My grandmother knew something. She was afraid.
But now was not the time to push her about it. I was one step away from the gate. So I just nodded, gave her one last pat on the shoulder, and stepped into the beginning of my journey.
Chapter 3
Waiting for Aer Lingus flight E132, I held my foam coffee cup as if it were the outstretched hand of someone trying to save me from a fall. The burning on my chest had faded but left me with an uneasy chill in my heart. As I moved in for my sacred first sip, I looked up, only to be met by a girl’s direct gaze, right in my face.
“Oh my God! Where did you get that?” She plopped her designer bags down, lifted her Chanel sunglasses, and eyeballed my coffee like she was going to steal it from me.
“Um, right over there…at that stand.” I pointed with a weak wrist toward the kiosk with a larger-than-life coffee banner above it. “I’ll watch your stuff if you want to….” I said to her back as she was already barreling toward the coffee cart.
Minutes later, she dropped herself down in the seat across from me. She pushed her blunt-cut, perfectly straightened hair behind her ear, crossed her loafered feet at the ankles, and took a moment to worship the warm cup in her hands. She was smitten, inhaling the scent with a look of true love on her face.
“I’ve been waiting all day for this.” She used a low, throaty voice as she smiled dreamily into the cup. Her perfect manicure managed to make even the foam cup appear dignified.
“Me too, actually. All my life even.” I exaggerated the simplicity of my existence, speaking into my cup, referencing more than the coffee.
She burst out with a thunderous laugh, shocking for such a proper-looking girl, and it made me laugh too. Her stiff, straight posture released as she slumped in her chair.
“I’m Michelle, by the way. I’m studying abroad in Ireland for the year.” She’d clearly just burned her lip on the hot coffee but was going in for another attempt anyway. “I’ve been dying to get away from Tufts. Okay, and my family.” She rolled her eyes. “Too stuffy. This is my chance to go to the school of my choice. Far away. Finally.” The words blew out of her in one long exhale.
I tried to size her up, though the signals were crossing left and right. It seemed like she was on a personal journey too, different but the same: dropping her preordained trust fund identity and trading it, rebelliously, for her newfound freedom. I huffed to myself, wishing my trip could be more like that.
We sipped our coffees as a guy shuffled past us with a larger-than-life carry-on, bumping Michelle, hard, nearly spilling her cup.
No apology. A total jerk.
She turned to me, eyes bugging out of her head. “Oh my God. He’s gorgeous! Did you see him?” She leaned out of her seat for one more look. “I hope he’s sitting next to me on the plane. Maybe he’s Irish.” She lifted her eyebrows and pouted her lips.
I had to admit that, though she seemed a bit flighty or like a bull in a china shop, I wasn’t sure which, I already loved her carefree spirit and honesty. She had no filters at all, like she wasn’t afraid of anything.
“Last call, boarding flight E132 to Shannon.”
The crackling announcement jolted us to reality. How had we missed the previous boarding calls? We darted urgent looks at each other, grabbed our things and raced to the gate. At least fifty apologies and excuse-mes parted the crowd for us as we bounded through.
Out of breath and giddy, we flew down the gangway toward a green plane with a shamrock on its tail. We stepped through the open door and made our way down the narrow aisle of the airbus. Michelle stopped early and I continued on, deeper into the tight rows.
When I finally found my seat, I slumped into it with a disappointed sigh. We were miles away from each other. I looked at the guy next to me, out of the corner of my eye. His suit, wedding ring, and laptop separated us like a stone wall.
I watched Michelle hunt down a flight attendant and after a brief exchange the stewardess made her way down to me.
She looked at the businessman and said, “Are you interested in an upgraded seat, sir? We have an open spot in first class.”
He was gone in a flash. Michelle came bouncing down the aisle and threw her bag into the overhead bin.
“I’d much rather sit here with you than those stiffs in first class. My mom’s such a snob. She thinks it’s safer up there for me.” She made air quotes around the word “safer” while rolling her eyes at the wasted expense. Or at her mother.
