Celtic Sister

by Pentermann, Meira

Sam laughed. “That’s helpful.” He started the engine. “We can at least drop in.”

  Amy buckled up. “It’s worth a try.”

  ***

  When they entered Shauna’s Jewellery, the proprietor, a stout woman in her fifties, was helping another customer. Sam and Amy wandered from display case to display case. Amy searched for clasp charms and only found one. It was shaped like a fish.

  “Are you okay?” a melodic voice asked Amy as the other customer exited the store.

  Amy suddenly became aware of their wet hair and muddy clothing. The jeweler did not seem pretentious, but the two of them looked especially frightful. Amy tucked her hair behind her ears in a futile effort to look more presentable.

  “Sorry for our appearance. Got caught in the rain.”

  “No bother. Glad you came.” She smiled. “Would you like to see something?” She gestured at the display case.

  Sam produced the cross from his pocket and held it out. “We’re actually trying to identify the monogram on this cross.” He pinched the small charm and held it up for her to see. His grubby fingers covered half the charm. “Would you have made something like this for a customer?”

  “May I?” the jeweler asked politely. She obviously couldn’t see anything past Sam’s finger.

  “Of course.” Sam tried to brush it off before handing it to her. “Sorry.”

  “No bother. Let me see.”

  She examined the monogram. Her smile widened and took on a hint of mischievousness.

  “Ed Egan,” she announced. “Lovely man. Rare as hen’s teeth, that one.”

  “You know him?” Amy asked, her heart quickening.

  “He’s retired, but his son still runs his shop in Kinsale.”

  “Kinsale?” Amy repeated.

  “It’s in County Cork.”

  “County Cork,” Sam said, emphasizing the consonants for dramatic effect. “Ed Egan from Kinsale in County Cork. What do you know?”

  Amy punched him lightly on the shoulder and turned her attention to the jeweler. “What’s the name of his shop?”

  “Egan’s.”

  “Simple enough.”

  “Yes.” The woman smiled. “If you see Ed, tell him Shauna Brady says hello.”

  “Let me get the map,” Sam said, and he exited the store.

  When he returned, they refolded it until they had the city of Cork and the south of Ireland face up.

  “You ought to get a more-detailed map of the area, but here’s Kinsale.” Shauna pointed at a city almost directly south of the city of Cork. Kinsale was on the southern coast of Ireland. “Egan’s in the downtown area. At least one street over from the pier. There is loads of parking there. The town attracts many tourists.”

  “Perfect,” Amy said. “We’ll blend.”

  Shauna gave her a curious glance.

  “Once we shower, that is,” Amy added.

  Shauna patted her shoulder. “Nothing better for blending than a little rain.” She placed the cross back in Sam’s hand.

  “I could kiss you, Shauna Brady,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t mind.” She winked. “Anything else?”

  “No, ma’am. Thank you very much,” Amy said as they exited the store.

  The rain had finally let up – no sun, but the clouds seemed higher and brighter.

  “Guess we’re going to Kinsale,” Sam said.

  “Can we shower first?”

  “Sure. And we should check out. We can stay on the southern coast tonight. Might as well relocate our headquarters. My sister clearly went south.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  An hour later, they were ready to hit the road. While Amy was showering, Sam used the hotel’s computer to print out a Google map of Kinsale and determine the best roads to take. The downtown area was dotted with shops, restaurants, and hotels. The drive would be about an hour and a half, mostly on the M8.

  “This will be fun,” Amy said as she settled into her left-side, navigator chair.

  “I’m nervous.”

  “Really? I would think you’d be thrilled.”

  “It could be a dead end.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.” Amy refolded the map and placed it on her lap. “It may not be the end of this treasure hunt, but I doubt it will be a dead one.”

  Sam smiled. “I suppose you’re right. I was sure we’d hit a dead end when there was no writing on the pillbox.” Then he frowned again. “But still, if this Egan fellow is fairly elderly—”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “His son is running the store.”

  “Maybe he retired early. Shauna knows him. She could not have been older than mid-fifties.”

