Love & Luck

by Jenna Evans Welch

  I shook my head. I knew Ian might be right. Not telling Mom and then having her find out from someone else was a huge risk. But I hadn’t managed to even tell Lina—how could I possibly expect myself to come clean to my mother?

  Ian’s voice rang in my mind. You know what Cubby’s been doing, right? I stepped away from him, unable to say a word.

  Maybe some time apart would be good for us.

  9:21. I spent a few minutes wandering the Burren, and when I finally got to the car and checked the time, my anxiety spiked to a record high. Had we really been here for twenty minutes?

  “Guys!” I yelled, waving my arms at both Ian and Rowan. They were standing side by side at the tomb. How had that thing kept their attention for so long? “Guys!”

  Ian glanced over, and I tapped an imaginary watch on my wrist. “We need to go. Now.”

  He languidly pulled his phone out of his pocket before he and Rowan began jogging toward me. I hurried around the back of the car, something unexpected catching my eye.

  “Oh, no.” The tailpipe now sagged lazily to the ground, the tip completely submerged in a puddle of water. I ducked down to assess the damage.

  “Sorry. We lost track of time,” Rowan said, his breath heavy as he splashed toward me. “Good thing I’m a fast driver.” He caught sight of my crouched form. “Oh, no, did the pipe come loose?”

  “I think we lost a bolt. We have to fix it before we leave.”

  Rowan crossed his arms nervously. “Any chance we could fix it later? I don’t want to risk getting you to the airport late.”

  I fought it, but the practical side of me won out. If the tailpipe were to disconnect as we were driving, that would be it. No workable car. No airport. No Italy and no Lina. I had to find at least a short-term solution.

  I jumped to my feet. “As long as we can get it off the road, we’ll be fine. What do you have that we could tie it up with?”

  Rowan tapped his chin, looking at the bumper stickers as if they might be able to help him out. “Dental floss? I might have a bungee cord somewhere.”

  I shook my head. “It has to be metal, or it will melt through and we’ll have to stop and do it again.”

  “How about these?” Rowan pulled a pair of headphones out of his back pocket, the cords tangled into a nest. “Aren’t the wires inside made out of copper?”

  Ian’s mouth dropped open. “Absolutely not. Those are Shure headphones. They’re, like, two hundred dollars.”

  “You’re offering me your two-hundred-dollar headphones?” I asked, shocked. I knew Rowan was nice, but this was over-the-top.

  He tossed them to me. “They were a guilt present,” he said, bitterness ringing through his voice. “Divorce kid perks.” His shoulders sagged slightly, and Ian gave him a surprised look, but it was pretty clear Rowan didn’t want any follow-up questions.

  It was way too generous of an offer, but I had to take him up on it anyway. I had too much at stake. I gave him a nod of thanks, then dropped down to the ground. “Ian, hold the tailpipe up for me.” He obeyed and I crawled halfway under the bumper, water seeping into my shorts as I felt my way around.

  I was used to being the family mechanic. The summer after Walter turned sixteen, my brothers and I had a tire blowout on a freeway near our house. I’d dug out the owner’s manual, and by the time my dad had showed up, I was covered in grease, and the spare tire was on. Unlike school, cars had just always made sense to me—there was something comforting about the fact that the answer was always just a popped hood or wrench twist away.

  The underside of Rowan’s car was coated in mud, and it took me way longer than it should have to attach the tailpipe. Nerves were not my friend. What felt like an hour later, I jumped to my feet, anxiety rippling through my center. “Got it. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Maybe you should change before you get back in Rowan’s car,” Ian said, looking at my clothes. “You look like a mud ball.”

  “We don’t have time,” Rowan said, heading for his door. “Hop in, mud ball.”

  I was bouncing around the back seat, trying to ignore the fact that the numbers on Clover’s dashboard clock were moving at warp speed, when Rowan suddenly let loose with a word that sounded mispronounced. “Feck!”

  Feck? I looked up. “What’s wrong?”

  Rowan pointed out the windshield. “That’s what’s wrong.”

