by Charish Reid
One brow arched as she looked from him to his many pizzas. “Well, you have talked it up.”
Before she could change her mind, Aiden promptly set the boxed pizza on her side of the partition. “You won’t regret it.”
She leaned on her cart and assessed him thoughtfully. “I heard the Irish were friendly, but I didn’t know they just went around giving their pizzas to strangers.”
“I don’t know how many of us do that, but I can tell you I get my charitable nature from my mother. She’d be disappointed if I hadn’t shared a frozen bounty with a beautiful woman.” Aiden clamped his mouth shut, shocked he’d let his words get away from him.
Very faintly, her brown cheeks grew pinkish by his remark. “Your mom raised a good boy,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m apparently still learning my manners. My name is Aiden and I speak without thinking.”
She laughed again and she reached to shake his hand. “My name is Antonia and I treat grocery stores like my own Thunderdome.”
Jesus, she’s as funny as she is cute. Aiden held her hand in his, shaking longer than he should have. When he released her, he could still feel her warmth against his skin. He wanted more. “Antonia? That’s a class name,” he said, nodding in appreciation.
“Oh jeez,” she said scrunching up her pert nose. She had a lovely nose too. “You think? Everyone just calls me Toni.”
“No, I like Antonia quite a bit,” Aiden insisted. “It’s real class.”
Antonia shrugged. “I think my father was on some neo-classical kick. My older sister’s name is Octavia.”
“Sounds like a couple of Roman generals,” Aiden said. “Real strong.”
She gave a half smile. “I think my sister does a better job of living up to her name.” There was a small note of sadness in her voice as she glanced down at her empty cart.
“Where are you from, Antonia?” he asked, changing the subject.
“I’m from Chicago,” she said, her face lit up again. “In America,” she added for clarification.
He laughed. “I’m familiar,” he said. “Home of Barack Obama.”
“Yep,” she said with pride.
“Is this your first time to Ireland?”
“Yes, it is,” she said with a grin. She gestured to her face before asking, “I hope I don’t stick out too much.”
He understood what she meant. She was definitely the first black person he’d seen in Clifden that day. “A bit,” he said returning her knowing grin. “But in a good way. How do you like it so far?”
Antonia sighed. There was a far off look that shadowed her dark brown eyes. “I had a stressful time getting here from the airport, but I already love the countryside, it’s so...green.”
“Aye, that it is,” Aiden said. “It’s plenty green. How long do you think you’ll stay?”
Antonia appeared to think about it. “About two weeks, I think. It was originally going to be just the one, but things changed.”
“Good, good,” he murmured. After the old woman finally paid and left the checkout, Aiden stepped forward. He was running out of time. As the cashier rang his food items, he turned back to Antonia and made a quick note of her bare ring finger. “So uh, you’re going to tour the green countryside with your...boyfriend?”
Her gaze fell back to her empty shopping cart. “I’m traveling solo.”
Yes! Aiden ignored his pounding heart, took a deep breath and nodded. “That sounds lovely. You’ll be able to see the sights on your own time. Wake up and go to bed whenever you want.” The cashier, a shaggy haired teenager, pretended he wasn’t listening as he pushed Aiden’s third pizza through the scanner. A small smile played on the boy’s lips while Aiden rambled on. “I find that travel is more productive when you discover things on your own, you know? James Baldwin, he’s an American novelist, he wrote some beautiful essays about his time in France. He really dug in there and understood what Paris was all about. The stuff with the Algerians was a crying shame, though. But it gave him a chance to reflect on what it meant to be an American.” Shut up. Shut up. Shut the fuck up.
The curious expression on her face was enough to tell him that he was making a fool of himself. “I love James Baldwin,” she finally said.
He let out a breath.
“That’s eighty euros fifty-three,” said the young man, who looked like he was thoroughly enjoying this.
“Yeah,” Aiden said, inserting his card into the machine. “Anyway, I hope you enjoy your time here.”
“Me too,” Antonia said with a nod.
God, I’m out of time. Aiden waited for his card to read and for her to say something else. He couldn’t keep babbling at her. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around for the festival,” he offered. It was unlikely that he’d want to come back to this place once he settled in Tully Cross.
She looked down at her watch. Is she already bored of me? “It’s hard to say. I don’t know if I’ll be able to fit it in at this point.”
“Right, well, pace yourself during your stay,” he said taking his receipt from the cashier. He had to leave. He had to get in his car and drive away from here.
“Thank you, Aiden,” she said with a grin. “Maybe I’ll bump into you again.”
Jesus, she’s adorable. He laughed a little too loud as he slowly pushed his cart toward the exit. The chance was slipping away, but she hadn’t given him any indication that this was an appropriate moment to ask where she was staying. It didn’t matter what country she was from, women generally didn’t like it when strange men took an intense interest in them.
Before he knew it, Aiden was in the busy parking lot, loading his bags into the boot of his car. It was for the best. Antonia was an American tourist after all. She would go back home just like the rest of them. There was no sense in mourning something he’d ultimately lose to citizenship. In his car, he gave himself another look in the rearview mirror. It didn’t help that he probably looked like the wild man his mother described. Chances were, she was being polite to him while waiting on him to leave. He scratched at his beard. It had been awhile since he’d been in a position to flirt with a woman. He worried he’d sounded a little insane as well.