  “Maybe. Or he was her mentor.”

  Amy felt edgy. Her promise to refrain from drinking would be difficult tonight. The manic energy of the day was beginning to overwhelm her, and for some reason unbeknownst to her, she didn’t have a hangover.

  “So what if he’s elderly?” she snapped.

  Sam glanced at Amy and pointed at his head. “May not be all that sharp upstairs.”

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  “I’m just preparing myself.”

  “You’re a pessimist and an ageist,” Amy grumbled.

  She looked out the window. Even from a well-traveled highway, the view was stunning. Green, Amy thought. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that more than fifty percent of her mood could be attributed to yesterday’s drinking binge. She tried to block an image of Sam’s face from this morning. He hated her in that moment she awoke. Fortunately, she did not have to wish away visions of her crass behavior. That was already buried beneath a blackout.

  “You okay?” Sam asked. “I’m not trying to be mean. I’m sure this Ed Egan is a wonderful man.”

  “Rare as a rooster’s foot,” she reminded him.

  “It was hen’s teeth,” he corrected. “What would be rare about a rooster’s foot?”

  Amy started giggling.

  “All roosters have feet,” he said, just in case she didn’t get it the first time.

  Amy continued to giggle uncontrollably. A mirthful episode of the K9 versus canine variety. Sam joined in.

  “I like laughing with you,” he said when they both settled down. “And you’re right. I’m being a pessimist. God has led us this far. It’s been quite a journey. At least now I know my sister wasn’t raped and left for dead in Denver.”

  Amy cringed. “Did you have to say that?”

  “It’s something that haunted me day in and day out during the lost decade. At least when I wasn’t numbing myself against the thoughts.”

  Amy nodded. She fully understood the desire to numb away images. Sam had only imagined his sister dead. Amy’s dreadful scenes were real. Blood on the white tiles. A tiny fist. The retreating form of a garbage truck. She shivered, wishing again she had a half bottle of whiskey left in her purse. Did she have to drink it all last night?

  “I’m sorry I was mad at you this morning,” Sam said.

  “Huh?”

  “I mean, I’m not sorry, sorry. It was rather humiliating from my perspective. Please don’t do that to me again. I mean, tell me, you know, if you’re planning on going on a bender.”

  Amy said nothing. Either he was sorry or he wasn’t.

  “But now that I think of it from your perspective, Amy… as I said, I remember when I had to numb myself. You are such a joy to be around I forget you’ve been through hell in the past few weeks.”

  Amy looked out the window. The images from her miscarriage flooded her brain. “Green,” she whispered. She longed for the tranquility of the green countryside to wash away the red on white tiles.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She reached out and grabbed his hand. “I am too. That wasn’t nice of me. I just got carried away.”

  “Yes, you did.” He chuckled.

  “Please don’t tell me.”

  Sam made
a gesture out of zipping up his lips. But he continued to chuckle.

  Amy focused on the map. “You can go around Cork,” she said. “That would be the quickest.”

  They skirted the city using the South Ring Road, a large divided highway. Amy saw a sign and shouted. “Wait. Clonakilty. That’s it.”

  “We’re supposed to be going to Kinsale.”

  “I know but we need this road, the N71.” She pointed at the map. “Take the roundabout to Clonakilty.”

  They passed another sign. “You mean Killarney?”

  “No. Here, here. To the left. The N71.”

  Sam took the left onto the N71, a wide two-lane road. He had successfully survived another roundabout accompanied by Amy shouting directions. A slight smile formed on his lips.

  “What?”

  The smile widened. “Never mind.”

  They traveled past a storage facility, a car lot, and several white homes before they settled on a road that was surrounded by trees. No longer able to gaze into the countryside, Amy examined the map.

  “We’ll need to turn off on the R607. Go south.” She held the map toward his face. “That should take us right to Kinsale, looks like.”

  “I can’t see that. Just read the signs and keep me posted.”