  I spiked forward anxiously, and what I saw tied my stomach into a neat bow. About a quarter mile up was a tractor. But not just any tractor—this one was massive, spilling out over both lanes of the road like a giant, lumbering lobster. It definitely wasn’t in a hurry. Rowan eased up on the gas and coasted up to it.

  “We have to get around it,” I said. Were tractors allowed to just take over the road?

  Addie, don’t panic. Don’t panic. We were already late. How was this happening?

  “How?” Rowan raked his hand through his hair. “It’s too big to even pull over to let us pass. It takes up the whole road.”

  “There’s no way it can stay on the road for long,” Ian said calmly, but his knee burst into full bounce. “Rowan, they can’t stay on the road for long, right?”

  “Well . . . ,” Rowan said. He grimaced. “Maybe I should turn around. There’s got to be another route to the freeway.”

  The suggestion made me nervous. Another route sounded messy. And risky. A rumble behind us made us all whip around.

  “Feck!”  This time it was Ian who yelled it. The tractor’s twin was coming up the road behind us. Just as big, just as slow.

  “What is this, a tractor parade?” I demanded. Tractor number two was pumpkin orange, and the driver returned our scowls with a cheery wave.

  “Great. Tractor buddies,” Rowan said.

  “I’m going to talk to them.” Ian rolled his window down, and before Rowan and I realized what he meant, he’d scrambled out of the still-moving car, stumbling when he hit the ground. “Ian! Get back in here,” I yelled. But he ran full speed to the first tractor, mud flipping up behind him.

  “Wow. Bennetts don’t mess around, do they?” Rowan said.

  “Especially not that one,” I said.

  The driver caught sight of Ian and slowed. He jumped up onto the step, moving his arms animatedly as he talked to the driver.

  I was about to climb out after him when Ian jumped off the steps and ran back to us. “He can’t get off the road for another ten minutes, but he said there’s a shortcut to the freeway. He’s going to point when we get close.”

  “Yes.” Rowan sighed with relief.

  “Ten minutes?” I said, looking nervously at the clock. It was already 9:39. The procession started up again, sending a splatter of mud onto our windshield.

  The second we hit the freeway, Rowan slammed on the accelerator. “Rowan, drive!” I yelled.

  “I’m going as fast as I can,” Rowan said shakily. “Addie, I think we can still make it. You aren’t checking a bag, right? And maybe there will be a delay.”

  I wanted to believe him, but the adrenaline coursing through my body wouldn’t let me. Flights were never delayed when you wanted them to be. It was only when you had an important connection in an airport that was the size of an island nation that you got delayed. And according to my phone’s GPS, we were still a solid twenty miles from the airport. Time was gaining on us. 10:16.

  Clover hit a pothole, and the pile of Rowan’s belongings slid into my side. I fought it back, my heart a jackhammer. I felt like one of the bottle rockets my brothers and I used to set off on the Fourth of July. Another few seconds and I was going to shoot out of the car’s flimsy soft top.

  “It’s okay, Addie. We’re going to make it,” Ian said, his fingers wrapped tightly around the grab handle. He’d said it four times now. 10:18. It hadn’t really been a full two minutes, had it?

  “This can’t be happening.” The words burst out of my mouth, as frantic as I felt.

  This time, no one even attempted to comfort me. We were all in the
same state of panicked despair. It had taken us a solid ten minutes to even get to the detour road, and what the tractor driver had failed to mention to Ian was that our “shortcut” was actually a narrow, bumpy dirt road that slowed us to a pace just above tractor speed.

  “Airport!” Rowan yelled.

  I exhaled in relief. A large green sign read AIRPORT/AERFORT, the Gaelic word accompanied by a picture of a jet. We weren’t there, but we were close. So long as I made it to the aiport an hour before my 11:30 flight, I should be fine. Rowan hit the gas like a NASCAR driver, unfortunately timing it with a sudden pothole. We hit the road hard, and suddenly a loud screeching noise erupted from under the car.

  “No!” I screamed.

  “What? What was that?” Ian’s fidgeting was so bad, he could have been dancing a tango.

  I turned to look out the back window, but I couldn’t see anything. It sounded like the tailpipe was dipping up and down off the road, screeching every time it hit asphalt. The two-hundred-dollar headphones were not going to hold for long.