Carefully maneuvering his way out of the parking lot and onto the street, Aiden tried to put the woman out of his mind. It proved to be difficult as he repeatedly checked his mirrors for the SuperValu entrance. He didn’t see her exit, but he could still feel the softness of her hand from their brief handshake. Her black mane of wild curls and her laughing eyes taunted him. The glow of her brown skin was imprinted on his memory. I should have said something.
Chapter Nine
“Recalculating...recalculating...”
Antonia glanced at the GPS that chastised her wrong turn. Somewhere along N59, she misunderstood the machine and made a poorly-timed exit. She pulled over to the narrow shoulder of the road and surveyed her environment. She was slowly getting used to driving on the left side of the road, but its narrowness was still daunting. All of the rugged beauty that Antonia drove through would have been more enjoyable from the passenger’s side. You’re doing this alone.
“Recalculating...” the mechanical voice of the GPS reminded her.
“I get it, you obnoxious bitch.” At the beginning of her drive, the British female voice was pleasant enough for her to name it “Vera.” Somewhere close to Clifden, “Vera” had changed to “you dumb bitch.” Variations of the phrase were screamed shortly after she departed the city.
Antonia thought, for a moment, to make a quick U-turn. She had only driven a couple miles past her blunder, but the sharp bends around the small mountain made visibility nearly impossible. She doubted her skill with the stick shift, knowing she couldn’t do it fast enough. She heaved a sigh and checked her mirrors before merging back onto the road, intending to find someone’s driveway to pull
into so she could double-back. But the distance between houses was quite far. She had passed plenty of pastures and herds of sheep, but no houses. Antonia grew worried about the length of her mistake. How long would it take to readjust?
“Recalculating...”
“Shut up.” The reason that “Vera” couldn’t find an alternative route was probably because she drove through an uncharted wasteland. That wasn’t entirely true. It wasn’t a wasteland, but the scenery was certainly stark and wild. The gray clouds made the black cliffs loom taller and the hills a beautiful verdant green. The curvy roads wound haphazardly into those hills, threatening to tumble into blue-gray fjords. There were startling signs of beauty that caught Antonia by surprise, though. Along the roadside were yellow wildflowers and purple foxgloves that blew against tall grasses. And to her right, abandoned potato mounds were etched into the mountains like an ancient map of past misfortunes... It was breathtaking.
A city girl, Antonia had never seen anything like it. While she tried her best to enjoy it, she fought to ignore her fear of getting lost. She wanted to make it to the village before it got dark and things became more anxiety-provoking. Antonia did not want to accidentally hit one of the sheep who wandered onto the road or fly off a cliff. She was probably not in any danger of the latter, considering how slow she was moving. Shifting gears without grinding the clutch was still very challenging.
She spotted an empty scenic lookout up ahead with enough space to park several cars. Oh, thank god. Antonia pulled over again and carefully maneuvered her car for a U-turn. She stalled on the edge of the road and started again. When she successfully returned the car in the right direction, she was able to breathe easier. It took her a few minutes, but she finally found where she made her last exit.
“Continue for 15 kilometers to Letterfrack,” Vera recited.
“Thanks, you dumb bitch.” Antonia checked the time again. 6:27 p.m. Never mind the impending darkness, she only had thirty minutes to check into her cottage before she was screwed. After purchasing her food, she stopped by the customer service desk to buy a sim card for her cellphone and place a quick call to the cottage rental. Of course, this was all after meeting that interesting guy. Aiden? Antonia grinned. He was just as handsome as he was awkward. She laughed, remembering his frozen pizza offering. If that was his idea of flirting, she didn’t mind it at all. He was certainly easy to look at. Aiden was about as tall as Derek, but more broad shouldered and barrel chested. She noticed that his arms looked stronger too. She did wonder how old he was, though. The only giveaway was the sparse gray that peppered his beard and the way his bright green eyes crinkled when he smiled. His thick black hair was cut short with a side part and she remembered him smoothing it away from his heavy brow.
She was surprised by herself when she made a point to join his checkout line, even more surprised when she nudged his firm ass with her shopping cart. She hoped it wasn’t too forward of her, but the way his dark blue denim hugged his solid thighs made her act on impulse. The way his forest green sweater hugged his chest definitely made her act with urgency. Antonia was amazed that she actually flirted with a man and didn’t embarrass herself. She wished their time hadn’t been so brief because she could have stood there listening to his melodic Irish accent for hours.
“C’est la vie.” He was probably a Clifden local and would return to his life as usual. There was a good chance she’d never see Aiden again, but she’d enjoyed her first genuine interaction with a local. “I can’t believe I said Chicago. In America. Of course it’s in America, Toni. Where is the other Chicago?”
Judging by the sudden appearance of houses, Antonia reasoned that she might be approaching Letterfrack. It was the little town that Receptionist Breda came from. The streets weren’t very busy at all. Antonia slowed down to take a better look, noticing the grocery store on her right. It was closed alright. She was thankful for Breda’s little tip.
