Live to Fly Another Day

by Eliza Watson

  Suddenly I was more afraid to drive than to fly!

  “Maybe Declan can fly into Dublin early, and then we won’t have to worry about it.”

  I FaceTimed Declan. He was shirtless, changing for an evening event. Picturing him merely in a plaid kilt, I momentarily lost my train of thought.

  I gave him the scoop on George’s situation. “Can you fly into Dublin earlier and then take the ferry over with me?”

  “Afraid not. I’m working VIP ground, and my flight’s not until half ten. I could change it to fly into Manchester about the time you’d be driving through.”

  “How about I fly into Manchester and meet you? We can rent a car there.”

  “Er, right, then. I’m not really able to rent a car in England. It’s a bit of a story.”

  And undoubtedly a good one. Declan’s stories always were.

  “Besides, the car rental prices there are mad, dear. You’ll be grand. You’ll only have to drive to the Manchester airport, and then I’ll take over.” Noticing my look of sheer panic, he added, “How about I take an Uber to the outskirts and you collect me there?”

  I reluctantly agreed since I had little choice.

  “I better call my mom. Love you.”

  I needed to call Mom before contacting Rachel about changing her flight into Manchester instead of Dublin. After all, George was Mom’s half brother.

  “I’m coming over with Rachel,” Mom said. “I should have planned to do that in the first place. George must think I’m an awful person that I was putting it off until summer to come with Teri and Dottie. I just thought the three of us should meet our half brother together. What had I been thinking? I should have at least written to him. I just didn’t know what to say. Thank God Teri did. What if he dies and I don’t get to meet my only brother?” she rambled on frantically.

  Mom had a complete meltdown when I’d told her about George. I feared she was in the middle of another one. If George died only a month after I’d found him, before Mom met him, would she be even more bitter toward her mother?

  “Do you want to call Rachel, or should I?” I said.

  “I’ll call and have her book me on the same flight and add a flight to England. Where do we fly into, and where exactly does George live?”

  I gave her the details even though Rachel would be on the phone to me the second their conversation ended.

  Mom wasn’t only meeting George for the first time but also Declan. She would surely like him. Everyone liked Declan. He was genuinely witty, kind, charming… Everything Andy had pretended to be. Rachel better not have voiced her concern to Mom that Declan was a womanizer and I was setting myself up for the fall. When I’d mentioned approaching Flanagan’s for a job, my sister had been worried that I’d quit and move home when Declan and I broke up.

  I couldn’t take off work when I’d only been there for two weeks. I had to finish my online class, figure out how to request proposals from hotels in three countries, finalize two upcoming Dublin meetings, work at my genealogy side job…

  What happened to achieving a balanced lifestyle by having a full-time job and not traveling for work? I’d have to return home on Sunday. Mom and Rachel could stay if George was still in the hospital. I had to be to work on Monday. Yet what if George passed away while I was there?

  One thing I didn’t want to plan was my newfound half uncle’s funeral.

  Chapter Four

  The Dublin dock area was dark and desolate at six in the morning except for an occasional vehicle on the road or a ship pulling into port. The perfect setting for a major drug deal like in the movies. Several TK Maxx and Tayto semitrailers waiting to be loaded with precious cargo put me slightly at ease. Zoe had dropped me off earlier at Gerry Coffey’s townhouse, where Declan parked his car for free. It had only taken me twenty minutes to get to the docks, so now I was driving up and down the roads, surrounded by ship containers and overhead cranes, afraid to sit alone in a parked car. Mac was sleeping peacefully in his purple bed next to me. Must be nice.

  About a quarter of a gas tank later, cars started lining up to board the ferry. After presenting my e-ticket and Mac’s papers to a ferry employee in a booth, she handed me a boarding card to hang from the rearview mirror. A man in a reflective vest directed me to a designated waiting lane. Before long, my line moved. As I approached the ship, I cringed, trying not to think about the ramp collapsing and my car dropping into the sea. I drove over the ramp, and the metal banged against the pavement. Once safely on board, I turned off the car and set the parking brake, letting out a huge sigh of relief.

