by Kate Gellar
“Back atcha, cuz. We Brennans slash Quinns have to stick together.”
3
Abby
“You know if you got work done on this place, you could get close to seven fifty on the market.” Paul laid out the food on the kitchen counter while Abby grabbed two plates. “Cheap houses are hard to come by in this area. For less than four hundred, you’re looking at a condo.”
“And you think three quarters of a million is cheap?”
“For Bay Ridge it is.”
It was 6 p.m. and still bright out, but Abby felt a chill she was sure had more to do with her anxiety than the dropping temperature. Paul had brought Chinese from a favorite spot on 5th Avenue and her favorite food—wantons. She split her bamboo chopsticks and sat on a stool at the counter.
Paul dug in to his rice and chicken. He nodded behind her.
“A toast?”
She looked back to see the cold cup of tea she’d made her mom still on the kitchen table. The collection of photos on the dresser behind it almost looked like a mini shrine.
“Yeah. I made her one last cup.”
“Except for the hair color, you two look very similar.” Paul bit into a piece of battered chicken. “You miss this place?”
“No, the opposite. I don’t like being back here without her, even though being here was incredibly stressful for me.” She picked up a wanton and popped it into her mouth.
“You think she’s still here... I mean, in spirit?” he said, his mouth full.
Abby had toyed with the idea, but didn’t really believe it. Or did she? She’d wondered about it.
Paul swallowed and laughed. “Jesus, I didn’t mean to scare you. Your face right now... I meant the dead usually linger in places where they spent most of their life. I don’t mean she’s actually sitting right here, watching us.”
A new chill crept up Abby’s spine. “Do you believe in that stuff?”
Paul shrugged. “Not sure. Just because I haven’t seen evidence doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. There’s plenty of stuff I haven’t seen. Like magic. Wicca spells I mean, not lame card tricks.”
“Mom used to believe in that white magic stuff before she got sick and for a while after, until it became too difficult for her to concentrate. I think she has a pack of cards and a few books around here somewhere. I could dig them out and tell you your fortune.”
Paul stiffened. “No thanks. You sound exactly like my mom. There are certain things I’d rather discover on my own.”
“Suit yourself. How’s your mom doing?”
“Okay, I guess. She seems to have weathered the worst of it. But whatever’s wrong with her keeps coming back.”
“What have the doctors said about it?”
“Cancer.”
“Is it?”
Paul shrugged again and played with his food.
Abby had her suspicions that there was more to her illness. But she could tell Paul wasn’t ready to talk about it. “You staying the night?”
“Yeah. I can sleep on the sofa.”
The alternative was to sleep in Ivy’s room. Abby didn’t think Paul would be up for that idea.
After dinner, Abby cleared away the food cartons and dishes while Paul settled in the living room. When she’d finished, she joined him and watched as he poured two glasses from a bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey he’d brought with him. Ivy had never been much of a drinker. The only alcohol in the house was a three-year-old bottle of peach schnapps.
Paul toasted to Ivy and Frank Brennan when Abby sat down and lifted her glass. Paul knocked his back and refilled his glass while Abby sipped hers. She wasn’t used to drinking spirits, and knocking back a neat glass of the stuff didn’t appeal to her.
“Are you all set for your trip to Ireland?” asked Paul as he sipped his next drink.
“I think so. It’ll be good to get out of Brooklyn for a few months. I need space from everything. This was my life for too long.”
“Yeah, same for me. Before Mom got sick I traveled for six months. But I was lucky. She had friends and neighbors happy to look after the house and her.”
Abby stared into her glass of whiskey seeing a distorted reflection so different to Paul’s they could have come from different bloodlines. Her father had red hair, which Abby shared, while her mother’s had been almost black. Paul’s was a similar black shade to Ivy’s and his mom’s. His blue eyes held the same intensity as Ivy’s green ones once had.
“What do you know about this castle you’re going to?” asked Paul. “Who will meet you there?”
Abby had been emailed an itinerary. Her flight left on Saturday night to arrive on Sunday morning. A driver would be picking her up at the airport. Beyond that and a few online reviews and pictures of Drumm castle, she knew little.
“I don’t know. The castle is sending a driver. The owners of the castle accept ten participants for their Summer and Winter programs. We’ll all be staying at the castle and work for our room and board.”
Paul had always been protective of Abby growing up, sticking up for her when the neighborhood kids used to pick on her for being an only child. She had expected her stay at a castle for three months to set off alarm bells in Paul’s head, but he’d been surprisingly gung ho for her to leave. In fact, he’d been borderline excited.
“Paul, when do you start your new job?”
“Monday.” It was already Thursday. A few days to go. The thought made her nervous.
“And you’re okay to look after this place while I’m gone?”
Paul crossed his ankles. “The rental prices in Manhattan are outrageous. I won’t like the commute from here—it’s going to be a bitch, but I’m happy for the option. To be honest, it’s a weight off my mind. The firm offered me one of their rental apartments for a week. After that, I was stuck.”
Abby nodded. “It’s a weight off mine, too. The house is paid off. You’ll only have to cover utilities.”
