Celtic Sister (20 page)

“No.” She laughed. “I snagged it from my home stash. Figured I might need it on the plane.”

“How did you get it past security?”

Busted.

“Oops. I didn’t think of that. Lucky, I guess. A girl can hold a lot in a purse. Probably didn’t catch it on the x-ray.”

“You’re naughty.” He raised an eyebrow.

Amy felt all the blood rush to her face. The look of desire in his eyes was undeniable. She slowly replaced the cap of the JD bottle, never breaking his gaze. When she was free of the encumbrance, she leaned in to kiss him. More seductive than any of their previous attempts, the kiss consumed Amy. She experienced a flood of lustful sensations throughout her body.

When she finally pulled away, Amy tipped her head coyly and said, “You know we’d save a lot of money on lodging if we stayed in one room.”

“I agree,” Sam said, feigning seriousness. “That would be most practical, Miss Martin.”

Amy leaned back in her chair. She loved the way he called her
Miss Martin,
as if he understood how much she regretted her marriage to Brent. If she were still Miss Martin, she could start again.
Maybe you can.
Her mind drifted from one blissful thought to another until she fell into a deep sleep.

***

By the time she awoke, passengers were stirring in their seats and the smell of breakfast permeated the cabin. Sam stretched and fidgeted before taking down his tray table.

“I actually got a few hours’ sleep,” he declared proudly.

“Me too. Excited?”

“Nervous.”

“I understand.”

Amy gratefully accepted a breakfast tray and asked for coffee.

Sam said, “I’d like coffee as well. One cream, please.”

The last hour of the flight flew by. Amy experienced zero hangover symptoms, and Sam was in an especially bright mood. They passed through clouds only minutes before landing, so they were unable to see the country from the air.

As they taxied on the tarmac, Amy noticed a dozen green planes with clovers on their tales.

“Look,” she pointed.

Sam smiled. “We’re in Ireland.”

Following that twenty-minute, claustrophobia-inducing period after the plane has stopped and before travelers are allowed to exit, Amy and Sam emerged and immediately looked for the signs to Immigration.

They passed through a hallway with dozens of photos of smiling Irish citizens of all ages, many of whom looked familiar. Amy wondered if the pictures might depict famous personalities. A photo of a teenager with auburn hair caught Sam’s eye, and he stopped.

“Is that Emma?” Amy asked. She struggled to catch a resemblance between the portrait on the wall and the girl from the yearbook.

He sighed. “No, but it made me think of her.” He grabbed Amy’s hand. “Come on. Let’s try to get to Immigration and Customs before the line becomes unbearable.”

Too late. They filed in at the end of a queue of dozens of people.

To pass the time, they discussed the current order of business.

“So once we get the car, let’s organize the maps and envelopes. Hopefully, there will be a side pocket next to your seat.”

“Then I can fold the map to a manageable size to cover Dublin and the beginning of the route to Clonmel.”

“Perfect. I’ve gone over the route, but you can remind me when I need to change freeways. Looks like we can go around the city, all on major highways, so the first part of our trip should be easy. Just need to make sure we pay attention to the highway changes.”

“Roger that.”

Finally at the front of the line, they politely discussed the nature of their visit with the immigration representative. Sam kept it to the bare minimum: travel for fun, staying a week. He decided
looking for my long-lost sister
might be putting it over the top. The man smiled, stamped their passports, and waved them on.

“Green stamp,” Amy cried with glee. “Look. It’s a green stamp.” She held it so close to Sam’s eyes he had to tip his head back.

“Aye. That it is.”

They approached the car, each on the wrong side for that particular vehicle. When Sam opened the left side door, he realized his mistake. He held up the keys as Amy reached for her door.

“Wanna drive?” he asked.

She peered into the car and ran around to the other side. “No thank you.” She settled into the passenger seat, organized the envelopes in the door’s side pocket, and began to unfold and refold the map.

Sam chuckled merrily as he sat in the right seat. Then he looked around, placed his hands on the wheel, and said, “This is going to be weird.”

He fussed with the dashboard and controls until he felt comfortable with the features of the car. “It’s already almost one o’clock. How did that happen?” he wondered. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.” She touched her stomach.

