IRISH FIRE by Jeanette Baker

success story.
    Dividing her hair into three sections, she wove the unruly curls into a French braid, twisted a colorful elastic band around the end and pulled out a few strands at her forehead and the sides of her face. She turned her head first to one side and then the other. Her spirits brightened. Three days of rest and a ham and cheese omelet had definitely improved her appearance. Much better, she said to herself.
    Walking down the familiar streets of her childhood, it appeared to Caitlin that fourteen years hadnt changed Kilcullen Town much with the exception of the McDonalds and Gyro fast-food restaurants facing each other on Main Street. It was like any other small Irish townno bigger than an American football field, only linear, with houses backed up to the main street. A church, a news agent, an off license, a chemist, a restaurant, a branch of Ulster Bank. A relatively new Superquinn market, the inevitable Irish bookmaker, a hardware store, various clothing and gift shops, and, of course, her mothers pub and convenience store.
    Even the faces were the same, a bit older, perhaps, more grizzled, with a few more lines, but basically the same. Mr. Murphy, the butcher, waved at Caitlin through his glass window. She waved back. Paddy Byrnes shoe shop was now a bright lemon yellow instead of white, Brown and McCann Solicitors boasted an engraved sign, and inside Kathleen Finchs cafe, round tables with white cloths had replaced the vinyl-covered booths. Caitlin didnt recognize her patrons but she did recognize the plump young redhead in blue denim slacks and a white apron, pouring tea. She stepped inside the restaurant.
    Hello, Lana, she said.
    The womans eyes widened. Then she grinned and nearly lost the teapot she was carrying. Caitlin Keneally, is it really you?
    In the flesh.
    Lana Sullivan laughed delightedly, set down the teapot and opened her arms. Come here, love, and let me fold these around you.
    Caitlin moved forward into a welcoming hug. I thought youd gone to Dublin, she said, stepping out of her friends embrace.
    I came back. Billy Doyle found someone else, Lana said pragmatically, and I couldnt afford the rent on my own. Kathleen needed the help, so here I am.
    Im sorry.
    Dont be, said the redhead cheerfully. Its good to be home. Besides, there are a few more interesting faces since we left, Brian Hennessey for one. He took Mr. OSheas place at the stud farm.
    Weve met, said Caitlin. I brought a mare home with me.
    Lanas eyes clouded. Im sorry for your troubles, Caitie. I heard youve a wee lad and lass.
    Caitlin nodded. Annie and Ben. I cant stop to talk now. Martin has the children. Ive got to claim them, and Im a bit nervous about seeing him again.
    Nervous? Lanas eyes widened incredulously. Of Father OShea? Whatever for?
    Motionless, Caitlin stared at Lana. I dont know really. I suppose its because I havent seen him for such a long time. I never knew Martin the priest.
    Martin hasnt changed, said Lana. Hes a dear lad, always thinking of others. His sermons could use a bit of humor but then Im not complaining.
    What arent you complainin about, Lana? an amused voice broke in on them.
    Lana blushed furiously.
    Caitlin turned to see Brian Hennessey, a portfolio under his arm, standing near the signpost. We were having a conversation about an old friend, she said. Why was the man looking at her so intently?
    Anyone I know?
    Lana regained her composure. Father OShea was a friend of ours when we were children.
    Brian kept his eyes on Caitlin. I believe Father OShea is at the stud farm with your children as we speak, Mrs. Claiborne.
    I was on my way there when I saw Lana, replied Caitlin.
    Im going there myself. Shall I walk with you?
    She would rather have gone alone, but Caitlin was Brigid Keneallys daughter, raised on a diet of good manners. There was no possibility of politely refusing.
    Lana picked up the teapot. Bring the children to visit me, Caitlin, and stop by for tea. Mum would love to see you. Youre