  Eventually they came to a fork. A white sign pointed to the left. Sam pulled smoothly onto a narrow two-lane road with just enough room for two cars, one going each direction. They encountered many houses, but the area became more rural as they continued south. Sam had several opportunities to salute oncoming drivers with a quick tip of his index finger. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

  At one point, they passed through what felt like a forest, lush trees, and – yet again – dozens of shades of green commingling in a celebration of life. Deciduous trees, evergreens, bushes, creeping plants, and moss soothed Amy’s distressed spirit.

  They followed the signs to Kinsale. As they drove down a steep hill and into the outskirts of town, Amy sat up quickly.

  “Color!” she exclaimed.

  While the soft pastels of other Irish downtowns had charmed her, Kinsale took color to a whole new level. Proudly decked out in vibrant yellow, emerald green, fire engine red, and vivid shades of blue and purple, downtown Kinsale welcomed shoppers and tourists from around the world.

  “Shauna was right. Lots of parking,” Sam observed. “Only problem is that all the parking places are being used at the moment.”

  They drove through town to get their bearings.

  “I still don’t see Egan’s,” Amy said. They pulled onto a road along the pier which led away from what they assumed was the central downtown. Nevertheless, there was plenty of parking and a marina up ahead. Sam found a place to turn around near the marina and headed back, parking as close as possible so they could walk.

  “Hopefully, the rain won’t return while we’re out. This is about as good a place as any,” Sam said.

  “It’s perfect. Hurry up. I’m sure someone will know where this store is.”

  Most of the people bustling around downtown appeared to be tourists. Even if they were Irish, Kinsale was not their daily grocery stop. Sam and Amy passed a brick building with a red frame that said Tourist Office.

  “I guess this is us.” Sam gallantly swept a hand toward the door. “After you.”

  Inside they were able to secure a local map that detailed the stores on each street.

  Amy saw Egan’s on the map, two blocks from their current location. “There it is,” she cried.

  “Thank you,” Sam called, and he gave the woman behind the desk a quick wave as they exited the building.

  They rushed to the store, trying not to look like idiots, walking fast, just barely slower than a jog.

  “Oh no,” Amy said as they approached the store. She saw the closed sign a few seconds before Sam did.

  Sam looked at his watch. “Six twenty.”

  Amy groaned. “They closed at six. But this is worse, Sam. Please don’t shout.” She pointed at a handwritten note below the hours sign. In sharpie, someone had written, Closed on Thursday, June 12th. Open Friday at 9:00.

  Sam just stared, a dead expression in his eyes. “I can’t believe it.” He turned and stormed down the street. “Who closes on a Thursday?”

  “Might be a birthday or anniversary or something. Looks like a one-time deal.”

  “A one-time deal that just happens to coincide with our visit?”

  “Well… yeah.”

  “Damn it.”

  “Listen,” Amy said. “Let’s find a place to stay, grab something to eat, and plan an adventurous day for tomorrow. Some of the shops are closing up around here, so it may be more fun in the morning.”

  “You want to sightsee?”

  “Why not? Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. We’ll get to experience something we’ll never see back home.”

  “Okay.” Sam nodded. “Blessing in disguise. I’ll try to say that as a mantra.” He mumbled under his breath. “You know what? It’s working. I saw something in the tourist office about forts nearby.”

  “Perfect.”

  “I also need to fill up the gas tank before I forget. I noticed there wasn’t anything after we left Cork. At least nothing obvious. I don’t want to run out of gas, block the road, and have to sheepishly ask for help.”

  Amy smiled. “Let’s do it then.”

  They secured a place to stay at an adorable bed-and-breakfast in town. Then, on recommendation from the young lady at the bed-and-breakfast, they ate fish and chips at a little restaurant down the block. Before they settled in for the night, they drove to a gas station and filled the tank.

  Amy browsed the store while Sam dealt with the gas. She turned a corner and found a rack of maps. A dozen detailed maps of various sections of Southern Ireland caught her eye.

  “Oh my gosh, these are perfect.”

