Lost in Ireland
Page 7
Only fifteen miles? Pedaling was really hard, and Finn was getting far ahead.
I looked down and noticed that my back tire wasn’t exactly round. It was more like egg-shaped, which made it turn with a little hump each time around.
Snow globe moment: I’m riding a broken bike through Ireland in the rain wearing donated clothes, and a handkerchief on my head, with a boy (correction—a cute boy) who I’ve known for about twenty-four hours. If you look closely, you can see that the girl in the glass globe is developing blisters on her bottom. She wipes rain off her face, and she feels the beginning of a très grand zit.
• • •
After what seemed like forever, we finally leaned our bikes against some trees near the center of town. The streets were much quieter than in Limerick. A few people lingered at shop windows, and some rode by on bikes with baskets of groceries.
I was wet but not soaked. Just enough to look like a sponge but not a mop.
A kid sat on a bench fiddling with his cell phone, with a hypnotized look on his face. He wore a long-sleeved shirt with a collar and a team logo that I recognized as a rugby team’s. He was probably in the tournament.
Finn said, “Hey, guy, did you play today?”
“Yup.” He pushed buttons on his phone, hard, and tilted the screen to the right and left.
“Where is everyone?”
“Gone home. Tourney’s been over for hours.” He let out a frustrated groan and finally raised his head, totally annoyed with us for interrupting his game. “It’ll start again in the morning, around seven.” He went back to his game, clearly not interested in making friends.
I slumped. “Tomorrow?” Why should I have been surprised? Of course Anna wasn’t here. I was cursed. I should’ve expected it.
“At least we know where she’ll probably be tomorrow,” Finn said. “Let’s get some gas.” At this point I was wet, tired, sore, and hungry. “Then we can get ourselves back to Ballymore.”
“We’re so close now. If we leave, what if we can’t come back tomorrow? Plus, I know those ladies on silent retreat don’t want me there.”
“You peeked at the vote?”
“Just for a sec—long enough to see their hands up.”
“In their defense, a five-hundred-pound chandelier had almost just killed them.”
“Didn’t Mrs. Buck say we were going to her brother’s for dinner? Can’t we stay there?”
“I guess we can ask her when we get back to the car.”
The clouds finally moved aside to let the day’s last rays of sunshine warm our backs. That was when I saw it on the side of the lane. It was purple and puffy and growing from a crack in the sidewalk. “Look at this, Finn.” I bent next to the flower. “It’s pretty.”
“It’s more than pretty. It’s a thistle. And that’s the sign of good luck. We should go this way.” Then from right up ahead of us came a speedy tractor, the soup can right behind it.
Honey was behind the wheel of the tractor. “Got you two some petrol.”
It was truly good luck for the blisters on my butt. Honey helped us get our car, which was driven by our goggled lady, and extra gas. We gave her the bikes. And, perhaps best of all, she invited me into the tractor to give me another loaf of soda bread.
While I was thanking Honey, Finn somehow communicated with Mrs. Buck. He told me, “Her brother is expecting us. She already texted with your parents and my da, so we can spend the night there.”
“That’s great news!” I hugged him. Then I went back to the crack in the sidewalk and picked the thistle. I was going to keep that puppy close to me.
We were climbing into the back of the soup can when I asked, “Do you think we can stop at the store so I can get a few necessities?”
“Like what?”
“Pajamas, toothbrush, shampoo. You know? Necessities.” I left out clothes, shoes, mousse, hair dryer, flat iron, lip gloss, and skin cream.
Mrs. Buck navigated a roundabout—a circular island in the middle of the road that you need to go all the way around in order to turn—and pulled up at a small convenience store that looked like a 7-Eleven.
“How about a mall?” I asked.
“Mall? Is something wrong with this?” Finn asked. “This place has all the stuff you just mentioned.”
I sighed. How could I buy clothes at a place like this? I mentally willed my luggage to find me while I squeezed the thistle stem.