“Me neither. Let’s get on the road.”

He pulled out slowly. There was no one around. Nevertheless, when he came to the end of the row of cars and tapped on the brake, the car jolted to a sudden stop. They both flew forward a couple of inches until their seatbelts yanked them back into place.

“Ouch.” Amy rubbed her shoulder.

“Sorry. This car has tighter brakes than mine.”

“No kidding.”

Things were a little dicey at first. Sam focused on entering the connecting streets and staying to the left. Amy was intrigued that all the signs they had encountered so far, in the airport and on the road, were in both English and a second language.

“Is that Gaelic?” she asked.

Sam appeared to be struggling to maintain the illusion of competence on the road, but after a moment he replied. “Yes. Sort of. It’s Irish Gaelic. They just call it Irish.”

“Oh. Irish in Ireland. I guess that makes sense.”

“Who would’ve thought?” He grinned. “But don’t worry. Everyone speaks English.”

Once they settled onto the M50, Sam’s confidence returned. With trees, buildings, and a layer of clouds, this freeway began to feel like any other freeway he had driven in his lifetime. While they cruised in lanes fully segregated from the oncoming traffic, staying left seemed completely natural.

“Just don’t let me miss that exit to the N7.”

Amy rustled the map. “I see it.”

“You see it? Already?”

“No, relax. I see it on the map.”

“Oh, right.”

They approached a banner of blue signage that explained the destination of each of the five highway lanes.

Amy sat up straight. “This is the exit for the N2. Don’t get on that. Stay in the M50 lanes.”

“Got it.”

They passed several more major highway junctions before they saw the desired N7 and Sam smoothly transitioned into the correct lane.

“This isn’t so hard,” he remarked.

“You’re doing great.” She rattled the map back and forth and refolded it. “It looks like this seamlessly becomes the M7, motorway seven, I guess, so we don’t have to worry until we get to a junction for the M8. I think if we keep in mind to follow the signs that take us toward Cork, we’ll be in the right place.” She ran her finger along the highway. “Newbridge. Portlaoise…” She tried to sound it out. “I don’t think I’m pronouncing that correctly. Here. When we get to Cashel we should start paying attention.” She inspected the map further. “Oh, look, Sam. There’s a bunch of cool stuff in Cashel. We should stop there. Have some lunch and look around.”

“Well, I’d kind of like to get—”

“You’ll be hungry,” she interrupted. “Come on. We’re in Ireland.” She gestured out the windows. “Do you really just want to spend your whole trip on the motorway?” She attempted to say the last word with a dramatic accent, but it landed somewhere between British English and Mandarin Chinese.

“The what?” Sam asked.

“Never mind.” She blushed.

“Tell me.”

“Don’t you want to see something besides the freeway?”

“Of course, but—”

“Please.” She batted her eyes and clenched her fingers together.

“Oh, all right. I suppose I’ll need a break. How far?”

“Uh… at least an hour, I think.”

“That will be a good time,” he agreed.

***

The blue exit sign for Cashel didn’t appear for another hour and a half. By that time, they were both ready for a break and a snack. After having driven smoothly on the nicely segregated highway for so long, Sam was taken off guard by the sudden appearance of a roundabout.

“Stay left,” Amy called out.

“Right.”

“No. Left.”

“Correct,” he said, and he skillfully managed the turn.

“That way.” Amy pointed to the black and white arrow that indicated which roundabout exit to use.

“I see it.”

A moment later, Sam approached another roundabout. He entered it smoothly like a pro.

Amy let out a deep breath. “Double roundabout.” Then she started giggling, one of those silly laughing fits that nobody else typically understood. But in this case, Sam started laughing too – the same crazy, spontaneous giggles that emanated from Amy.

“We have arrived,” he said in a deep voice. “Survived a double roundabout while driving on the left side. Give this team a medal.”

Amy, still giggling, reached over and gave his thigh a squeeze.

“Hey. Don’t tickle the driver.”

Her giggles lessened as she sat back and enjoyed the green countryside. The sun began to peek through the clouds, casting just the right amount of light on the grass and trees to make them sparkle like emeralds. Then they rounded a bend, and Amy sat forward. What appeared to be a huge castle came into view. It was hanging off a cliff casually, without pretention, as if that’s just how things operated around here.

