by J. C. Long
“I gave Hannah the day off tomorrow, so she will be around whenever you wake up if you wanted to bum around the house. No need to set an alarm or anything—get plenty of rest. Tomorrow around seven is when the family will all be by. Of course, you can help yourself to the telly and anything in the icebox. Hannah can give you the Wi-Fi password in the morning.”
“I wrote it down on a piece of paper and put it on the bedside table.”
They began to talk about potentially interesting things for me to do in the area, but I didn’t pay much attention, instead focusing on my burger and the beer. Once I finished with those, I found it difficult to even keep my eyes open.
“Okay, I think it’s time you got off to bed, Ronan,” Aunt Gwendolyn said firmly. I rose, moving to help clean up, but she grabbed the dirty plate and empty beer bottle from me. “I’ll take care of this. Hannah can show you where to get cleaned up and where you’ll be sleeping.”
I was too tired to argue, so I followed Hannah back out to the foyer and up the stairs, listening to the old wood creak beneath my every step.
She took me straight down the hall to the farthest room. “This is the guest room—yours for as long as you’re here,” she said. “The bathroom is the first door on the left from here.” She pulled me into an unexpected hug. “I’m really glad you’re here, Ronan. Get some sleep, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Good night.” I opened the door—an old-fashioned brass doorknob—and stepped into the guest room. There was a double bed taking up most of the space, covered with a flowery duvet and big, comfy-looking pillows. Everything in the room smelled freshly scrubbed; I wondered how much work Hannah and Aunt Gwendolyn had done in preparation of my arrival.
There was a plain wooden dresser on one side of the bed, next to the window, with my luggage propped up against it. On the other was a simple nightstand, where a lamp and digital clock sat. Tucked under the corner of the digital clock was the paper I assumed had the Wi-Fi information written. The room also came equipped with a narrow closet that was cleared out for me.
Yawning, I crossed to the window to pull it shut before I forgot about it. I sat on the edge of the bed, yawning once more. I had every intention of doing some tidying up of my things and taking a shower before bed, but my body had other plans. Before I even realized it, I was passed out on the comfy bed.
Caibidil 4
MORNING SUNLIGHT streaming through the window and warming my face woke me. I stretched, surprised to find myself beneath the blankets. At some point—I didn’t recall when—I’d climbed properly into the bed.
I wiped sleep from my eyes, then glanced at the clock on the desk. It was barely after ten, but I felt like I’d slept for days. I could hear someone bustling around downstairs and smelled bacon and coffee. My stomach gave a loud growl, and I climbed out of bed.
I went to the bathroom to go through the typical morning routine—toilet, brushing hair, brushing teeth, dressing for the day. I was unsure what the weather would be like, but I’d brought summer clothes—shorts and T-shirts mostly. There was a single pair of khaki pants, but no long-sleeve shirt. I did have a thin jacket that I’d had with me for the plane ride, so hopefully that would be enough. I decided on khaki shorts and a “Bag End Brew” Hobbit-themed T-shirt and went downstairs.
The delicious smell of food grew as I descended, and I run-walked into the kitchen.
Hannah was sitting at the table, doing some sewing on an old Singer. She looked up at me as I came in, surprise on her face. “You’re up way earlier than we thought you’d be,” she commented. “There’s a plate of food in the oven, if you’re hungry.”
I scoffed good-naturedly. “If I’m hungry? I’m starved.” I opened the oven and pulled out the plate she mentioned, heaped with eggs, bacon, and two fluffy biscuits. There was also a gravy boat full of white sausage gravy. I was in heaven.
I started shoving bacon into my mouth and made my way over to the table where Hannah was working. She was making a sundress from the looks of it, and the fabric was the color of the gay pride flag. “What is this?”
She looked at me like I was an idiot. “A dress?”
“Yes, I can see that. But what’s it for? I don’t know many people that can pull off that pattern.”