  One challenge down, a dozen to go.

  I slipped a bagel from my purse. An employee approached my car, and I rolled down the window.

  “You can’t remain in the car, luv,” he said.

  “Oh, okay.” I turned to Mac. “Wake up, pumpkin. We need to go upstairs.”

  “The little nip needs to stay in the car.”

  “By himself? He’ll freak out.”

  Snoring away, Mac didn’t look the least bit freaked out. He probably wouldn’t wake up until we reached Wales.

  “He’ll be grand. Crack the window. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  I poured the remainder of my bottled water in Mac’s bowl and left a handful of treats, breaking my three-treats-a-day rule. I hiked up a set of metal stairs and entered an interior staircase leading to an upper deck. The ferry certainly wasn’t as fancy as a cruise ship, but there was a restaurant, bars, duty-free shopping, video games, and a movie area.

  I’d envisioned myself standing on the front deck, my hair blowing back in the wind, like Rose and Jack in the movie Titanic. However, passengers were only allowed access to two tiny back corners, one designated smoking.

  The ferry pulled away from the dock. I grasped the handrail, preparing for it to take off like a shot since it was high speed. Yet I could hardly tell we were moving. We cruised alongside other slow-moving boats, obviously a no-wake zone.

  My shoulders relaxed. I enjoyed the breathtaking view of Dublin’s skyline and the Wicklow Mountains to the south. On my first trip to Ireland, I’d visited County Wicklow, my great-grandma Flannery’s homeland. I’d been overwhelmed with a sense of déjà vu. At that moment I knew I belonged in Ireland. I’d never dreamed to one day live here. Despite the difficulties Grandma had endured, I couldn’t imagine ever willingly leaving this country.

  The ferry was a luxury liner compared to what Grandma had sailed on board. However, same as her, I was traveling to an unknown land, unsure what I would encounter upon my arrival. Too bad she hadn’t shared stories about her voyage to America. It’d been too difficult to relive, no doubt. I had a hard time leaving Mac in the car by himself, whereas Grandma had left her son behind. She’d watched England fade into the distance knowing she’d never see him again. My heart ached.

  I hadn’t judged Grandma for keeping her first husband and supposedly dead family a secret. Yet I was having a difficult time that she’d never told her daughters about their half brother. I better understood Mom’s bitterness toward her mother all those years. It was one thing for Mom to never have met her grandparents, but her half brother? Why couldn’t Grandma have left a note in her will and given her children the opportunity to connect after her death?

  Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too late for them to meet.

  At least we would be there to comfort George’s wife. If she wasn’t up to having company, or upset her employee had contacted me, we’d find a hotel. From George’s stories, she sounded like a lovely woman. She baked him a weekly loaf of Grandma’s brown bread from the recipe I’d e-mailed him. I pictured them eating the bread while sipping tea from Grandma’s teacups I’d sent him. A much more positive thought than envisioning George lying ill in a hospital bed.

  My hair was whipping against my face, and a chill raced through me. Ireland was quickly fading in the distance behind a long trail of whitecaps and waves. Tucking my hair behind my ears, I walked inside and found a window table to set u
p a workstation. I needed to get a jump on the incentive trip. I booted up my laptop and connected to the free Wi-Fi. I checked e-mail to find one from Sadie Collentine. She and Seamus were sorry to hear about George, and she was popping a get-well card in the mail. Emily Ryan hadn’t yet responded to my news.

  I had no clue where to begin checking hotel availability. I shot Mindy, a former coworker, an e-mail asking for recommendations. In Prague she’d mentioned traveling a hundred and fifty days a year. She’d undoubtedly been to Vienna, Florence, and Dubrovnik. And Declan had just done a Florence program, so I could pick his brain. I was a resourceful person. I just couldn’t use Rachel as a resource.

  I researched whether I could visit any of the three cities if I’d maxed out my ninety-day stay in Ireland before obtaining citizenship. It turned out that Italy and Austria were part of the Schengen Area, which allowed a US citizen to spend ninety days total in any of its twenty-six member countries. Ireland and Croatia weren’t members of that area. Croatia would also allow me entry and to stay ninety days.