Paul looked up from his drink. “You sure?”
“I can’t leave this place unattended for three months. I’d be worrying about it the whole time I was in Ireland.”
A smile grew on Paul’s face as he looked around the living room. “Well then, that’s settled. There’s no hope in hell I’d find a place within my price range anyway.”
Abby felt more at peace knowing her family home would be in good hands. “I might even ask Wendy to move in, too.”
Paul spluttered his drink. “What? Why?”
He and Wendy had a strange relationship. They both fancied each other but neither would do anything about it. Before, the four-year age gap had been an issue. But now they were both grownups and living in the same city for the first time since Paul’s family moved to Philadelphia.
“You and Wendy get on. What’s the problem?” said Abby.
“Yeah, when you’re with us.” Paul set his drink down. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be living together.”
“You wouldn’t be living together.” Abby air quoted the last two words. “You would both have separate rooms. College finishes for the summer and Wendy is doing a two-week summer program at Juilliard. For the rest of the time she’ll be working downtown. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”
Paul shrugged, as a dark cloud transformed his mood and face. “It’s your house.”
“Okay, I won’t make any decisions yet. She might not want to move in anyway.” Although she suspected she would.
Abby finished her drink and held out her glass to Paul for a refill, enjoying the warmth and relaxation it offered. He filled an eighth of the glass and she nursed her second helping.
“Why do you hate Wendy?”
Paul’s eyes widened. “I don’t hate her. It’s just... You wouldn’t understand.”
“Are you worried you might bump uglies? You’re not the worst looking human I’ve seen.”
“Leave it, Abby.”
“No. Tell me why.”
Paul released a long breath. “We wouldn’t wor
k. Can we leave it at that?”
Abby agreed, but she had no intentions of letting anything go. Paul and Wendy were perfect for each other. Her two best friends.
But why was Paul dead set against it?
4
Abby
The flight from JFK to Shannon airport was listed as five hours. Twice the distance from New York to Florida, but hey, this was an adventure, right?
A nervous Abby waited in the airport lounge for her flight to be called. She opened her carry-on bag stuffed with everything a girl needed to distract herself on the flight. Beads of sweat rolled down her back at the thought of flying. She’d never even been on a plane but Wendy liked to watch those airplane disaster programs. Abby was convinced her best friend had ruined air travel for her.
She swallowed hard. How did airplanes stay airborne? According to those shows, something always went wrong mid-air.
She tried not to think about it as her phone buzzed in her handbag. She dug it out and checked a new WhatsApp message. From Paul.
Paul: Hey cuz, safe flight. Hope everything goes well. Let me know when you land safely. I want pictures.
And don’t worry about the house. I’m moving in this afternoon.
Abby: Thanks Paul. You’re a doll. Oh, did I mention, Wendy is up for staying in the house?
She waited for the reply. It arrived a minute later.
What? When? For how long?
Abby laughed. Paul could deny his crush on Wendy all he wanted. Her best friend had that girl-next-door thing going on—blonde hair down to her shoulders, a cute smile, but wrapped up in a sassy attitude. She didn’t know why they’d never got together. Maybe it was because Paul lived in Philly and Wendy lived in a dorm in New Jersey. That was always his excuse any time Abby had mentioned it. The distance is too far, he used to say. Paul went to great lengths to convince Abby how much he hated long distance relationships.
She texted her reply. You’re welcome. She added a smiley face, followed by Wendy’s number.
A new message came in. This one was from Wendy.
Are you on the plane yet? Are you surrounded by hot guys? By the way, I Googled hot Irish guys and there are loads. Not too many red heads, you’ll be pleased to hear.
It pleased Abby very much—one red head in the relationship was enough.
Wendy’s texts continued.
OMG! Paul just texted me. Did you give him my number?
A pause first, then another text.
He wants to have dinner tonight. OMG. I am sexually frustrated. What will I wear? My nipples are hard thinking about it.
Abby shivered at the image and sent a reply. Paul is my cousin. Don’t ever say that to me again. Besides, it’s about time you two got together.
She put her phone away and checked the departures board. An announcer called her flight and she took out her passport and ticket.
Her phone buzzed as another message came through. She checked it.
Wendy: I’ll give you a report tomorrow. I’m too nervous to talk now.
Abby replied. Boarding now. Talk to you when I land... If I land.
Wendy: Be safe. Hold on to a hottie, just in case.
Abby: You too.
Wendy replied with a wink face emoji. She didn’t want details of her night with Paul. Paul was her cousin for fuck’s sake.
A new text came in, this one from Paul:
I’ve invited your friend out for dinner, to start off the house sharing in the right way. See? I can be sociable. But if she makes a move on me, I’ll kick her out myself.
Abby shook her head and stuffed her phone into her bag. She reached the counter and handed her ticket and Irish passport over to the woman. The passport made it easier to travel in Europe, and because both her parents were Irish, she was eligible to own one. Her mother had applied for it when Abby was five years old. And while Abby had never used the passport, she kept renewing it.
“Heading home?” the woman at the counter said.
