by Tracey Ward
“Robin is a paralegal. Her husband Chris is an electrician. They live in Pocatello.”
“Is that a real place or are you making that name up?”
“It’s real,” I laugh. “It’s in Idaho. My parents are there too.”
“I’m choosing to believe you.”
“Look it up.”
“I trust you. How long has your sister been married?”
“Three years.”
“Do you like him?”
“Chris? Yeah, he’s cool. He’s a good guy. They’ve been together since high school.”
“What were you like in high school?”
I snort. “A dork.”
“We were all dorks, whether we knew it or not. I mean what were you into?”
“Um, a little bit of everything, I guess. I played soccer, ran track, took photography classes, was on the yearbook staff.”
“Whoa, you outpaced me two activities ago.”
“I was in Leadership,” I drone on, “helped plan dances and pep rallies. I was in the choir.”
“I did theater for one year.”
I grin. “Ooh, you’re a thespian.”
“I’m going to act like I didn’t hear that.”
I laugh too loudly, quickly clamping my hand over my mouth and snorting through my nose.
“That was good, right?” Jax chuckles.
“The best,” I breathe. “Oh my God, I can’t breathe. My roommate will kill me if I wake her, but I can’t breathe.”
“I’ll try and tone down the funny.”
“Don’t you dare.” I take a deep breath. “No more high school. Tell me something else. Something about you.”
“I choose favorites. Favorite friend, favorite parent, favorite sibling. You’re not supposed to, but I do. I’m an asshole like that.”
“Stop trying to convince me you’re an asshole.
“I told you I can be when I’m in a bad mood.”
“Is this you in a bad mood?”
“Kind of.”
“Then I’m not scared.”
“I’m not trying to scare you away, I just don’t want you thinking I’m a great guy all the time. I can’t keep up with that.”
“You’re putting on a show for me right now?” I ask, surprised.
“Kind of, yeah,” he admits honestly. “So are you, though. Everyone does in the beginning.”
I nod my head. “I am hiding some of my crazy. I want it to surprise you later, like a stripper jumping out of a cake.”
“Only it’s minus the good times?”
“Exactly. It’s more like ‘Surprise! She’s dead inside!’”
“Damn.”
“Yeah. It’s not going to be pretty. Run while you can.”
“Nah, I’m good,” he mumbles sleepily.
I grin at the sound of his voice, deep and raspy. “Tell me your favorites,” I prod gently.
“Which ones?”
“Friend.”
“Here in Germany it’s Haskins.”
“Parent?”
“My mom.”
Based on what he’s said about his dad tonight, that answer doesn’t surprise me.
“Sibling?”
“Amber. She’s a couple years older than I am but a little bit wild. Drives my dad crazy. I love that about her.”
“What about your mom? Does she stress about her?”
“Mom doesn’t worry. She knows she can take care of herself.” He shifts, the sound of sheets moving telling me he’s lying in bed too, and the imagery that thought conjures up makes me a little breathless. “What do your parents do?”
“Dad’s an IT guy for a big law firm in town. Mom is a paralegal.”
“Like your sister?”
“Yep. We’re a legacy family too.”
“It’s like being royalty, isn’t it?”
“Oh my God, I get it now,” I say, my voice way too loud. Kim stirs in the bed across the room and I quickly lower my voice. “That’s why Birchart saluted you. Because of your family.”
“God, that pissed me off,” he growls. “I hate that. The last name Jackson is pretty common and I can hide behind it most of the time, but word gets around. Rumors fly through the military community faster than in a sorority house. I was only here three weeks before everyone found out who my dad was.”
“Do they treat you differently?”
“Sometimes. Some people are harder on you because they don’t want you thinking you got it made just because of your parent’s rank. Some people are easier on you because they’re brown-nosers, and some people just don’t give a shit. Those are my favorite people.”
“You want to be recognized for your career, not your dad’s.”
“I didn’t have shit to do with him getting where he is today, I don’t want him to have shit to do with where I go.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Sorry. For swearing and getting pissed and… sorry. I’m saying that a lot tonight, aren’t I?”
“Jax, it’s fine.”
“I don’t talk about my family very often. I don’t think about all of this if I can help it, but I got a call from my dad last week and ever since then… I’m on edge. He’s in my fuckin’ head.”
“Do you want to talk about something else?”
“I think I need to go to sleep. I’m not good company right now.”
“I still think you’re pretty fantastic,” I reply weakly, wishing I could cheer him up and knowing that I can’t.
It hurts not being able to heal the people you care about.
“Thanks, Wren,” he replies, his voice going soft. “For putting up with me and for listening. I needed to vent.”
I believe that, but I also know he’s holding back. There’s a lot he didn’t say because he’s trying to control himself, but I don’t push him. It’s his business.
“I’m here,” I promise him. “Anytime you want to talk, I’m here. I don’t care what kind of mood you’re in.”
“I’ll hold you to that. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Jax.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Where are we going?” I ask for the millionth time.
