Live to Fly Another Day

by Eliza Watson

  “I don’t know. I’m not the genealogist. You’ll think of something. What about using her US naturalization papers or her Ellis Island record that shows her coming from Ireland and her birthplace was Killybog, where her sister Theresa Lynch lived?”

  “The person I spoke with at immigration said those documents aren’t sufficient.”

  “Well then, speak to someone else. Figure it out. We need to have dual citizenship.” Rachel’s breathing quickened. She looked like she needed citizenship as much as she was going to need an oxygen tank if she didn’t calm down.

  “Is this about Gerry?”

  “No, it’s not just about Gerry. It’s about me.”

  So it was partly about Gerry.

  “I wanted to be the estate’s planner. To organize events and generate funds to keep this place going. Like booking art-mystery dinners for corporate events and holding garden parties to show off Thomas’s flowers and shrubs. And…” She placed a hand to her forehead. “It doesn’t matter. That plan is shot.”

  I scrambled to process Rachel’s aspirations.

  “So you’d have moved to Ireland to do that?”

  She shrugged. “I’d have needed the flexibility of traveling back and forth without restrictions on the length of stay. I could have worked in Ireland and come here as needed.”

  Rachel had put some serious thought into this. She wasn’t throwing it out there on a whim. Like I had when I’d decided to move to Ireland.

  “I had no clue you were thinking about leaving Brecker.”

  “I’d have to stay there for a while. This wouldn’t have been a full-time job at first. It would have been a volunteer position for the first year until I got the trust built up and could take a wage.” Rachel’s eyes watered, and she sucked in a shaky breath. “I have to reduce my stress.”

  “Is your kidney getting worse?”

  Rachel shook her head. “I think”—she choked back a sob—“I’m losing my mind.” A tear trailed down her cheek.

  “Your mind is way sharper than mine. Look at how you were calculating math in your head when we were shopping for teacups. And…”

  Rachel continued shaking her head. “That contract I forgot to confirm for Gemma’s dinner wasn’t my first mistake. I can’t seem to remember anything lately.” She swiped away several more tears.

  I wrapped my sister in a hug, and she sobbed against my shoulder. “Your forgetfulness is the result of stress combined with the fact that maybe you’re just over the job.”

  She drew back, wiping her eyes with her red sweater sleeve, smearing mascara on the fabric and under her eyes. “Maybe. Besides less stress, I’d have been making a difference, helping save the estate for George’s sake and in Grandma’s memory. And saving a historical home from becoming frickin’ law offices. It would have given me a sense of purpose. Like your genealogy research gives you.”

  Great, one more person I’d given false hope.

  “I’m done with genealogy research. I suck at it. I can’t find Grandma’s birth records or Gretchen’s German grandpa. I might have just gotten my first breakthrough with Bernice and Gracie’s Scottish rellies after a hundred hours of research. I found out all kinds of horrible stuff on Nigel’s ancestor that I don’t want to tell him, except I already spent his cash advance. And I hooked our uncle up with a rellie he’s never even met, but he’s leaving Fanny, Thomas, and the estate because of her.”

  “Genealogy research is like climbing Mount Everest.”

  “Yeah, something else I could never do.”

  “Seriously. Brecker once had a motivational speaker at a meeting who’d climbed Mount Everest. It takes ten days to reach basecamp at, like, seventeen thousand feet. But it takes forty days to go from basecamp to the summit, only another twelve thousand feet. Because you climb from base camp to camp one, spend the night, then go back to base camp. The next day you’re back to camp one, spend a night, then camp two for a night, then back down to base camp. It’s a series of ups and downs to make it to the summit. Your body has to slowly become acclimated with the lower oxygen levels.”

  “I wouldn’t have the motivation or desire to climb a mountain.”

  “But you have perseverance, which you need for genealogy research.”

  “But I don’t have a hundred hours in a day required to make progress tracing someone’s line.”

  “The point is, a setback isn’t a failure. It’s often necessary before you can move forward. It’s progress. Now you know where not to look for Grandma’s records, so you are narrowing down where to look.”