  “Please hold, please hold, please hold,” I prayed aloud.

  BAM. A clanging noise filled the car, and I shot to the rear window to see sparks flying out the back. The car behind us slammed on its horn and swerved into the next lane.

  “No!” I yelled again.

  “What? Addie, what?” Rowan said. “Did it fall?”

  I crumpled into my seat, tears filming over my eyes. “We have to pull over.”

  Rowan and Ian both visibly deflated, and Rowan pulled to the side. I jumped out. The shoulder was narrow, and cars passed by much too close for comfort as I ran to the back and crouched down. The tailpipe was barely connected, Rowan’s headphones dangling helplessly. How was this happening?

  “10:21.” Ian’s hands fell to his sides, his voice shaky. The misery in his voice said it all. 10:21. There was no way we’d make it on time.

  I’d missed my flight. I fell back onto my butt in the mud. A large, shuddery sob worked its way to my throat and stuck.

  Ian crouched down next to me and rhythmically patted my back. “Addie, it’s okay. We’ll get you another flight. I’ll pay for it myself if I have to.”

  “I feel so bad,” Rowan said, crouching down on my other side. “I should have accounted for tractors. I can help pay too.”

  “I can’t believe this,” I said weakly, tears flooding me. A plane passed overhead, its engines a dull painful roar. Insult to injury. And I knew the real reason I was upset. All this time I’d been counting down to the exact moment that I could unburden myself by talking to Lina, and now that was delayed. My secret pressed hard on the walls of my chest, burning hot. I couldn’t wait one more second.

  I jumped to my feet, leaving the guys behind as I fumbled for my phone. What was I going to say? Hi, Lina. Do you have a second? Because not only did I just miss my flight, but I have something important to tell you. Telling Lina about Cubby from the side of a freeway in Ireland was not what I’d had in mind, but it was going to have to do.

  Where would I even start?

  If I absolutely had to pinpoint the day things started with Cubby, I guess I’d start with the night he jumped into my car.

  I was waiting for Ian after football practice, like I usually did. Rain spattered merrily onto the windshield, and I hugged my knees tightly up against the steering wheel. I refused to turn on the heat on principle alone. It was July. Why couldn’t Seattle act like it?

  “Ian, come on,” I muttered, looking at the school doors. My friend and soccer teammate, Olive, had invited me to her house for one of her famous B-movie showings. She had a way of making the worst movies spectacularly entertaining, and Ian was absolutely going to make me late. Suddenly, a TIGERS sweatshirt appeared in the passenger window, and the door yanked open.

  “Finally. What took you so long?” I complained, reaching for my seat belt as he slid into the front seat. “Next time I’m going to leave you.”

  “You’d really leave me?” I startled at the voice. It was Cubby. Freshly showered, with rosy cheeks and droplets of water clinging to the ends of his hair. He smiled, his bright eyes meeting mine. “You’re staring at me like I’m a ghost. Why?”

  “Because . . .” My words tried to catch up with my brain. Because I think about you all the time and now you’re in my car.

  “Um, I guess practice is over?” I finally managed. Brilliant.

  He grabbed the seat adjuster, reclining a few inches. “So glad it’s over. Practice was brutal.” His head dropped, and if I weren’t so shocked to have him in my car, I probably would have noticed how spent he looked. Ian had mentioned something about the football coach being exceptionally hard on Cubby this year. I guess it was getting to him. “And Ian might be a while. Coach cornered him for strategizing.” He paused, his gaze heavy and invigorating all at once. “Do you still want to hang out? We could go somewhere.”

  A hot spiral formed in my stomach. Is this really happening? Do things you daydream about actually happen?

  “Where?” I asked, careful to keep my voice even.

  He looked out the passenger window and traced his finger over the fogging glass. “Anywhere.”

  It took all my effort not to slam my foot on the accelerator. When it came to Cubby, that was my real problem. I never stopped to think, not even once.

  “I missed my flight. My parents can’t know and Ian and I got in a fight and there were tractors and Ian’s going to a festival and Lina I missed my flight.” Instead of the calm explanation I’d planned on, everything came out in one big tumbling blob, my words piling on top of each other.