Jax simply smiles and shakes his head. All he told me last night was to be ready for him to pick me up early, wear comfortable shoes, and bring my passport.
Being told to bring your passport somewhere in Europe is not as big of a deal as it is in the States. Crossing country borders here is like crossing state lines. It’s effortless; you can do it without realizing it. If you drove in the right direction you could pass through three countries in one day without missing a beat. While border patrol isn’t strict, it’s always good to have your passport with you just in case.
He’s in a better mood than he was last week when we talked about his family. We’ve been in touch every day since then, and every day has been a little better, but it was still obvious something was bothering him. Today, though, he’s pure light. He’s all smiles and secrets and kisses on the back of my hand as he drives.
“Not even a hint?” I prod.
“Not even a hint. Just sit back and enjoy the adventure.”
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? Sell me?”
He laughs. “No and no. Now be patient and shut up.”
My eyes go wide. “Did you just tell me to shut up?”
“You clearly didn’t listen so don’t act offended. We both know I said it with no real hope of you following through.”
“You’re a little edgy today,” I say, settling back with a grin. “I like it.”
He looks at me again, his crooked grin on his lips. The one that makes me melt. “Shut up,” he repeats quietly.
I smile, but I shut up.
He takes me to the airport in Frankfurt. Once the car is parked—in long-term—we head inside, where he gets our tickets to God knows where and he leads me to our gate. We have to go through customs and show our passports, the whole bit that I’m getting pretty adept at, and then we’re through. It doesn’t take
long because we don’t have any luggage, something that makes me wonder. Where are we going that we don’t need any kind of toiletries or extra clothes?
When we get to the gate, the secret is out. The sign above our waiting area broadcasts where we’re going and I smile ear to ear.
“Ireland?!” I ask him excitedly. I turn to face him and his eyes are watching me, soaking in my joy and taking it for his own. It makes him happy, seeing me so thrilled, and I’m humbled by that fact. That he’s invested so deeply that he’d hinge his joy on mine.
I stand up on my toes and kiss him soundly on the mouth.
His hands take hold of my hips and he pulls me to him, kissing me harder and with a surprising ferocity for standing in the middle of a busy airport. When he lets me go I nearly stumble back onto my feet.
“How long are we staying?” I ask a little breathlessly.
“Just for the day.”
“We’re flying back tonight?”
“Not until late, but yeah. It’s just a day trip.”
“A day trip flying off to Dublin, Ireland and back. Just for kicks,” I say with mock casualness.
He shrugs. “Tickets were cheap, they had the right times, I figured why not?”
“This is insane.”
“It’s fun, though, right?”
“Yes.” I smile, stepping up slowly to kiss him again. “Everything with you is fun. Thank you for this. For everything, actually. For Paris and Prague and London.”
He waves his hand, stopping me. “You’ve said thank you. We’re good. And this one is on my mom. She sent us the money to go. Kind of an early Christmas present.”
“Does she know about me?”
“Yeah, of course.” He looks at me dubiously. “Does your family not know about me?”
“No, they do. My sister might be a little in love with you.”
He watches me for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then he smiles. “One down, one to go.”
***
Dublin feels a lot like London did, but with a different energy. Maybe just more of it? As we ride a tour bus and listen to the guide describe the city to us, I get the sense that the Irish have a lot of fire in them. And not just in the past.
“Coming up ahead is the Spire of Dublin,” she announces, grandly sweeping her arm to showcase the tall metal spire shooting up out of the middle of the road into the sky. It shines in the afternoon sun, sleek and modern and oddly out of place in a city full of old buildings and ornate statues. Our guide turns back to us, her face blank. “It’s a four-million euro, one hundred and twenty-one meter-high pile of pure shite.”
I start, surprised. This tour just got interesting.
“Formerly the home of Nelson’s Pillar, which was destroyed by the IRA in 1966,” she continues unenthusiastically, “the Spire was erected as part of a redesign of O’Connell Street, where we’re traveling right now. The bombing by the IRA did absolutely no damage to the stores along the street, while the city’s final demolition of the pillar blew out windows up and down the street. Popular opinion is that they should have called the IRA in to finish the job.”
“Do we laugh at that?” I whisper to Jax.
“I don’t know. I’m uncomfortable.”
“Me too, in the best possible way. She’s so angry.”
“I kind of love it. I wonder what she’ll hate next.”
Turns out our guide loves her city, she just really fucking hates that Spire. The rest of the tour is pretty standard. We stop at the Guinness factory and taste Guinness from the tap that was brewed that day. The upper level of the factory where we get our free shot of awesome consists of a central bar surrounded by windows that give you three hundred and sixty degree views of the city. There’s frosted writing on them telling you what direction you’re facing and what monuments you’re looking at. The city doesn’t have the sweeping, grandiose views of Paris, but I still love it. It’s more natural. More lived-in and less showy.
Visit Paris for the city. Go to Dublin for the people.