“No, first time.”
She smiled, handing both passport and ticket back to Abby. “You’re going to love it. Have a nice flight.”
⁎⁎⁎
Abby came prepared for the flight with a giant bag of M&Ms and a set of ear plugs, in case there were crying babies on board. She could hear two starting up. In her carry-on bag she had also packed three romance novels, an inflatable pillow, and a portable music player. Plus there were the in-flight movies if she got bored. She reminded herself the flight was only five hours. She settled in to her seat ignoring the bustle of bodies around her—some getting comfortable, others settling in for the night. This red eye was due to land in Shannon airport at 4 a.m. US time, or 9 a.m. Irish time. She set her watch forward by five hours.
The plane took off and Abby used her bag of M&Ms as a distraction. Almost half a bag later, the plane leveled off and the seatbelt light disappeared. Too wired to sleep from the sugar in her system, Abby put on her Calvin Harris playlist and grabbed her iPad from her bag under her seat.
She enabled the on-board Wi-Fi and opened the email she’d received two weeks ago, the one inviting her to stay at Drumm castle.
She read the email again.
Dear Miss Brennan,
After receiving a list of recommended students from Columbia University, we at Drumm Castle are pleased to offer you a place at our summer history program where you will learn about Irish history. You will receive free room and board in exchange for twenty hours of work per week. Our castle needs regular maintenance work, and we find these programs, including the grant money on offer, is too good for the estate to refuse.
These placements are a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Please reply to this offer by Thursday, 25 May. If we do not hear from you, your place will be offered to another student.
We look forward to hearing from you.
Best Regards,
Samuel Alderdyce
Proprietor of Drumm Castle
Abby closed the email. Alderdyce was not a very Irish surname.
She’d done a little research on the castle’s ownership. Samuel Alderdyce was listed as a seventy-year-old man whose UK originating ancestors owned the castle as far back as the late 1700s. His great great, great (and several more) grandfather was a landowner. Drumm castle was passed down through generations, but at a huge cost. A fire in 1932 completely gutted the wood interior and it took fifty years to restore the castle to its former beauty. Drumm castle relied on government grants and ran various government approved history programs to help fund its upkeep.
Abby didn’t mind hard work. In fact, she was looking forward to it. Anything to keep her mind off Ivy lying alone in a grave. Her mom had become a difficult person to live with during her last year of illness. But despite that and Abby’s struggles to balance both her college work and her duties at home, she still loved her mom and would have done anything for her. Even if that meant failing her mid-terms to be there for her more. She’d barely passed them and now her final results would be out in the next week, but Abby wasn’t expecting much.
That was one reason she’d chosen to travel to Ireland. She needed to get started on her dissertation that would count as part of her grades going into her fourth year. She’d let things slide for too long. This trip would get her head back in the game.
She opened the email again and reread the email.
Samuel Alderdyce. Why did that name sound familiar to her?
She created a new search page and typed in the name. A handsome man in his fifties with brown hair and blue eyes looked back at her. The photo was from twenty years ago. Sam posed with his wife and son. The latter who looked to be around five years of age looked off to the side. She searched for a more recent photo, but the official photo for the castle website was the only one she could find.
The plane hit turbulence and the seatbelt sign lit up. She clutched the iPad to her chest. Her breaths came out sharp and fast as the plane dipped and shuddered for several minutes.
; Thank you, Wendy.
Abby looked at the photo once more. What she saw caused her to shift back in her seat.
The boy who’d been looking off to the side before was now looking straight at her.
5
Abby
The plane landed at 9 a.m. local Irish time. Abby had spent the remainder of the flight gripping the seat arm after the plane hit a little turbulence flying over the Atlantic Ocean. She could barely keep her eyes open.
Staggering off the plane, the difference in air temperature hit her like a slap to the face. Suddenly feeling wide awake, she shivered and pulled on her jacket.
“What the fuck?”
The pilot announced half an hour ago that the temperatures were to reach a balmy twenty degrees Celsius. His words. That translated to sixty-eight Fahrenheit. This was supposed to be summer, right? It felt like she’d stepped into a refrigerator.
A woman chuckled behind her. “Americans always expect hot weather whenever they travel. Then they come here, feel a little cold and complain the whole time. Sorry to disappoint, lovey, but this is a good weather day on this island.”
“What’s a bad one?”
“In summer? Fifteen degrees, high winds and raining. It’s always bucketing down here. We consider ourselves lucky whenever the sun comes out. Good drying weather, you see.” Abby frowned in confusion, prompting the woman to roll her eyes. “For clothes.”
Abby wrapped her arms tight around her. She’d brought a jacket but it was in her main suitcase. She fought off another shiver as she followed the other passengers off the plane and into the jetbridge. She thought about changing her return ticket and going straight home. It was eighty-two in Brooklyn. This was...hell.
In baggage claim, she collected her two suitcases from the carousel and walked through to the main arrival hall. Now she was grumpy, tired, and hungry. This was not a good start to her vacation.
This isn’t a vacation, Abby. Remember why you’re here: to learn. And to grieve.