Another flight attendant checked our buckles and gave us extra blankets. “More college students, yeah?” Michelle nodded at her. “The flight’s full of ‘em. NUIG must have arranged for all of ye to arrive at the same time.” She pushed crappy headphones into our seat pockets and moved up the isle to the next row of passengers.
“Are you going to NUIG too?” Michelle’s eyes begged.
“Nah. I’m actually supposed to be at BC right now, but I’m kind of ditching the full-time college thing for the moment.” I sounded like such a fail.
Michelle’s face fell.
“I’m taking two courses, though, at the National University of Ireland in Galway. My grandmother insisted.” My mouth pursed to one side, still unsure if that was a good idea.
“That’s NUIG! You idiot!” She burst out laughing. “Awesome!”
She pushed her fashion magazines into the netting on the seat in front of her. “I wonder if there are any cute college guys on board. We could get a head start.” She propped herself up to survey the cabin. “I swear. I’m going to hook up with whoever I want in Ireland. No one will ever know! Ha!” Her sinister smile went from ear to ear. “I hope you’re not tied down with a boyfriend. Tell me you’re single. Pleeeease.”
I side-smirked at her. “Yeah. I’m single all right.”
“Thank God.” She nestled down into her seat as if the problems of the world had been resolved. “I have a super-full schedule, five classes. Sucks. I have to get enough credits so I can graduate next year.” Her fist moved to her mouth as she contemplated her words, probably second-guessing if they were her own or her mother’s.
“Hey, did you register for that philosophy class? The one they force on every exchange student?” She held her breath for my reply.
“I don’t know. I think I’m in Irish history stuff.” I dug in my cinch sack for my travel binder. My course registration was in there somewhere. I didn’t pay too much attention to what the classes were when Gram and I were enrolling. I only cared that they were back to back on the same days—to keep it simple, and basically get them over with.
Michelle’s eyes widened as I pulled the registration out. She grabbed it from my hands.
“Hell, yeah! Same class!” She pointed to the first one. “I knew it! She beamed as she repositioned herself in the small seat and lifted the plastic-wrapped blanket between two fingers, examining it. She flashed me a cheesy smile and added, “And you totally have to help me with my mission to find myself a gorgeous Irish lad.” She laughed at her plan but shot me a look like she totally meant it.
“I…I’m not so sure I’d be….”
“No.” Her finger shot up to silence me. “You’re helping me.”
Six hours to Ireland flew by. Though we left Boston in the early evening, it was now early morning the next day in Shannon.
“Passports.” The customs official sounded like a robot as he reached for my documentation. Michelle passed hers to the official at the adjacent desk. I dug into my cinch sack and rifled around but my passport wasn’t where I left it. I pulled the bag open so I could see inside.
“Leave no bags unattended.” The overplayed announcement boomed in my ears. “Keep all belongings in your sight and report any unusual characters or events.”
My blood pressure plummeted and I nearly crapped myself. Where the hell was my passport? Did it fall out in the plane? Think, Maeve, think. It was impossible, my mind already went into panic mode and I couldn’t think clearly enough to retrace my footsteps.
> I looked back toward the official in his formal white shirt with badges and nametags and credentials all over it, my face blazing. Behind him, beyond the check point, more officials lingered, one with a dog standing at attention. With a lost gaze I turned to him and he was there holding my passport, tapping it on the counter, with an overly judgmental look in his eye to match his smirk. My water bottle and nuts were still right next to it, where I left them all.
“Oh. Right.” I scrunched my shoulders up to my ears and gave a toothy grin. “Thank goodness.”
“Where’re yeh from?” he asked as he flipped through my passport, looking for a blank page, realizing then they were all blank.
“Massachusetts,” Michelle and I said in unison. Then rolled our eyes at each other, in unison.
“Ah, two girls from Boston. What’s the nature of yer trip?” The customs official looked at me for an explanation.
I was caught off guard, still coming down from my “lost passport” heart attack and had no idea how to answer the question—which had actually grown into a full-blown interrogation in my mind. Crazy dreams, family secrets, ditching Boston College, lost, confused, deranged? It all sounded bad.