  “Caity Shaw, please proceed to your vehicle on the car deck.”

  I glanced around, trying to figure out where the announcement was coming from. Why was I being paged to go to my vehicle? Had it gone out of park and hit another car? Had someone hit me? Mac!

  I shoved my computer into its bag and raced down the stairs.

  The guy who’d directed me to park handed me a puke bag as I headed toward my car. I looked that bad?

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “The little nip isn’t.”

  I opened the door, and the stench of vomit poured out of the car. I gagged, slapping a hand over my mouth and nose. Mac looked weak, his fur matted with puke. Of course, it was all over Declan’s tidy car. I gagged again. How had Mom taken care of Rachel and me all those times we’d been sick?

  And here I’d been worried about me getting seasick.

  * * *

  The ferry docked a distance from the terminal, where I stopped to regroup. I cleaned the car the best I could with a T-shirt from my suitcase and antibacterial wipes in my purse. It needed a few air fresheners. Thankfully, Mac wasn’t too sick to walk, so I didn’t have to carry him into the bathroom to wash him up. I threw away his smelly purple bed and my T-shirt. When I tried to remove his tutu, he growled.

  “Don’t growl at your mommy.”

  I tried again.

  He growled and swiped a paw at my hand.

  Fine. I took back every annoyed thought I’d ever had in stores, restaurants, or movie theaters about mothers being unable to control misbehaving children.

  I stuck Mac in the sink and ran warm water. Probably not the most sanitary thing to do, but it was a public bathroom in a ferry terminal, not a fountain in the lobby of the Ritz. I sudsed him up and rinsed him off. I didn’t want the car also reeking like wet dog, so I held Mac under the air dryer, warm air blowing against his fur and tutu. He wore a content expression as if enjoying the royal treatment at the doggy spa. A woman and her young daughter walked in and gave me a wary look. I smiled in return.

  Fifteen minutes later, we were on a road heading east toward Liverpool. Luckily, it was two lanes on each side, so cars could zip past and I didn’t have to worry about driving too slow. Seeing as Declan was forbidden to rent a car in England, I didn’t want to lose my license over a speeding ticket I couldn’t afford. Yet nobody else seemed worried about a ticket. Maybe my speedometer was off. Sixty seemed awfully slow. The Irish drove faster through roundabouts.

  Was England on miles rather than kilometers?

  A convenience store or gas station likely sold maps explaining the road signs. Yet I didn’t even own a map for Ireland. I’d winged it the two times I’d driven there.

  What if I had to get an Irish license?

  I wouldn’t be able to wing a driver’s test. I’d been so nervous taking my first test I’d almost burst into tears when I had to parallel park. The second time, I’d cussed out a driver who’d pulled out in front of me. It’d taken me three tries to get my license. A good thing I could rely on mass transportation in Dublin. However, my dream was to live in a rural area nearer to Declan’s parents in Glenteen and Grandma’s hometown, Killybog.

  I’d have to learn to drive a tractor.

  Mac pawed at the window, whimpering for me to open it farther than the crack at the top. He strained his neck, trying to stick his nose out for fresh air.

  “I am not opening the window so you can jump out on the freeway, so deal with the smell. I am.”

  I took a whiff of fresh air whenever I dared take my eyes off the road for a second.

  We left behind gorgeous ocean views and wide sandy beaches for a landscape with red-tiled roofs and brick buildings surrounded by fields of sheep and cattle.

  An hour later I was starting to feel a false sense of confidence when the GPS directed me onto a six-lane motorway. Cars flew by me. My grip tightened on the steering wheel. I was so overwhelmed by signs for the Liverpool airport, city center, and Manchester I didn’t see the signs for construction. Traffic came to a screeching halt, and I almost slammed into a black Mercedes. The guy in a Beemer behind me laid on his horn. Mac let out a bark and jumped into the backseat, barking ferociously at the driver.

  The road narrowed to two congested lanes, and I was driving dangerously close to a cement barrier. I’d be taking the first exit off the highway from hell.

