up this scheme to get rid of me. In my head, you’d jettison me to another country, go into HPC and laugh about me over cocktails at my desk with Matty, and move in a new roommate who is more fun and who actually has a job, like maybe Carly the Intern. I’m so bad! If you hated me, would you have stayed up all night straightening my hair so I could look like a modern, urban writer? All you did was try to dig me out of a hole, lend me money, and throw in the most perfect gift I’ve ever received in to boot. On second thought, you really are trying to show me up, aren’t you? Kidding! Thanks for wishing me sex, too, though that prospect is highly unlikely. If what I hear about Ireland’s climate is true, even Colin Farrell would have to cut me out of my long underwear using scissors! Anyway, my parts must be frozen from lack of use. Whatevs! Totally unimportant because I’m going to be in and out of there like a cat burglar. I plan to find O’Grady, get him to tell me a few colorful stories about leprechauns or shillelaghs or potato famines, or whatever, and get this book written. I will not be long in the land of flat caps and frizzy hair. Boom! Brenda will kvetch and kvell, I’ll be her hero, and there will still be plenty of time to call Ray Diablo on his personal number before he hires another writer. Uh oh! They’re calling for seatbacks and tray tables. I’ll call T O’G (how do they do initials with apostrophes??!) in the morning from your aunt’s house. Today’s the 20th and you have me coming home on the 24th. I know your aunt offered to keep me the whole time, but I think after I nail this, I might treat myself to a hostel in Dublin and do a little sightseeing. I’d tell you to wish me luck, but you already have. Love, Shay.”
I patted myself on the back for not having checked luggage. In reality, I had Maggie to thank for that. She’d edited a book about packing and organization, and she’d internalized all the flight attendant’s tips. Besides, I’d only be here a few days. She brutally cut out all but the essentials, but tucked every manner of jewel and accessory one could imagine into the toes of shoes, the inner circle of rolled up belts, and between layers of flat, folded clothing.
When Brian and I parted at customs, I felt sadder than I expected to.
“You look after yourself, Sheila,” he said. “I don’t like the thought of you being on your own. If you need anything, anything at all, you ring me.” He gave me his card. “Brian Lynch, GlobeCo, Director of Sales and Distribution, Ireland-UK-US.”
“Anything at all, hear? I couldn’t bear the thought of one of my own daughters wanting for anything in a strange country. I’m as near as the telephone.”
I gave him a hug, not the sort of thing I usually do, but I really didn’t want to let him go. His kindness had shone a spotlight on my loneliness. He patted my back in a fatherly way.
“Thank you,” was all I could manage. I smiled and walked away quickly. I didn’t like goodbyes in general and this one hurt more than it should. I waved without turning around, and heard him call, “Keep outta trouble, Sheila!”
As I stood in line, waiting to go through customs, I realized I’d left my winter coat in the overhead compartment. Shit. Should I try to reboard? There was nothing in the pocket except my gloves; I’d either get it back or I wouldn’t.
With only my carry on, and my small rolling suitcase I felt small and underprepared. The longer I stood waiting, the more dread I felt. On the plane, where I was being fed and watched over, everything seemed fine. Now dread poked me in the ribcage. Closer to the front, I could just make out the conversations of some other travelers, reminding me that the more you reveal at customs, the more questions they ask you. I’d keep it simple.
“Welcome to Ireland,” the kind-faced agent said. “Are you here for business or pleasure?”
“Pleasure,” I declared firmly, looking her straight in the eye.
Need teaches a plan.
As I exited the building and breathed in my first fresh air in nearly a day, I was surprised at how warm it was. As promised, Maggie’s cousin Des met me right on time outside the terminal. I must have looked lost, because he spotted me right away, and jumped out of the car.
“Shayla?” I nodded. He swooped in and loaded my suitcase into the back. “Hiya! I’m Des.” He was tall and had a sexy, sporty look to him. “Ready for an almost two-hour trip? Lovely night for it.” It was a lovely night. Ireland was downright balmy compared with New York. The air was moist and fresh.
Two hours. Now I’d owe him big-time. Running people from midtown to LaGuardia was a pain, but this was above and beyond. He didn’t even know me.
“I didn’t realize it was so far. I should have taken a bus or something,” I said, opening the car door and sliding in. “You have to let me pay you,” I offered, my stomach squeezing because I had no idea what a fair price might be. Probably more than I had.
“Not at all,” he brushed off my concern.
“Well, I want to give you something.”
“It all works out in the end, doesn’t it?” He stood looking at me. “Are you driving?”
Startled, I looked around and saw that I was sitting in front of the steering wheel. “Oh!” I scrambled out, and got in the other side. I’d travelled to Italy, Spain, Mexico, and The Netherlands, but I had found traveling to London by far the hardest transition. In the other, very foreign, places, I expected up to be down, and black to be white. In England, however, everyone spoke English, and we shared a lot of common culture — the United States having been a colony of theirs and all — so I got a false sense of security. Then, I’d get in a phone booth and be all thumbs or I’d have to take a freezing shower because I couldn’t figure out the buttons and knobs. It unsettled me. I suspected I’d feel similarly off-balance in Ireland.
“Buckle up,” he commanded. “Safety first. I drive a hotel limo, that’s why I work nights. I could do this drive in my sleep. It’s not often I have such a pretty passenger, though.”
I remembered Maggie’s warnings about her cousin being a ladies’ man, but he didn’t seem so bad to me. As he chattered on about his job, and how he liked to play football (the kind where you use your feet, I was schooled), I stole a sideways glance at him. Red hair, high cheekbones, full lips. He reminded me a bit of the ginger one from the Harry Potter films, all grown up. Not bad at all. My mind wandered to what he’d look like with his shirt off. And maybe his jeans. He looked to be the long and lean type, with a torso like a runner. And working down from there…Wow! I hadn’t had those thoughts in a while. Maybe it was the saltiness in the air, blowing in from the sea.
Shut it down, I told myself. His mother graciously offered you a bed to sleep in, she didn’t offer to fill it. There was no doubt that he was a piece of eye-candy, but one-night stands weren’t me, typically. I wasn’t above them, far from it. It’s just that it had been so long since I’d been with a man, you could call me a reborn virgin. There was a part of me that wanted my next time to be special. Or at least a great story.
“Would you mind if I just closed my eyes?” I asked. If I took a little nap, there’d be nothing to worry about. No point stirring the pot, I wouldn’t even be here long enough to start trouble.
“Not at all,” he replied amiably. “You must be knackered from the journey.”
I closed my eyes, and before I knew it, the car pulled into a short, paved drive alongside a neat little modern suburban house. Maggie’s Auntie Fiona immediately appeared at the front door. She must have been listening for the car.
“Get her bags inside, Des, and show her where to wash her hands. I’ve a smoked cod pie warm in the oven for your tea.”
“You didn’t have to cook for me,” I protested. I realized, too late, that I hadn’t packed a hostess gift. Maggie had shoved me out of the country with practically only the clothes on my back. I was utterly unprepared.
“Nonsense!