  By the time Sam had returned, Amy held six maps. She waved one at him. “Look at these. Super detailed. They show castles, churches, stones—”

  “Our other map—”

  “Is nothing compared to this.” She unfolded a couple of pages. “Standing stone. Burial Ground. Something called a promontory fort.”

  “Okay, but do we need all of them?”

  She showed him the back of one map. The Discovery Series maps divided Ireland up into eighty-nine sections. Amy was holding eighty, eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-seven, eighty-eight, and eighty-nine.

  “I don’t know which ones we’ll need, but these cover most of Cork County.”

  Sam smirked. “I guess we could canvass every inch if we had to.”

  “We might need to.” Amy opened her eyes wide, like a girl with a stray puppy.

  “Okay, why not?” He relieved her of the maps and headed toward the cashier. “What’s a promontory fort?”

  “I don’t know. Guess we’ll find out.”

  “I’ll see if the bed-and-breakfast has a computer. We can look some things up and make plans.”

  Behind the checkout counter, a wall of booze caught Amy’s eye. She looked away. Sam pointed at a bottle and talked with the cashier.

  “What have we got there? Stonehenge whiskey?”

  The cashier, a young man with brown hair and a nervous smile, retrieved a bottle. Amy couldn’t help but stare. The ivory label said DROMBEG, Premium Irish Spirit, and it depicted a brown-and-white stone circle.

  “No, this here is our own, made in west Cork. You ever been to the Drombeg Stone Circle?”

  “No.”

  The young man looked at the back of one of the Discovery Series maps Sam had placed on the counter. “You got eighty-nine?” He rifled through the stack. “Here it is.”

  Presently he had the entire map spread out on the counter. He was running his hand along the coast. “Clonakilty… Rosscarbery… Here it is. Drombeg Stone Circle.” He showed them on the map. “A lot smaller than Stonehenge… On the other hand, no line.”

  Amy glanced from the map to the bottle in Sam’s
hand. Part of her wanted him to purchase it and part of her wished he wouldn’t. I was going to be good. But the amber liquid looked inviting.

  “Are you feckin’ done yet?” a young male voice behind them hollered. “Jesus. You could’ve bought a house and moved in by now.”

  Sam and Amy did not turn around, but the cashier smirked playfully at the young man behind them. Either he knew the guy or was just amused by the remark. He folded the map and rang up their purchases. Then he leaned in and whispered, “Don’t take it personal.”

  Amy glanced over her shoulder. The kid behind them didn’t look threatening, but she stuck close to Sam just in case.

  As they exited the store, maps and Irish spirits in tow, Amy said, “I thought I wasn’t supposed to drink tonight.”

  “I’ll pour.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  True to his word, Sam poured, and what a stingy portion it was. Nevertheless, it was theoretically better than nothing. Amy made the most of it, but it only barely took the edge off.

  When Sam sat on the bed and leaned in to kiss her, a raucous chorus of alarm bells rang in Amy’s head. This was going to be the do-over. Sam was expecting to have a meaningful sexual experience with a fully-present girlfriend. Amy couldn’t do it. She stood up and crossed the room, eyeing the drawer where Sam had put the bottle. There was no way she could sneak it. The whole trip would come crashing down on her head – this wretched promise she made not to drink tonight – it would not end well if she secretly finished the bottle. She was lucky enough to have a glass. Or was she? Sam didn’t understand that one glass was possibly more punishing than none at all.

  “Are you okay?” Sam asked carefully.

  Amy touched her head. “It’s just that I still have this awful headache.” Ease him out of it.

  Sam looked disappointed, but Amy found tremendous comfort in the expression of resignation forming on his face. As his expectations waned, the alarm bells quieted. Amy couldn’t even conceive of the idea of having sex at this painfully sober moment. It would be overwhelming, raw… too real. It was impossible. She realized she had never been sexually active while she was sober. Suddenly, all the years of dysfunctionality throughout college and during her marriage came flashing before her mind in vivid colors swirling together as they formed a rainbow haze, the same haze that numbed her body and her brain whenever she settled into bed next to someone. It was surreal, like a pseudo modern painting born from an artist’s washed-out, chronic high.