  Kind of like John versus Richard McKinney…

  “By the way, the speaker was feet from the summit when a snowstorm blew in. At that altitude, it took a minute to take one step, so she had to make the decision to go all the way back down Mount Everest. She did future climbs and eventually made it to the summit. You’ll make it.”

  I was surprised that Rachel had faith in my abilities rather than offering to hire a qualified genealogist to locate the records. Whether it was online grocery shopping or a cleaning lady, she didn’t hesitate to pay for convenience and competence. I wish she would hire a genealogist—I couldn’t afford to!

  “What if I never have another opportunity to do something that makes a difference?” she said. “That gives me a sense of purpose? I’m envious that you have a passion for genealogy. I’m good at my job but not passionate about it. Being driven to succeed and being passionate are two different things. And I’m envious you moved to Ireland. I’d have been too scared to make the move and give up my financial stability.”

  “I had no financial stability to give up.”

  “And I didn’t know where I was going with Gerry. I still don’t know, but I don’t want a long-distance relationship that’s doomed from the start.” She paused, undoubtedly realizing she’d just said Declan and I were doomed. “But you made me realize it’s time for a change. I can’t get comfortable in a job I don’t even like.”

  “Well, it wasn’t such a bright move. My boss might fire me for letting him think my citizenship was in the bag. Getting a work permit sounds like a lot of red tape for him to go through when it’s unlikely I’d get one. Besides, it’s only valid for two years.”

  “Would give you time to work at getting citizenship. I mean, who knows how good of a researcher this Nicholas Turney is. He’s old. Maybe his eyesight isn’t so great at reading the chicken scratch on faded documents. This is too major to not double-check everything he did. You always say how inaccurate documents are. Part of that is human error.”

  “I haven’t had time to drive out to the Midlands to do research.”

  “Now that you’re no longer planning the mystery event, you’ll have time.”

  Not really, when I was trying to learn a job I had no clue how to do. A job I might not have much longer.

  * * *

  Rather than packing, I was sitting in George’s rocking chair, handwriting him a heated letter, as Declan hadn’t let me speak my piece at the hospital. No way was I returning to Ireland, leaving things unsaid. I scolded George for treating everyone so awful after we’d been worried sick about him and said he owed us an apology. My grip tightened on the pen. I feared it might snap in two and get ink all over me, but I couldn’t relax the tension in my body. I told him that his behavior might be how the Dalys treated family, like his nasty cousin Enid, but this was not acceptable behavior for our family. That I might just be sorry I’d ever posted on that forum searching for my grandma’s rellies. That I…

  The doorbell echoed through the foyer and upstairs, followed by Mac’s bark.

  Crap. I was on a roll. However, Declan was hauling stuff back to the shed, and Rachel had run into Dalwick for a few bottles of wine. I took a deep breath, trying to get my labored breathing under control. I tossed my pen and paper on the chair and headed downstairs. I opened the door to find Fanny on the steps, her Aston Martin in the drive.

  Mac gave her hand a lick, then trotted up the stairs.


  She dabbed her red puffy eyes with a lace hanky. “I’m sorry to drop by unannounced, but I thought I would pick up some of my things, and I wanted to give you this. Pastor Alldridge dropped it off while I was out.” She handed me an envelope.

  George’s baptismal record.

  I ushered Fanny inside. “Would you like some tea?”

  “No, thank you.” A tear trailed down her cheek. “You wouldn’t have some whiskey by chance, would you?”

  “Of course.”

  I led Fanny into the library, where she burst into tears upon seeing her furniture. She collapsed on her blue velvet couch with the dramatic flair of Scarlett O’Hara, having been abandoned by Rhett Butler.

  I grabbed the crystal decanter and poured Fanny a double. I joined her on the couch, handing her the drink. She downed half the liquor in one gulp.

  I held up the envelope. “Have you looked at this?”

  She shook her head.