“Turn right to Connemara loop.”
The town looked pretty slow for a Thursday night and it didn’t appear to have any hotels. Or any other major businesses, for that matter.
“Turn right.”
Antonia turned slowly veered right, thankful that there weren’t any cars behind her. Several kilometers back, a few cars had to pass her on the left, but they were good enough to not honk at her. She definitely wouldn’t get this polite treatment in Chicago.
“Continue on Connemara Loop for ten kilometers,” Vera instructed. Antonia couldn’t wait to shut her off and plant her feet on solid ground.
“What if I modeled Augusta’s boyfriend after Aiden? He seems like the kind of guy I’ve been imagining.” Antonia stopped for a herd of sheep, a cute white lamb leading the pack. While she waited, she rolled the idea around in her mind. “Bryon is a sturdy man in his thirties who’s been roaming the world with a backpack and camera. He would look a lot like Aiden.”
She stalled again as the last ghostly sheep crossed the road. This herd had blue stripes sprayed onto their wool. She wondered if they were in need of a shearing or if it were some kind of identification marker. When she started the ignition again, she pulled off still thinking about Aiden. She cared about her character, Bryon, sure. But she was more concerned about handsome Aiden. Like, what was his last name? What did he do for a living? Was he single?
“Jesus, where did that come from?” Antonia knew that she had no business thinking about another man just after fleeing Derek. She wasn’t thinking about Derek’s feelings, she was more concerned about her own. If her judgement was so impaired that she almost married a cheater, she had plenty of time before getting back into the saddle. “No, this trip is not for that,” she said in a stern voice. “I’ve got to get my shit together and write a book.”
Her singular focus needed to be getting Augusta into the arms of Bryon, the only man who could help her crack the sex trafficking story in Thailand. She was still uncertain about the plot. The months of research she’d done on Bangkok had been interrupted by the Migrant Crisis of 2013. She started reading up on the ethnic Muslim group from Myanmar making their perilous escape from government brutality. Antonia doubted how much she knew about the very real-world tragedy in Southeast Asia, but was compelled to include it in her novel.
Tall trees hung over the road, blocking out a setting sun. Antonia checked the GPS map and grew excited that she was rapidly closing the distance. “You will approach your destination in one kilometer.”
“Yes, lord!” Antonia cried, slapping her steering wheel. “I did it! I fucking did it.”
When she saw the sign for Tully Cross, a thrill shot through her body. And then she saw the village and realized how accurate the description was. It was indeed a village. The main street that Breda had spoken of was Tully Cross’s only street. There was a small white church with a very small parking lot. Up ahead the lights were on at the pub and locals stood outside under plumes of cigarette smoke.
“You destination is on your left,” Vera announced. “You have reached your destination.”
Antonia spotted the row of white cottages on her left. “Thatched roofs?” She frowned. “Whatever.” If she could just stop the car for the night, she’d be elated. If the place had a hot shower, that would be even better. She peered at the simple cottages with their red doors and cute flower boxes in each window. This was her Irish home for the foreseeable future.
* * *
Mr. Creely stooped over her door lock, alternating between jamming her key in the door and peering at it over his thick glasses. He looked up at her in amusement, his pale blue eyes magnified like Mr. Magoo. “Dear girl, we’ll get you inside somehow,” he joked.
Antonia watched his fumbling and wondered when it would be a good time to intervene. “No worries,” she said, shifting her computer bag to the other shoulder.
“These locks, they do as they like.”
“Of course.”
“Eh, there w
e go.” An ancient click against rusted metal indicated progress. “Like a glove.”
He swung the door open and Antonia smelled the mustiness of the cottage before anything else. She’d need to open the windows immediately. Mr. Creely allowed her to enter first. He followed behind her, shutting the door as he went.
“Please remember that your front door locks from the outside, even without the key. So don’t you go forgetting it when you step out.”
She made a mental note of that as she looked around. To her right, there was a small galley kitchen no bigger than her own in Chicago. To her left, a spacious living room with one couch, a dining table with six chairs, and a small television set.
Mr. Creely led the tour, starting with the kitchen. “You’ve an oven and stove, a refrigerator, and a microwave. This here switch,” he gestured to the wall. “Is for your hot water. You don’t need to turn it on until you want to do the washing up. Speaking of the washing up, you can clean your clothes here.” He pointed to the tiniest washing machine under the cabinet where the microwave sat.
She looked around the small space. “Is there a dryer?”
“Your dryer is the Irish gale,” he said with a chuckle. “There’s a clothesline for every cottage.”
Antonia vaguely remembered her mother talking about doing the family laundry “the old way” when she was a child growing up in the South. Her children were used to going to a coin operated laundromat down the block. Hanging clothes wasn’t the end of the world, she decided. It would be...rustic.
“Now these cottages are mostly used for large groups, you know? There are two bedrooms this way.” She followed him down the hallway to a master bedroom and a smaller bedroom with two twin-sized beds. “You can fit three people down here and two upstairs.”
“There’s an upstairs?” Judging from the quick look she had in the living room, the high beamed ceiling seemed to suggest that this was it.