  According to the GPS, Manchester airport was an hour away, which would be a couple-hundred-dollar Uber ride. Ugh. I had to do this. I could do this.

  Mac was now howling at the car.

  I questioned my desire to have children.

  * * *

  Mac and I let out a humongous sigh of relief when I pulled off the motorway into a rest stop. I also let out a nervous giggle, trying to relax my death grip on the steering wheel. Put a TK Maxx here and I might make a weekend of it. There was a hotel with an indoor swimming pool next to a complex with small shops, a Burger King and other chain restaurants, an M & S Food Market, and a coffee shop.

  Mac was perched on the edge of the seat, his tail wagging at the sight of a large stretch of grass and a plastic bag dispenser with a dog’s picture. His tail slapped frantically against the car door when he spotted Declan in front of the main building, wearing his black-and-green plaid kilt and black shirt. Mac barked, and I about howled. Maybe I shouldn’t rip on the poor dog for being obsessed with his tutu. Maybe he thought it was a kilt and was proud of his Irish heritage.

  I was so distracted by Declan’s insanely sexy legs that I forgot to downshift, and the car rocked to a halt. Thankfully, I was in a parking spot this time. I flew from the car, Mac hot on my heels. I flung my arms around Declan’s neck and kissed him senseless. He smelled like freshly fallen rain and woodsy cologne and tasted like fries. My stomach growled. Declan curled his fingers into the back of my cream wool sweater and pressed my body against his. I let out a moan and Mac barked, pawing at us for attention. I reluctantly drew back, sharing Declan with him.

  “Are you wearing anything under that kilt?” I said in a breathless, flirty tone.

  “Didn’t think I was still wearing it after that welcome.” The corners of his lips curled into a sly smile.

  I glanced over at the hotel. “You don’t have to be.”

  A mischievous glint twinkled in his dreamy blue eyes. “We should probably be calling on George during visiting hours.”

  I nodded, having momentarily forgotten my worries.

  Declan eyed Mac’s tutu. “Still celebrating, are ya?”

  “Won’t let me take it off. I’m going to take him to the potty. Can you grab me a Whopper and see if the convenience store has air fresheners. Like a half dozen.”

  Declan arched a curious brow, opening the hatchback to stick in his suitcase. His top lip curled back. “Jaysus, what the hell happened in here?”

  “Mac got seasick.”

  “Hope I won’t be getting carsick. That’s wretched.” He tossed hi
s suitcase in the back and slammed the door.

  Five minutes later, we met Declan back at the car, hanging a raspberry-scented air freshener from the rearview mirror and tossing a lemon-scented one in the backseat.

  Curled up on my lap, Mac peered over at Declan with soft brown eyes, still looking a bit peaked. His confrontation with the Beemer earlier had drained him.

  Declan gave the top of his head a rub. “Ah, you’ll be grand, little fella.”

  I enjoyed a Whopper and the fact that Declan was behind the wheel now instead of me. Mac didn’t even bark for a bite, still under the weather.

  “My mom decided to come over with Rachel to visit George. They’re flying into Dublin today and catching an Aer Lingus flight to Manchester tonight.”

  Declan’s smile failed to hide the nervous twitch at the corners of his mouth. “That’s brilliant.”

  “Then why do you look freaked out? Like I’m behind the wheel driving right now?”

  Declan was usually the one who remained calm in any situation, while I flipped out.

  He shrugged faintly. “Not a’ tall. I’ll finally have the chance to meet your mum.”

  “Don’t worry. She doesn’t blame you for her daughter moving four thousand miles away from home.” I gave him a teasing smile.

  “Gee, thanks a mil.”

  “She’s going to love you. She can be a bit overbearing and nosy, but she means well. You’ll be a prince compared to Andy.”

  Declan had learned about my ex when I’d pepper sprayed him in Dublin, fearing he was Andy. And after that I’d wigged out on him a few times before eventually opening up about my emotionally abusive relationship. Random smells, sounds, or people’s actions reminding me of my ex were becoming rarer and rarer.