  I slipped the piece of paper from the envelope and unfolded it. The baptismal record noted George’s birth parents as Bridget Coffey and Michael Daly.

  “My grandma and Michael Daly were his parents.”

  Fanny smiled faintly and took another swig of whiskey.

  I was unsure if I was relieved or disappointed. After today, did I want George to be my biological uncle, Mom’s real brother? Not being related would have been an out. Or would it have? Even if we weren’t related, could I have ditched George?

  “I’ll have my things moved out before George gets home. Please don’t mention this to him. I’d be quite embarrassed if he found out how silly I’ve been.”

  “You weren’t silly.”

  Yet I couldn’t promise Fanny everything would be okay. I couldn’t give her hope only to have it once again snatched away when love and happiness were within her grasp.

  “I’m sorry about everything,” I said.

  Fanny looked baffled. “Why should you be sorry?”

  I gestured at the furnished library. “All of this is my fault.”

  “Nonsense. It’s better for me to stop pining for a man who doesn’t reciprocate my feelings and to move on.” She downed the rest of her drink.

  Fanny’s inspirational attitude reminded me of Rachel’s Mount Everest pep talk. That even setbacks were progress and enabled you to move forward.

  Fanny held out her glass. “Make it a triple.”

  It appeared I’d be playing a Bond girl, driving Fanny’s Aston Martin, making sure they both made it home safely.

  * * *

  Mac stood in the car’s backseat, watching George’s house fade into the distance. He whimpered, undoubtedly sensing we weren’t merely heading into Dalwick to run errands or to Lancaster to visit George. I stared out the front window, unable to look back. Declan placed a hand on my leg, knowing I wasn’t up to discussing our departure. Rachel had promised to drive Fanny home and to hire movers to help return her furnishings.

  I stepped from the car to open the gate as Thomas walked up the gravel road from his cottage, carrying a potted shrub.

  “Don’t be too upset with George,” he said. “He wasn’t himself today.”

  I nodded faintly.

  “Maybe you can return for a visit before he moves.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “It’s George’s decision to not obtain closure. I’m glad I did, and it’s thanks to you.” He smiled. “I didn’t realize how much my life would change when I sent you that e-mail merely a week ago.”

  Thomas felt his life had changed for the better?

  “I contacted several newspapers and magazines today and arranged to show my topiary. I’d never have done such a thing before your arrival. You reminded me how good it feels to have others appreciate my work, my passion. You reminded me to follow my dreams.”

  I’d done all of that?

  Thomas handed me the potted shrub. “It’s a bonsai tree. A memento of your visit. May it bring you harmony and good fortune.”

  I smiled. “It already has.”

  I gave Thomas a hug good-bye.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mac had a much better return trip to Ireland. I was able to book him a kennel on the passenger deck so Declan and I could check on him during the ferry ride. However, it’d been my turn to feel sick to my stomach.

  Sick over the thought of leaving Declan in Ireland.

  We snagged a parking spot in front of Coffey’s pub and decided to check on Gerry before schlepping everything upstairs. I texted Rachel to tell her I’d made it home safely and to see her reaction over me visiting Gerry. Moments later, she replied.

  Picked up Mom. George was sleeping. I left your letter for him to read in the morning. Love ya.

  I cringed at how angry my letter sounded. I didn’t regret writing it, but maybe I shouldn’t have given it to George. Maybe having merely written it was the therapy I’d needed to get over my hostility toward him. I debated asking Rachel to go to the hospital early tomorrow and destroy the letter before George read it…

  No. I had every right to say the things I’d said. I should be more worried about Mom’s reaction to the letter than George’s. If he shared it with her, she wasn’t going to be happy with me.

  Declan opened the door to the pub.

  Mac barked, pulling on the leash, wanting to keep walking.

  I eyed him. “Why didn’t you go when we got off the ferry?”

  “He’s grand. I’ll take him.”

  I removed a plastic bag from my purse and handed it to Declan. “Thanks.”

  As they strolled off, my phone dinged. Rachel.

