It was as though the old photo had shimmered and shaken itself, and then come to life. The side windows and dark green door; the gold lettering above the door stating the name in proud letters; the pots brimming with multicolored flowers of anemone and foxglove; and the window displaying various kinds of whiskey and photos of local townspeople. The structure was simpler and smaller than the Lark—a double door in the middle and windows on either side in perfect symmetry. Colleen felt that if she opened the door she would find the décor to be similar to the Lark, all dark wood and low lanterns, sparkling glassware and taps poking above the lacquered bar. She might find old friends sharing a pint, sharing their lives in the intimate way of pub life.

Sauntering down the sidewalk, an older man approached Colleen. He carried a bag and he walked deliberately toward the bay. He was short and a cigarette dangled from his lips, his face hidden under a cap. As he neared her, she saw that he was even older than he’d appeared, and had a kind face. He stopped and smiled. “Hello, ma’am, are you lost?”

“Not at all,” she said. “Just enjoying the view.”

He nodded at her suitcase and then dropped the cigarette, crushing it beneath his leather boot. She noticed that the bag he carried was in fact a guitar case. “You arriving or leaving our fair town?” he asked.

“Arriving,” she said. “And just now.” She pointed at his case. “A guitar there?”

He glanced down as if he’d forgotten he was carrying it. “Ah, yes. Practice with the band.” He nodded toward the pub.

“You’re going into the pub? I thought it wasn’t open.”

“It isn’t except for setup. You needing a drink?” He laughed and glanced at his wrist, which didn’t have a watch but she got the point.

“Not quite yet. I just want to meet the owners, or the family who owns it.”

He stared at Colleen for a moment, the silence stretching toward the bay and back again to the pub.

She smiled at him. “It’s a lovely place. My dad used to work here . . . a long time ago.”

The man stood still and placed his guitar case next to her suitcase so it appeared that they’d been traveling together. “Your da?”

“Yes. Well, I was hoping someone might remember him, although I know it’s a long shot.”

“Well, you’ll be coming back tonight then.” It was not a question.

“I will.”

“That’ll be grand. You’ll find all the stories you’ll be wanting to hear.”

Colleen brushed the hair from her eyes as the man picked up his case. “Do you know any O’Sheas?”

“I do indeed. I’d be one.”