  “Addie, slow down,” Lina said sternly. “I need you to slow down.”

  “What’s going on?” It was Ren, Lina’s boyfriend, in the background. He was always in the background these days. Did they ever spend time apart? I wished it didn’t bug me so much.

  “Just a minute.” She shushed him. “I’m trying to figure that out. Addie, what is going on with you?”

  “I told you. I—I just missed my flight.” Tears poured from my closed eyelids, and my voice sounded as shaky as Rowan’s car.

  She blew into the phone, sending hot static into my ear. “Yeah, I got that part. But I mean what is going on with you? You’ve been avoiding my calls for the past week and a half, and now you’re standing on the side of the road having a breakdown. This isn’t just about the flight. Or the wedding. Why have you been avoiding me?”

  Cubby dropped down like a marionette, swinging in the space between us. Of course I hadn’t fooled Lina. She’d always had this sixth sense about when I needed her. Half the time I didn’t even need to call; she just showed up.

  And evasion wasn’t going to work. Not when she’d cornered me like this. I took a deep breath. “Lina, there’s something I need to tell you. About this summer. I was going to tell you as soon as I got to Florence, but—”

  “Is this about Cubby Jones?” she asked impatiently.

  “I— What?” I cringed, my shoulders shooting up. Had word really spread to Italy? “Who told you?”

  Now Lina’s voice was all business. “No one told me anything. You’ve been hiding something since July. Every time we talked, you were just barely holding back. And then you kept casually dropping his name, like, ‘Oh, remember when we were in pottery class and Cubby’s pot exploded in the kiln?’ Not that great of a story, Addie.”

  My head fell into my hands. I’d never been very good at lying, doubly so when it was to someone I loved. Walter claimed I was the worst liar in the world. My dad claimed that was a compliment. “Yeah, I guess I was sort of trying to tell you. But not really.”

  There was a long pause, and I pressed the phone closer to my ear, desperately trying to read her silence. Could silence sound judgmental? I turned to look at Ian. He and Rowan both slouched miserably against the car, Ian’s hands deep in his pockets.

  “So which airport should I fly into? Shannon or Dublin?”

  It took me a moment to realize what Li
na was saying. “Wait. Did you just ask which airport you should fly into?”

  “Yes.” She exhaled impatiently. “That makes the most sense, right? You just told me that you missed your flight and your parents can’t know, so obviously I’m coming to you.”

  “You’d . . . fly here?” I’d clearly missed the jump somewhere. “But how would you . . . ?” I brushed away the fresh flood of tears staining my cheeks.

  Lina made another impatient noise that was distinctly Italian-flavored. “Listen to me. I have tons of frequent flier miles, and Ren does too, and we’ve both been dying to visit Ireland. I’ll just tell Howard that you need me. You stick with Ian, and I’ll get to you as fast as I can.”

  I shut my eyes, letting Lina’s plan unfurl. I stay with Ian. Lina comes to me. Maybe our parents don’t find out. Maybe I still play soccer. Maybe I figure out a way to make Ian stop looking at me like I’m a burr hitchhiking on his sock. It was the best possible plan for the scenario.

  “Are you sure?” I managed. “Flying to Ireland is not a small deal.”

  “Flying to Ireland is not a huge deal, not when friendship is involved. And, Addie, it’s going to be okay. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”

  I wanted to tell her what this moment meant to me, but the words dammed up in my throat. She’d come through with a solution I hadn’t even considered. It made me feel bad about ever having doubted her.

  “Thank you,” I finally managed between tears.

  “You’re welcome. Sorry you don’t get to taste gelato, but at least we’ll be together. That’s the important part, right?”

  “Right.” I opened my eyes to a brilliant swath of sunlight. A small pink bubble formed in my chest. Precarious, but hopeful all the same.

  “No. Absolutely not.” That was all it took for Ian to snuff the spark in my chest. “This is my trip. Our trip. It’s once-in-a-lifetime. We’ve been planning this for months now.” Ian edged toward the car protectively. Rowan had managed to find a wire hanger in the trunk, and I’d used it to refasten the bumper.