The two officers held stern glares, waiting for a response. With each passing millisecond I worried they were becoming suspicious and preparing for full-on terrorist protocol, which pressed my panic button even further. I looked to Michelle like a deer in headlights, begging her to answer for me.
She looked directly at the customs officers and said dryly, “Personal enrichment.”
The guard stamped my passport and leaned in, arms crossed on the counter. I looked up at him like a convicted criminal, wondering what my next offense might be.
He said, “Oh, and happy birthday, Maeve O’Malley.”
What? Oh, right.
“Th-Thank you!” A huge smile lit up my face. Today was my birthday.
Walking toward baggage claim, I grabbed Michelle and said, “Jeez, I had no idea what to say to those guys. I totally froze.”
“Not like it was a hard question, Maeve. Nature of your trip?” She teased me. “You gotta toughen up a bit. And besides, all you had to do was bat those fabulous lashes at them and you’d own them!”
She gathered my hair at the back, twirled it into itself and tossed it around my shoulder to the front. “And one more thing.” She tilted her head at me. “Happy birthday.” She snorted a laugh and took my arm, leading me straight into our Irish futures.
My bus ejected me on iconic Eyre Square, the center of Galway City, alone. I nearly pulled Michelle’s arm off when she got out on the outskirts of town for her housing, but now, I was on my own. I watched the water splashing in the big fountain with huge sails rising out of the spray. The mesmerizing motion and sound held me to my spot, making it even harder to take my first step.
For a minute, I thought I was in an old movie or a throw-back episode of some kind. Everything was so nostalgic and historical, from the ancient architecture to the cobblestone roads. My eyes moved along the rows of attached buildings built right at the edge of the streets, mostly pubs judging from the Guinness signs hanging over their doors. The word “quaint” came to mind, more than once, but grand at the same time.
Like an obvious tourist, I opened my city map and oriented myself, using Eyre Square as my landmark. Bohermore wasn’t far. I turned, placing the fountain at my back and found my direction.
Overloaded with bags, I took my first step from the curb, looking left for a clear break in traffic. Before my foot even hit the road, a car horn blasted me, sending my soul right out of my body, leaving the shell of a crepe-paper human in its wake.
They were driving on the other side of the road! Burned into my memory was the long black and white license plate. My first true warning I wasn’t in Boston anymore.
“Céad míle fáilte, a hundred thousand welcomes, Miss O’Malley.” Mr. Flaherty, my landlord, greeted me by the fantastic bright blue door of 122 Bohermore. The brass knocker in the center added to its appeal. He removed his cap and smoothed his thinning, wispy gray hair as his eyes smiled at me. My flat was directly above his paint shop.
“All th’ way from Boston, yeah? Brilliant.” He spoke quickly with a thick brogue. “Yer grandparents are from the west, I hear. Nicest part of Ireland, sure.” He took my heavy case as he pushed open the blue door. “Bein’ an O’Malley in the west is quite a thing now. Yer lot go way back, ya know.” His tone took on a hint of pride.
My ears perked up at the sound of my family name as I followed Mr. Flaherty through the blue door and into a long outdoor corridor space. It would have been a narrow alley between two buildings if not for the door we had just come through.
“Do you know much about the O’Malleys?” I pried, moving behind him like an eager puppy.
We reached the end of the alleyway and I could see around back of the building. The yard was filled with building rubble and trash. It was a total waste site. My heart sank. “Yer entry is ’ere.” Mr. Flaherty opened the white door on the right. “Go on, have a look-see. I’ve got yer bags.”
I moved up the stairs to the second floor, holding my breath waiting to see what my apartment—no, my flat—looked like. The shiny black and white alternating tiles of the kitchen floor struck me first. The bold statement set the personality of the newly renovated space and invited me in. I looked back at Mr. Flaherty with a huge smile of relief and approval.
“Do you think I’ll find any O’Malleys around here?”