We went into the store and I quickly filled a cart with undies, toiletries, and makeup. I couldn’t find a single item of clothing I’d wear. I got a T-shirt to sleep in. Then I grabbed a duffel bag, crackers, candy bars, and a few cans of Coke, too.
Finn looked at my cart in amazement. “That’s a lot of necessities.” He lifted a pink razor and quickly dropped it like he’d just touched a snake.
“Do you need anything?” I asked.
He held up a toothbrush. “This’ll do it.”
Mrs. Buck held one up too and smiled.
At the last second I picked up two postcards of Newcastle. One for me and one to send to Carissa, who had never responded to my last text. Weird. I paid with my emergency credit card. This was, after all, an emergency.
We drove for only a few minutes before Mrs. Buck parked. We followed her down a cobblestone sidewalk. Streetlights had come on, and the night was very clear. The smell of peat still lingered in the air. I was getting used to it, but I didn’t like it. It was like smoking dirt or mulch mixed with a litter box—not like wood at all. One by one the stars popped out.
Finn looked at them. “I love the stars,” he said.
I looked. “Me too.”
“I think it’s cool how wherever you are you have the same stars.”
“Yup.” I looked at the stars again. It was a cool idea, and something I never would’ve thought about.
We stopped at a small house with candles lit in each window.
“Looks like we’re here,” Finn said.
20
We could hear loud Irish music through the front door of the row home. The high-pitched sound of a flute and the fast strum of a banjo instantly made me tap my foot.
Mrs. Buck knocked on the front door, and after a minute when no one came, she knocked more loudly.
There were several seconds of pots banging and clanging or furniture falling before the door opened and revealed a leprechaun. Well, at least this guy looked just like something between a leprechaun and a man.
“Aha!” the leprechaun said, and he hugged Mrs. Buck and picked her up. “Come in. Come in.” His face was red, his hair light blond.
The house smelled like he’d been baking cookies. The music was louder inside than it had been on the front stoop. He raised his elbows and kicked his heels as he made his way to an old record player and turned down the volume. It gave me a quick sec to look around the house.
Every surface was covered with doilies and knickknacks: cats, teacups, fancy glass bottles. . . . The overcrowding of stuff and the smell of Christmas gave the place a very homey feel.
“Welcome. I’m Paddy Flanigan. I love having guests!”
I couldn’t imagine being excited to have strangers spending the night. Our house was all chaos all the time. Never baking. The only music was Piper singing. No one wanted to hear that, trust me.
“How ya been, Sis?” Paddy asked Mrs. Buck.
She gave him a thumbs-up. He did the same, laughed with a snort, and asked, “What’s this all about?”
Finn explained that Mrs. Buck was in silent retreat. Paddy asked in a very loud and slow voice as though his sister was deaf, “TEN DAYS?” He held up all ten fingers.
“She can hear just fine,” Finn clarified.
“Oh, how silly of me. Of course she can. OF COURSE YOU CAN!” he said to Mrs. Buck. “Really, TEN DAYS? Actually, don’t answer that if you can’t talk. . . . YOU CAN’T TALK,” he repeated.
Mrs. Buck nodded.
“Oh, you’re right,” Paddy said. “I think she hears just fine.
“Fol
low me now,” he continued, and scurried down a slender hallway doing a quickstep. “Here we are. The lily room. Just right for spring, don’t ya think? My sis and the lass can sleep here, and the lad can use the sofa.”
We thanked him.
He said, “My third wife, Elizabeth, God rest her soul, she got laryngitis once and lost her voice for three days. . . .
“A cup of tea will crown ye. Out back,” he said, and dashed away.
I asked, “What did he say?” I dropped my duffel.
“He’s bringing tea to the backyard for us.”
Mrs. Buck directed us to the back door, while she headed toward the kitchen. Finn went outside first, and he had to bend down so that his head wouldn’t hit the top of the doorframe. I walked through with no problem.
It was a postage-stamp-size backyard surrounded by a fence that crawled with ivy. A wrought iron table and two chairs sat in the grass.