“That,” she cried, pointing. “I want to see that.”

“Wow. It’s impressive. Look for road signs.”

They drove through town, past a gas station and a row of pastel buildings, before Amy caught sight of a brown sign that said
Rock of Cashel.

“This way.”

Sam maneuvered his way down the narrow side street and up the hill where he found a parking spot. They continued on foot and marveled at a wall built of centuries-old, moss-covered stones. A tall tower was visible just beyond the wall.

Once they got on the grounds, they were even more awestruck. Close to a hundred people speaking a half dozen different languages wandered on the property and examined the ruins. An ancient graveyard graced the lawn.

“A Saint Patrick’s cross,” Amy shouted. She pointed at a lichen-covered gravestone marker and admired the style of the circle embedded into a cross.

“You want to see Saint Patrick’s cross, do you?” a passerby said, and Amy turned to face him. “Over there.” He pointed, indicating a room. “You’ll find the original cross of Saint Patrick.”

They entered the room and allowed their eyes to adjust to the light. There they saw three-quarters of a cross, severely eroded by the elements. Ever so barely a hint of a circle remained in the middle, much more understated than Amy expected. Still, being in the presence of something so historic gave her goose bumps.

When they got back outside, Sam took Amy’s hand.

“I feel like I’m traveling in time. This place is amazing.”

They wandered over to a short wall that overlooked a green valley and the majestic ruins of an abbey. Rows of trees separated fields of green. Sheep grazed to the left of the abbey, and hazy hills were visible on the horizon. It was so postcard perfect, it almost didn’t seem real.

“I do believe we are now in Ireland,” Amy said. She put an arm around Sam’s waist as he gazed into the distance. His eyes moistened, and he took in a deep breath.

“You okay?” Amy asked tentatively.

He took a moment to compose himself. “I don’t even know which way we’re facing… but I can’t help but think she’s out there.” He gestured in the general direction of the sheep. “Emma’s out there somewhere, and I might actually find her.” He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “I feel a serenity I have not felt for a very long time.”

They leaned into one another and gazed at the ruins of the abbey until they were too hungry to stand, so they returned to the little village and found a charming café. There they devoured a fairly large meal that involved meat and potatoes and a decadent mousse pie.

Amy considered ordering a beer, but thought better of it. She really didn’t like beer, and anything else would have seemed inappropriate. Besides, she was feeling quite nice. She could certainly wean herself off alcohol on this trip while spending time with Sam on his mind-consuming adventure. The opportunity to drink might only arise on occasion. She obviously couldn’t drink her preferred quantity of alcohol at a pub while sitting across from Sam, so it ought to be simple to just ease out of it.

You’ll find an opportunity to stock up later,
a voice she barely recognized nagged in the back of her head, and somewhere deep within her, Amy knew she’d be drinking again before nightfall. She disregarded the notion and resumed her consumption of the sinful dessert.

When the waitress saw them examining their map, she asked if she could be of assistance. Amy was starting to agree with Sam about the necessity of a GPS, since they were already so turned around, they didn’t know which direction was north.

The waitress suggested they take a route through town and diagonally to Clonmel rather than get back on the M8. She promised, with an impish smile, that each roundabout had clear signage.

On their way out of town, Amy noticed a crowded cemetery and pointed.

“Not stopping,” Sam muttered.

“Fine.”

“Just another half hour. We still need to find a place to stay. I’d like to try to visit Saint Patrick’s Well before dark.”

“Uh, I think we’re going to have daylight for quite some time.” She pulled out one of the envelopes. “Says in the info you printed that the sun doesn’t set until nine forty-nine p.m. today.”

“Right.”

“And then we’ll get a blissfully long twilight. So I wouldn’t worry.”

“All right. I’d still like to focus on getting there.”

“Understood. No more requests for castles or cemeteries – stay to the left!”

“Got it. Thank you.”

After a series of roundabouts, they began to pass by single-story houses painted in either white or pastel colors, yards lush with grass and trees, and an occasional flower bed. By this time, all the clouds had burned away, and it was turning into a lovely sunny afternoon.