I looked out the back window over the kitchen sink. Green hills rolled in the distance, but tightly packed housing estates filled the close-up view.
Mr. Flaherty hesitated again, but had no way of avoiding the question a second time. His silence was deafening and I turned to him. I caught a look in his eye that unnerved me, like he had seen a ghost…but he stared right at me.
“Ach, sure,” he mumbled and snapped back to the moment. “The O’Malleys are in Mayo. That’s where you’ll need be goin’.” He checked his pants pockets for something that likely didn’t exist and said, “Now, that should be everythin’. Gimme a holler now, Miss O’Malley, if I can help ya at’all.”
And he was gone before I could draw my next breath.
Michelle’s voice crackled and popped over my antiquated landline in my flat as she instructed me to meet her in town in exactly two hours. Her giddy voice assured me nineteen was The Big One, “true adult,” and she intended to celebrate pub-style. A sour twang shot through me as I realized I was saying goodbye to eighteen. It would be a memorable age. The age when I woke up and started breathing again.
Clothes flew in every direction as I dug through my bags for a decent outfit. I chucked my unresponsive cell phone out of the way and eyeballed it like a traitor. It would be unfair to judge it too harshly for its incompetent international service issues, yet a growl escaped through my teeth. Somehow it found its way back into my hand anyway, like a missing body part.
I ran to the tiny grocer a few doors down for some quick supplies, cell phone attached like a bad habit. Maybe I’d find a SIM card or whatever technological upgrade it needed. A stack of turf briquettes sat by the door, like a necessary last-minute item for all shoppers. I lifted a bundle to test the weight.
“’Tis the sod cut from the ancient bogs in Connemara, dried and turned into briquettes. Used for fuel, for the fire.” The clerk gave a half smile at my obvious greenness. “Go on.” He nudged his chin at me, lifting one eyebrow.
I keeled to one side as I grabbed the heavy stack—the smell of burning turf had tickled my nose all the way up Bohermore.
As I checked out, he added, “You’ll be needin’ ta get a new one of them.” He tapped on my old phone with smug certainty. “Tesco’s have got them pay-as-you-go phones.” I shot him a sideways glance and grabbed my phone, pretending to protect it from his negative judgment.
The turf bundle got heavier with each step as I grumbled toward my blue door. Maybe it was the insult to my phone,
but likely the extra ten-pound load. I readjusted every few feet, rubbing the deep red lines out of my hand each time.
In the midst of my inconvenience, my eyes were drawn up Bohermore toward a sea of crosses gazing at me. A small church, surrounded by a cemetery of Celtic crosses, nestled itself into the landscape. Each ornate cross was decorated with a ring around its intersection and stood with pride for Gaelic Ireland.
They tilted their curious expressions at me with a hint of recognition. An unnerving chill ran through me as I looked around to see if anyone else was noticing this. A light pulsating on my chest warned me that my old burn was awakening.
Bags dangling, I grabbed my heap of briquettes and picked up my pace, wasting no time slamming the blue door behind me with a thud. The burning sensation eased and as I rubbed it, I was pretty sure it never really existed.
Feeling stupid, I began arranging the briquettes in my fireplace, one at a time like a teepee. They tipped and fell flat as I fumbled with their positioning, now ruing my reluctant participation in Girl Scouts. As I leaned in to check the flue, an uneasy sickness turned my stomach, like I was going to throw up. The sensation came in the exact moment that I felt—
The wind was coming.
I braced myself on the hearth, holding onto the edges, preparing for the terror and abuse of the winds. Ice ran through my veins, confirming the wind had found me again. But I had changed my direction, fled across the ocean in search of answers, and still it continued to attack me.
My eyes squeezed shut and I covered my mouth to control my sickness as the wind continued to blast me. Holding my breath, I opened my eyes one at a time. The whipping wind filled my vision with swirling salty mist.
I searched through the drizzle and swirling fog, looking for my mother. She was trapped in the wind and I had to find her.
Rockfleet (The Pirate Queen Book 0) Page 17