  Tell Gerry hi.

  I responded, You tell him hi.

  Radio silence.

  Coffey’s pub was back to normal. The St. Patrick’s Day decorations were gone, and mostly locals lined the bar. No slutty leprechaun flirting her heart out with Gerry, who didn’t look his usual cheery self. He hadn’t shaved in days and had dark circles under his eyes. I wanted to tell him that his conversation with Rachel had been the best thing for their relationship. It had been a wake-up call for her.

  Gerry glanced over and gave me a faint smile.

  “How ya doing?” I slipped onto a barstool.

  He shrugged. “Maybe honesty isn’t always the best policy.”

  Today was my day for being open and honest with everyone, so I admitted my complications with obtaining citizenship and Rachel’s desire to also have it and to be the estate’s event planner.

  “I’m sure you’re a big part of her reason for wanting citizenship. Yet it’s not looking promising. My historian friend came up empty.”

  “I know a bloke who could come up with your granny’s birth record for a few quid.”

  I arched a brow. “The original?”

  “Best not be asking questions.” He winked.

  I believed he’d go to those great lengths so Rachel could live in Ireland.

  Would I go to such lengths to remain in Ireland?

  “She and Mom are staying in England until George gets home and back on his feet. They’ll be here next weekend to visit our rellies. She’ll have to be back to work after that, but my mom might stay longer. My dad might have to grocery shop for the first time in his life.”

  Gerry’s phone rang. He grabbed it off the back bar by the register. He peered over at me, smiling. “Rachel.”

  A sense of relief washed over me. At least something might have turned out right today.

  * * *

  Declan, Mac, and I entered my apartment, and I dropped my carry-on bag on the floor. I flipped on the light and stared in confusion at my bed, no longer deflated on the floor. It was a foot off the floor—a queen-size mattress with a yellow duvet and a white headboard that matched a dresser.

  Mac ran over and sprang up onto the bed. He circled around before lying down and curling up in a ball.

  “Didn’t want ya to be going broke buying inflatable beds.”

  “You bought all this?”

  Was this why Decl
an hadn’t had any luck apartment hunting? Because he hadn’t even been looking? He planned on moving in?

  Mom had been right?

  “Would have bought the matching lockers but didn’t figure one would fit on each side of the bed.”

  I tried to remain calm. “You shouldn’t have done this after spending all that money on an event that isn’t even going to happen.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “No, of course, I like it. And I’ll pay you back.”

  How, I had no clue. I’d be paying off that friggin’ Facebook ad for months.

  “It’s a gift. You’re not paying me back.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Then consider it Mac’s bed, or my furniture I’m keeping here so I have somewhere to sleep…with you.” He brushed a kiss against my lips. When I didn’t respond, he drew back. “Right, then, not exactly the romantic evening I had planned. No worries. I respect you not wanting to live together straight away.”

  “Doesn’t look like it,” I muttered.

  He ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry. It’s just…”

  “You think I’m trying to control ya with money and gifts?” Declan’s gaze sharpened. “That I’m being like Andy? There’s a difference between being dependent on a man and allowing someone who loves you to help out.” He snagged Mac’s leash off the hook by the door. “Come on, Mac. Time for a walk.”

  The dog’s ears perked up at the word walk. He hopped off the bed and followed Declan out the door.

  I stared at the closed door. Was I an ungrateful bitch or what? My stomach tossed at the thought of Declan comparing himself in any way to Andy. He was absolutely nothing like that…

  Omigod. I’d forgotten all about Andy having called Mom.

  His call hadn’t been weighing heavy on me, affecting me physically and emotionally. An empowering feeling rose inside me. A more powerful feeling than when I wore my Póg Mo Thóin undies. I suddenly felt in control of my relationship with Andy. That he no longer controlled me. It wasn’t to say I was fully recovered and at times self-doubt wouldn’t still be lurking at the back of my mind, thanks to that bastard. However, I had to continue moving forward. No way was I moving back to Milwaukee.