It’s when we’re getting back on the bus in the early evening that I get my first inkling of trouble. The light outside seems brighter, making me squint. I feel like it’s shooting straight into my retinae. My right eye begins to feel strange, my temple beside it tightening in a sharp pinch that makes me flex my jaw to relieve a pressure that’s not actually building—to escape a pain that’s impossible to run from.
I’ve had migraines since I was a thirteen, right around the time puberty hit. My mom had them her whole life as well, and didn’t find relief from them until she hit menopause in her fifties, meaning I have another thirty years of this shit until I’ll be free. What a relief.
“Wren, are you okay?” Jax asks, his voice laced with concern and his hand on my arm.
I realize I’ve closed my eyes against the light and am digging my knuckle into my right temple. “No,” I tell him. “I’m getting a migraine.”
“Do you have anything in your purse to take for it? Advil or anything?”
“No. I have some prescribed meds but I left them in Germany. I haven’t had a headache since I got here and I’ve gotten out of the habit of carrying the meds.” I flinch as the pain flares, then tapers off. “I’m so stupid.”
The bus lurches forward, carrying us back toward O’Connell Street and the Shite Spear. Jax puts his arm around my shoulders to steady me. “You’re not stupid. You’re just caught off guard. Can I get you anything? Will anything else help?”
“Sunglasses?” I ask, half laughing.
“Done. I’ll find some. Anything else? Do you want something to drink?”
“Water. Sometimes it happens because I’m dehydrated. And any over the counter pain meds will help until I can get to something stronger back in my dorm.”
“We’ll find a convenience store when we get back to the main drag. It’ll have all of that. Just hang in there, okay?”
“I’m okay. It’s just getting started.”
He rubs his hand up and down my arm, murmuring “I’m sorry” over and over again.
I lean into him, ducking my head and using his body to help shield the light trying to fry through my eyelids and into my skull. It feels like forever but it can’t be more than half an hour before Jax gently lets me know that we’re back on O’Connell Street. He helps me to my feet and guides me off the bus out onto the noisy, busy street.
Luckily he spots a store right away and we head inside. The lighting is bright and I flinch, but I’m able to quickly find the pharmacy area. The shelf is full of the familiar shapes of rolled cough drops and antacids, pink formulas in plastic bottles with strange names, and box after box of everything else that look like painkillers but none of the names ring a bell. Jax has gone in search of sunglasses and bottled water so I’m on my own. I stand there staring at the boxes for way too long trying to find what I’m looking for. The only thing in my favor right now is that everything is in English. If we were in Germany it’d be hopeless.
“Can I help you find something?” a young woman asks, stepping toward me. I notice she’s wearing a blue smock, meaning she works here, and I want to hug her in my relief.
“Yes, please. I’m looking for Tylenol or Advil. Preferably Advil.”
Her brow pinches, her face confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is.”
“Ah crap,” I mutter to myself. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t thought of the fact that they aren’t international. They’re for headaches?”
“Well, we don’t have either of those but we do have this.” She plucks a box from the shelf that looks identical to a box of cold meds. “It’s for headaches or general aches and pains.”
“Perfect. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. Glad to help.”
Jax reappears holding up two large bottles of water and wearing a large green pair of sunglasses with lenses in the shape of shamrocks. I laugh when I see him.
“All they have are novelty sunglasses,” he explains with a smile.
>
He pulls them off his face and places them on mine. The world goes instantly darker. And luckier.
We head to the register where I buy the goods, where I fight briefly yet fiercely with Jax over who will pay. For once I win and I think it’s because he’s taking pity on me in my weakened state.
Once outside I immediately start ripping into the box. I pop two quickly, taking a long pull off the water. “I wonder if I should take two more,” I muse, looking over the small white box still in my hand.
“What’s the recommended dosage?”
“It says two but I always take four Advil. With how often and how severely I get headaches, I have a pretty high tolerance for this stuff.”
“What’s in it?”
“Probably standard stuff,” I mumble, scanning the back of the box and seriously debating another two pills as my temple threatens to explode. “Caffeine, acetaminophen, and—Holy shit!”
“Are you okay?” he asks, scanning my face as though expecting me to start sweating blood or something equally awful.
I shove the box in his face, my eyes wide behind my shamrocks. “Codeine! There’s fucking codeine in these!”
He frowns, reading the drug information quickly. His lips move as his eyes pass over the words. It’s adorable.
“Whoa,” he whispers when he reads it.
“Right?”
“Well, that should help with the headache.”
“No joke,” I agree, taking the box back and holding it with a newfound respect and love. “Ireland is the greatest country on the face of the earth.”
“As a member of the US military I can’t in good conscience agree with that.”
“But you can admit that it’s totally tits.”
“Oh hell yeah, that’s not up for debate.”
I eye the store curiously. “Do you think I can buy more?”
“It might look suspicious going back right now.”
“So you’re saying we should hit up another store? Buy more there?”
“No,” he says firmly. “I’m not saying that at all.”
“Only a couple boxes though. Otherwise it will look suspicious.”
“So will flying back to Germany with pockets full of codeine,” he protests.
