pavement.
“How long will you stay, Rory?”
He didn’t answer at first, thinking of Martina’s expression when he’d left the Low Down last night, handing her the keys to both the Camaro and his apartment on his way out. He’d told her if he wasn’t back in a month, sell everything—pocket the cash but keep the car. Nana’s warning about Martina’s Toyota breaking down and it ending badly had rung in his ears.
“Are you in trouble, Irish?” Martina asked, staring at the keys like they were poisoned.
He’d laughed. “Yeah. A helluva lot of trouble. Take care of my car. I’d hate to think of it stripped.”
He said to Danni, “I haven’t decided how long I’m staying. Depends on how things go.”
“And how might they go?”
“Bad.”
She nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
Disturbed by his own thoughts, by his own reluctant belief that Danni could see into the chaos of his psyche, he closed his eyes and tried to focus on the here and now. A crisp wind blew through the open windows, mixing with the purr of the Volvo’s engine and the stilted silence in the car. Gradually his thoughts loosened and drifted.
He’d forgotten how the air felt here, how it smelled. How it tasted. The tight fist of nostalgia gripping his chest surprised him. He had no fond memories of home. After the night when his father had disappeared, life became a living hell for Rory. When he recalled the Isle of Fennore where he’d been born and raised, he did so reluctantly.
Yet here he was, drinking it in like a man dying of thirst.
Danni crossed over the River Liffey then out of the city limits and through pastures of emerald and soft rolling hills. In the distance he saw the Rock of Cashel standing stark against the green. The Volvo ate up the miles, bringing them through the wide-open thoroughbred grazing of Kildare. A few tiny towns still cropped up here and there, sporting bright doors and Open signs. This was a land of lore and it pulsed and breathed like a being of flesh and bone.
Danni remained silent the rest of the way and the kids in the backseat slept peacefully as they caught the ferry from the mainland at Youghal. While Danni waited in the car, Rory got out and moved to the railing, silently watching the sea of his childhood as it frothed and foamed beneath the boat. The shadow of a lone gull swayed across the undulating waves before swooping down for a fish.
Breathing in the scent of salt and brine, oil and burning fuel from the ferry’s motor, Rory stared into the sea and pictured her . He still didn’t know her name, but her scent, the velvet darkness of her eyes, the satin fall of her hair . . . it was all imprinted in his memory.
Who was she? And had Nana been telling the truth. Would he find her?
Chapter Seven
V ERY little was different in Ballyfionúir since Rory had left. He wasn’t surprised by it. He’d grown up thinking nothing ever changed here and resenting the fact. Now he was curiously grateful that it had not been transformed into something he no longer recognized. There was a comfort in that, and it caught him off guard.
“It’s not all the same,” Danni said, still reading his mind with annoying ease. “Lisa Ballagh married a Sicilian man and they’ve opened an Italian restaurant where Pete’s Fish and Chips used to be.”
“What happened to Pete’s?” Rory asked, in spite of himself. He remembered the hot grease and crunch, the steaming white fish and chips so crisp and sizzling they seared his mouth.
“Pete went to Chicago to live with his daughter. I hear he opened up a business there.”
Rory kept his face impassive, not letting her see how strangely betrayed he felt by this news. It wasn’t right that a staple of Ballyfionúir like Pete’s could suddenly pull up and move away—to Chicago no less.
The road took a wide turn and he stared out his window as the cliffs and the pounding sea danced just beyond. Farther south was the bay where his stepfather and the
“How long will you stay, Rory?”
He didn’t answer at first, thinking of Martina’s expression when he’d left the Low Down last night, handing her the keys to both the Camaro and his apartment on his way out. He’d told her if he wasn’t back in a month, sell everything—pocket the cash but keep the car. Nana’s warning about Martina’s Toyota breaking down and it ending badly had rung in his ears.
“Are you in trouble, Irish?” Martina asked, staring at the keys like they were poisoned.
He’d laughed. “Yeah. A helluva lot of trouble. Take care of my car. I’d hate to think of it stripped.”
He said to Danni, “I haven’t decided how long I’m staying. Depends on how things go.”
“And how might they go?”
“Bad.”
She nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
Disturbed by his own thoughts, by his own reluctant belief that Danni could see into the chaos of his psyche, he closed his eyes and tried to focus on the here and now. A crisp wind blew through the open windows, mixing with the purr of the Volvo’s engine and the stilted silence in the car. Gradually his thoughts loosened and drifted.
He’d forgotten how the air felt here, how it smelled. How it tasted. The tight fist of nostalgia gripping his chest surprised him. He had no fond memories of home. After the night when his father had disappeared, life became a living hell for Rory. When he recalled the Isle of Fennore where he’d been born and raised, he did so reluctantly.
Yet here he was, drinking it in like a man dying of thirst.
Danni crossed over the River Liffey then out of the city limits and through pastures of emerald and soft rolling hills. In the distance he saw the Rock of Cashel standing stark against the green. The Volvo ate up the miles, bringing them through the wide-open thoroughbred grazing of Kildare. A few tiny towns still cropped up here and there, sporting bright doors and Open signs. This was a land of lore and it pulsed and breathed like a being of flesh and bone.
Danni remained silent the rest of the way and the kids in the backseat slept peacefully as they caught the ferry from the mainland at Youghal. While Danni waited in the car, Rory got out and moved to the railing, silently watching the sea of his childhood as it frothed and foamed beneath the boat. The shadow of a lone gull swayed across the undulating waves before swooping down for a fish.
Breathing in the scent of salt and brine, oil and burning fuel from the ferry’s motor, Rory stared into the sea and pictured her . He still didn’t know her name, but her scent, the velvet darkness of her eyes, the satin fall of her hair . . . it was all imprinted in his memory.
Who was she? And had Nana been telling the truth. Would he find her?
Chapter Seven
V ERY little was different in Ballyfionúir since Rory had left. He wasn’t surprised by it. He’d grown up thinking nothing ever changed here and resenting the fact. Now he was curiously grateful that it had not been transformed into something he no longer recognized. There was a comfort in that, and it caught him off guard.
“It’s not all the same,” Danni said, still reading his mind with annoying ease. “Lisa Ballagh married a Sicilian man and they’ve opened an Italian restaurant where Pete’s Fish and Chips used to be.”
“What happened to Pete’s?” Rory asked, in spite of himself. He remembered the hot grease and crunch, the steaming white fish and chips so crisp and sizzling they seared his mouth.
“Pete went to Chicago to live with his daughter. I hear he opened up a business there.”
Rory kept his face impassive, not letting her see how strangely betrayed he felt by this news. It wasn’t right that a staple of Ballyfionúir like Pete’s could suddenly pull up and move away—to Chicago no less.
The road took a wide turn and he stared out his window as the cliffs and the pounding sea danced just beyond. Farther south was the bay where his stepfather and the
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