“It’s for Dublin Pride,” she explained as she pushed the fabric along the path, sewing the hem. “It’s coming up in a few weeks, and I wanted to do something a little different this year. I think this fits the bill.”
“I would say so.” I sat down at the table, not close to the cloth, continuing with my meal. I wasn’t surprised that she went to Pride; she’d always been supportive, even though she herself was straight. “Is Pride in Dublin a big thing?”
“Bigger than Pride anywhere else around here—maybe even the biggest Pride in Europe, for all I know. People come from all over. There are events all this month, but the big parade will be around the twentieth.” An idea struck her. “Oh! If you’re here, we should totally go together.”
I nodded enthusiastically around the last of my biscuits and gravy. “That might be fun! I’ve never been to a Pride parade.”
Hannah stopped sewing to look at me as if I’d grown antlers. “How on earth has a gay man in his late twenties never been to a Pride parade?”
I used the fork to scoop up the gravy left on my plate. “I just never got around to it. Going out in summer in Atlanta to be in a massive crowd of people didn’t really sound so appealing. I get the feeling that won’t be much of an issue here.”
Hannah chuckled, holding up the dress to examine her handiwork so far. “No, I don’t think our summers here will be that bad for you. Just imagine, your first Pride is going to be here in Dublin.”
I blinked for a moment. Hannah went on, making plans about Pride, where to go, how to get there, who we might go with, all as if it were a set in stone plan. I wanted to tell her that I hadn’t decided if I would go—hell, didn’t know if I would be in Ireland for that long—but the excitement on her face was such that I would feel like an ass for bringing her down, so I just let her talk.
When I finished breakfast, I went to the sink and rinsed off the plate and fork and put them into the dishwasher.
“What do you want to do today?” The question was a complete change of gears for the conversation, one I was grateful for. Anything that didn’t have to do with potential future plans or figuring out how long I was going to be there. Crazy as it seemed, I’d run off to Ireland with barely a moment’s notice, on an open-ended ticket, with no clear idea of what I was going to do, where I would go, or when I would go back home. I was doing my best to take my Irish journey one day at a time.
“Why don’t you show me around the town a little bit?” I suggested. “Help me get my bearings?”
“You sure you don’t want to take it easy around here for the day? You must be jetlagged. The town will still be there tomorrow.”
I shook my head firmly. “I didn’t come to Ireland to sit around or take it easy.”
“Very well. One grand tour coming up. Let me put the sewing machine away and we can get off.”
Fifteen minutes later we were heading out of the house.
“Do you want to walk or drive in?” Hannah asked. “It’s only a ten- or fifteen-minute walk to Main Street. Abhainn isn’t very big, I’m afraid.”
“Let’s walk, then. Fits the romanticized image of strolling through the verdant Irish hills.”
In the light of day, everything looked so different from Atlanta. Every which way I looked was green. The few houses we passed were all similar to Aunt Gwendolyn and Hannah’s, surrounded by big green yards with vegetable gardens. One house had a chicken pen behind it.
While we walked Hannah told me about the village. “Abhainn has a population of about nine-hundred people, so we’re definitely a nice, cozy community. Pretty much everyone knows everyone. The Murphy family is pretty wealthy—Uncle Dick owns the pub, cousin Sheila runs the coffee shop, and Mom owns the local bookstore. T
here’s even a small ramen restaurant.”
That took me by surprise; I didn’t expect to come across a Japanese restaurant in a tiny village.
“We don’t have much of a nightlife,” Hannah went on as we finally came to the main road and took a left towards Abhainn. Considering I’d only seen it in passing in the dark, I might as well have been seeing it for the first time. “For clubs or the like, you have to go to Dublin, which isn’t too hard—it’s just a quick bus ride away. Just follow the main road to Ballymore Eustace and catch the bus from there. Tonight Owen is bringing his bike for you to use while we’re here. Where to first?”
“I’d love to see the family bookstore,” I said, as excited at the idea of going into a bookstore as I was the night before.
Hannah pointed in an onward and upward sort of way. “To Gwendolyn’s Reads!”