Paddy darted out through the low door. In a flash the table was covered with cookies, cheese and crackers, and tea. It was just what I needed, because I was famished, despite the big piece of soda bread I had eaten earlier.
Paddy asked, “A bit of cow in your tea, lass?”
“Huh?”
Finn interpreted, “Do you want milk in your tea?”
“Oh, yes please.”
“Gimme a ring if you need me.” Paddy left a golden bell on the table.
I nibbled on a cookie. “I can feel my luck changing since we found CiCi and have gotten closer to Anna. Can’t you?”
He leaned close to me and lifted the four-leaf clover off my neck. “You really believe in luck, don’t you?” He dropped the silver chain and sat back with a cookie.
Then I toyed with the clover. “Do you think I’m too superstitious?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’re just the right amount and I’m not enough.”
“Don’t you have any good luck charms? Something that when you see it or hear it, or whatever, it makes you think it might be lucky?”
“Well, I guess I have a favorite number. Maybe I think it’s lucky.”
“You do? So do I. What’s yours? Wait. Let me guess. Four?”
“No.”
“Nine?”
“No.”
“Odd or even?”
“Even.”
“Mine too. Maybe it’s the same. Is it ten?”
“No. Yours is ten?”
“Yup,” I said.
“Well, that’s kind of cool.” He held up his wrist. “Look at the time. It’s twelve minutes after ten. Your lucky number is ten and mine is twelve, so between the two of us, this is a very lucky minute.” We looked at his watch, which changed to thirteen after ten. “And it’s over.”
I said, “Now I’m always going to think of you when it’s 10:12.”
He spread some cheese on a cracker. “I like that. Kind of like a secret code.”
“Kind of.” We munched quietly.
“I’ve been wanting to ask you something,” Finn said.
“Sure. What?”
“It’s about your cell phone. Do you have games on it, like that guy on the park bench?”
“Oh, yeah. That phone has everything. You can totally use it. But—”
“What? If you don’t want me to use it, I understand.”
“No. It’s not that. It’s just that I don’t remember seeing it lately. I’ll be right back.”
I hustled to the lily room and scrambled through my purse and new duffel full of stuff. Shoot! My phone wasn’t there. How could I possibly live without my phone?
I gave Finn the bad news and held back my tears. He assured me that it would be okay. “I don’t have one, and I get along just fine.”
“But I’m used to texting and looking things up online and stuff.”
“You’ll survive. Those ladies don’t talk for ten days, and they manage.”
“Could you live without your games for ten days?”
“Well, you got me there. Probably not. It’s only been one day, and I feel a little itchy.” Then he said, “You know, you could help me with that.”
“You want me to scratch your back?”
“No. You can play a game with me.”
“I don’t have a phone. What are we gonna play? Tag? Red light, green light? Hide-and-seek?”
He got up and went inside. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll count to twenty, and then I’m coming to find you.” I started counting, and I felt ridiculous, like a ten-year-old. “. . . Nineteen! Twenty! Ready or not—”
He came back outside, ducking as he passed through the door. “What? ‘Ready or not’ what?” He sat again and put boxes on the table: dominoes, Scrabble, and checkers.
“Umm, I was going to say— Never mind. You seriously want to play a board game?”
“We don’t have a pinball machine anywhere nearby. And I love these games. Which one do you want to start with?”
“Checkers, I guess. You might have to remind me how to play.”
Finn looked at me like I was crazy. “You don’t know checkers?”
“I do. I just kinda forgot. But I’ll remember when you tell me.”
We played until Paddy came out in his green, one-piece footy pajamas and told us it was past midnight.
I went into the lily room and took the empty twin bed. I fell asleep to the sound of Mrs. Buck’s snoring.
21
I woke to the smell of bacon frying.
Mrs. Buck was nowhere to be found. I quietly walked down the hall in my socks and saw Finn on his stomach on the small couch. His feet extended over the armrest.
I left him sleeping and went into the kitchen, where I heard voices—as in two. Mrs. Buck flipped a deck of cards in a game of solitaire. Paddy started singing.
