what he’d do if I gave him the chance.

“And no, it’s not the economy,” I added, cognizant of the direction the conversation was heading and my need to tread lightly.

I found it difficult to talk about money with my grandparents since they’d never had a lot of it to begin with and the financial downturn following the collapse of the Celtic Tiger had hit them hard. But that had been a years ago and Dublin was booming again. And, as Declan had point out, there was a lot of money being funneled into the community. It was inconceivable to me that a place as well known and loved as Fitzgerald’s hadn’t benefited from the latest upswing.

The other difficult thing about any conversation around money was the two-ton elephant in the room: the other half of my family was quite wealthy and I had a large trust fund that would revert to me when I got married or turned thirty. An economic crash meant something entirely different to the Fitzgeralds than it did to the Newports, and I needed to make sure I didn’t wind up hurting his pride.

“Ballycurra’s not Dublin, you know,” he answered churlishly.

“You’re right, it’s not. But it’s close enough that some of that money has found its way here,” I explained. “And I’ve looked at real estate listings for Ballycurra and the surrounding area. I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but this place is a gold mine.”

He scoffed and turned his face away from my probing gaze. It was hard for me to tell if he didn’t want to admit the reality of the current situation or if he actually didn’t know.

“We’re not selling and that’s all I’ll say about that.”

“I’m not asking you to sell, Gramps. At least not yet. But it’s clear the pub could use an injection of cash. I’ve only been here a couple of weeks and I can see there are repairs that need to be made. And who knows about the things I can’t see?” I added, hoping that’d give him an opening to talk about where else there might be problems.

Unfortunately, he closed the door on that line of thinking when he responded, “The pub is fine. Everything’s fine.”

He moved to stand but I grasped his hand a little tighter.

“No, please. Stay and talk to me. I might be able to help you.”

“You don’t have to do that, Sophie.”

I smiled, my heart overflowing with love for a man so proudly obstinate even in the face of obvious need.

“It’s not a matter of having to do anything, Gramps. I want to be here. I want to help. But I can’t do that until you give me a clearer picture of what we’re dealing with.”

He flopped back down in his chair with a wince, then held up his hand. “No, I’m okay. Just a twinge in my back. All this sitting, and not my heart, is going to be what finally kills me.”

“Not funny,” I admonished.

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

He sighed and rubbed his weathered hand over his balding head. “Okay, fine. I can see you’re not going to let go of this, so tell me what you want to know.”

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