As we got closer to Main Street, Hannah pointed to my left and down a side road. “This is Eaglais Road. Eaglais is the Irish word for church—you can see the church, there over those trees.”
I arched my neck a little and could see the top of a stone building, though I couldn’t really make out what it was. Once we crossed the street and stood near an old apartment building painted mint-chocolate-chip-green, I looked back and now could clearly see the church. There was a sign in front of it declaring it Immaculate Conception Cathedral. The main church itself was a boxy, rectangular stone structure. Attached to it was a much more recent building, this one marked as ICCS.
“Immaculate Conception Cathedral School,” Hannah explained when I asked. “They’ve got about fifty students, ranging from Junior Infants through Sixth Class.” She nodded towards a bigger, newer building directly across from ICCS. “That’s Abhainn Dún School. Same age range, start to finish, with about one ninety or so students.”
We continued walking, enjoying the pale but warm sun shining down.
We at last turned onto Main Street and I could see Gwendolyn’s Reads ahead. I hadn’t noticed it the night before, but it was next to a small coin laundromat that looked like it had been converted from a house.
I could barely contain my excitement when we walked into Aunt Gwendolyn’s bookstore, the little bell on the door jingling as we did so. Instantly I was hit with the scents that I associated with all bookstores: candles and pages. The shop had two floors—I could see the staircase going up in the back corner—and the first was crammed full of bookshelves that were themselves crammed full of books. Hand-written signs detailed which genres were on which shelves.
“Welcome to Gwendolyn’s Reads. If Oi can ’elp yeh with anythin’, let me know.” The words came in a lyrical baritone voice with a heavier Irish accent than either Aunt Gwendolyn or Hannah had, with the final know sounding like nuu. The source was a man sitting behind the front counter, bent over some sort of account book. Even hunched over as he was, I could see he was tall—at least six two, I’d guess—with auburn hair that was closer to brown than red. When he looked up, I saw that he had a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched precariously on the end of his nose.
If his face looked a bit mousy, it transformed when he smiled, almost glowing. His eyes were the palest shade of green I had ever seen. There was no mistaking them for blue, though, especially when the light from the sun coming in through the display window hit them just right.
He was absolutely gorgeous.
“Hannah! Yer mum said yeh wouldn’t be in today.”
“I’m not here to work. Just showing my cousin around.” Hannah put her hand on my shoulder. “Fergal Walsh, this is Ronan Walker.”
Fergal came around from behind the counter, reaching his hand out towards me. I took it and we shook. His touch was warm and his grip strong. When we broke the grip, I could still feel the pressure of his touch.
“Nice to meet yeh, Ronan.”
I found my voice and spoke. “Nice to meet you too. Are you one of the many cousins I don’t know about?”
Fergal laughed, his baritone sending tremors to the pit of my stomach. “No, we’re not related. Oi work ’ere in the shop with Hannah and Gwendolyn.”
“Fergal and I went to university together,” Hannah explained. “He was nice enough to volunteer to help out during those days, and we haven’t been able to get rid of him since.”
We stood there in silence for a moment, me feeling as awkward as I ever have in my life. As the silence became unbearable, footsteps came from the staircase and Aunt Gwendolyn appeared. “I thought I heard voices down here.”
“Ronan didn’t want to sit around all day, so I’m showing him around,” Hannah explained.
“Of all the places in town you could have shown him, you pick here?”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “There’s like four places—and one of them is a coin laundry. Besides, Ronan wanted to see the shop.”
“I was hoping to get a book to read,” I confessed. “I didn’t bring any from home and I’ve never been into electronic readers, so here seemed like the best place to start.”
Fergal’s eyes lit up. “Do yeh like to read much?”
I nodded. “I love to read. My mother introduced me to books at a really young age. Her favorite to read to me was Dubliners—”
“Oi love James Joyce!” Fergal exclaimed. “There’s a bookstore in Dublin, Chapters, where yeh can actually rent equipment for a Dubliners audio tour!”