“Who were you talking to just now?” I asked Paddy.
“Talking? Don’t be silly. Just me singing.” He flipped bacon. “You slept well, did ye?”
“Yes, sir. Very well. Thank you.” They didn’t fool me. Mrs. Buck had been talking to Paddy. I’d just caught her cheating on her silent retreat.
Paddy poured me orange juice. It was thick and pulpy. (I like it thin and watery.) “I’m preparing you a full Irish breakfast,” he said. “I hope you’re hungry.” Something sizzled. “Where’s your friend? Still sleeping? Go and fetch ’im, or his eggs’ll get cold.”
Finn appeared before I could get up, rubbing his eyes.
Paddy said, “There you are, sleepy one. Sit yourself down.” He spooned an undercooked sunny-side-up egg onto each of our plates. (I like them scrambled and well done.) Then he opened the oven, stepped up on a little stool, and took out a cookie sheet of biscuits. He gave us each two. From another frying pan he lifted two slices of browned tomato each, and finally he served several thick pieces of very fatty bacon. The whole breakfast looked undercooked and—what’s the right word?—soggy.
Finn and Mrs. Buck dug in.
I ate the biscuit. I broke the egg yolk and swished some stuff around on my plate to make it look like I’d eaten the rest. Finn saw what I was doing and took one of my slabs of bacon. Paddy caught him.
“Somethin’ wrong, m’dear?” Paddy asked me.
“No, no,” I said. “It’s a lot, and I’m not very hungry.”
“You need to fatten your little self up. A bird never flew on one wing, you know. I’ll make y’another egg,” Paddy Flanigan said. Before I could protest, I heard an egg drop into the hot pan.
Suddenly Paddy screeched. At first I thought he’d seen Finn snatch another piece of bacon off my plate and he was offended. But then he yelled again, too forcefully for it to be about bacon. Finn jumped up to help him. The sleeve of his shirt flamed at the stove’s burner.
Finn kicked the stool over to the sink and pushed Paddy onto the stool so he could reach the water that Mrs. Buck already had running. Tears ran down Paddy’s face. “Oh, dear. Oh my. Am I scarred for life?”
Finn looked at Paddy’s wrist. “It’s a little red, but that’s all.”
Finn said, “That was close.”
“Too close,” I said. “You know what that was all about as well as I do. We have to hurry and find Anna O’Toole right away. Can we go? Now? Like right now?”
Finn didn’t protest but shoved another piece of bacon into his mouth and wrapped a biscuit in a napkin. “I’m ready.”
Mrs. Buck pointed to herself and held up two fingers. Me too. She put the playing cards into her pants pocket.
22
We drove away in the soup can. Mrs. Buck tapped the horn, and we all waved to Paddy. Then Mrs. Buck took out the goggles and big headphones, put them on, and moved her lips to the song on the radio.
“What if Paddy Flanigan had gotten seriously hurt?” I asked Finn as we sat smooshed in the back of the soup can. “What if his house burned down all because he was making an egg for me?”
“But none of that happened. He had an accident. His shirtsleeve was too long. And we were there to help. That’s a good thing.”
Did he seriously believe that or was he just trying to make me feel better?
“I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if my curse hurt you.”
“That’s okay, because you’re not goin’ to hurt me, and if you did, by accident, I’d get over it,” he said. “I might not let you play my Alien Attack arcade game for a little while, but I’d get over it eventually.”
I smiled, but I was still worried.
“Why don’t you look out the window for the lost sheep,” he suggested. “It’ll keep your mind off the chain letter.”
The fields to either side of me were filled with white wool. “There are a ton of them. Finding one with a red ribbon is probably impossible.”
“That’s why it’s an honor. If it was easy, just anyone could win.”
I pointed to a group of sheep. “Why do those sheep have blue paint on their fur?”
“It’s wool, not fur,” he said. “Farmers let their sheep wander all around the countryside, so they mark which ones are theirs with a color or a brand.”