Seeing Fergal’s excitement made it impossible for me to hold back my own. “I read about that! I’d love to do it one day!”
“Maybe Fergal here can take you to it,” Hannah said suddenly, her voice taking on a slightly strange lilt. “He’s obsessed with James Joyce—has been since uni.”
“I was an Irish literature major,” Fergal explained, not bothering to deny his obsession. “When it comes to that, it’s either Yeats, Joyce, or McCourt.”
“Don’t forget Oscar Wilde,” I added. “Dorian Gray is a great one.”
“Well,” Aunt Gwendolyn interjected, amusement twinkling in her eyes, “I can see you two will get along just fine.”
“Yup, two nerds.” Hannah snorted.
I elbowed her.
“Now that I think about it, Fergal, we’re having a small dinner at my house tonight—nothing big, just the local family mostly. You’re always welcome at our family events—you know that. Mum has been asking about you.”
Fergal smiled again, rubbing his hand through his hair sheepishly. “Really? Well, tell Mrs. Caolainn that Oi look forward to ’er next visit to the shop.”
His words confused me for a moment before I remembered Caolainn was my grandmother’s first name.
Aunt Gwendolyn’s face fell a little. “So you won’t be able to make it tonight?”
“’Fraid not. Oi promised me neighbor Beatrice Oi’d ’elp her with somethin’ tonight.” Fergal looked genuinely disappointed as he glanced at me once more.
HANNAH AND I passed most of the morning in the bookstore. The first floor was divided into two sections, romance and history. While the shop wasn’t busy, Fergal showed me a few books in the history section devoted to Ireland.
“Oi recommend dis one about Dublin,” he said, offering me a rather thick book.
It was simply titled Dublin: The Making of a Capital City, and the cover was an old photo of the city, though I couldn’t tell when it was from. I had always been a lover of history books and figured it made sense to learn about the past of this place as much as it’s present, so I decided to buy it.
“Don’t even think about payin’ for it,” Fergal said as I reached for my wallet. “Think of it as a welcome gift from me.”
As the morning progressed into midday, a few customers came into the shop and Aunt Gwendolyn and Fergal became busy. I felt exhaustion setting in on me, so I opted to go back to the house to read and maybe take a nap.
I got settled on the bed and opened the book. Before I could read a word, I drifted off to sleep.
Caibidil 5
THE FAMILY dinner was a great occasion, and I got to see sever
al cousins who hadn’t made it to the funeral. It was a wonderful feeling, sitting there at Aunt Gwendolyn’s table surrounded by family and chatter. It wasn’t something I got to experience much; the family on Dad’s side was much smaller, just Dad and his brother, Michael, who didn’t have any kids of his own.
As soon as she came through the door, Grandma Murphy pulled me into the tightest hug I think I’d ever been given. She insisted I sit right next to her during dinner, and she touched my hand every chance she got. She seemed on the verge of tears every time she looked at me.
“We’ll have you out to the farm as soon as yer up to it,” she said as I devoured my third slice of chocolate potato cake. It was my favorite dessert, one my mom made for me when I was young and always served at my birthday parties, much to the horror of my friends’ parents, though they quickly fell in love with the dessert too.
“I can’t wait,” I said after washing the last bite down with a drink from my frosted mug of beer. “I really want to see the house Mom grew up in.”
“Yer mum was born righ’ in that house,” Uncle Dick, Grandma Murphy’s eldest son and my cousin Owen’s father, said from the other end of the table. “Well, in the barn, at any rate.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What? I didn’t know she was born in a barn!”
Grandma Murphy chortled, settling back in her chair. She stared out in front of her as if she gazed back through the veil of time itself. “Yer grandfather’s car wouldn’t start. We didn’t have much choice—Allanah was impatient from the moment she pushed her way out of me.”
I had difficulty picturing the scene—my mother, beautiful and regal, was born in a barn? It was such an inauspicious beginning—mundane, even. “Mom never told me that story.”
