To wrap my head around all of this feels impossible, but Siobhan continues peeling back the layers of the story.
“I was the reason you were on that plane,” she says.
“What?”
“Kieran’s threat worked. James promised he’d set things right so long as Kieran kept his mouth shut until he got home. James said he was planning a trip to Paris this summer, but he’d come to Ireland instead, and we’d work it all out.”
“The trip to Paris was my birthday present,” I say, baffled. “James changed our flights at the last minute to come to Ireland first.” With Siobhan filling in the missing pieces, my dreams solidify. They weren’t nightmares, but memories. I knew it, but I couldn’t admit it.
“He told me about you,” I say. “But not until we were on the plane here. He waited until the last minute, until I couldn’t go anywhere . . .”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
All the lies James weaved, the unknown story he didn’t tell until the end . . . But my anger eases. James is dead, and anger isn’t useful. My only choice is to let him go, like a ghost of my past.
I gesture to Siobhan’s arms. “James dared me to get a tattoo, even though he knew I didn’t want to do it. He said he ‘fancied a girl with a little color.’”
Siobhan scoffs. “He always had a way of charming you into something you knew was a bad idea . . . except he wasn’t ever the one to pay the consequences.” Her face creases with heartache. Her eyes fall to Lizzy. “James gave me a gift, really. He left behind a piece of himself, so he’s not entirely gone from us. It’s kind of poetic in a sad way.” She squares herself to me. “When the plane went down, Kieran felt guilty. He said it was his fault because it was his threat that put you on that plane. Ten years of friendship, burned in a field.”
“But it wasn’t his fault. It was just . . . an accident.”
“Kieran felt responsible for you. Like maybe making sure you were OK would make up for what had happened between him and James. I warned him not to do it. He was inviting a mess into our already messy lives, but he said he couldn’t leave you alone. James wouldn’t want it that way.”
Siobhan’s convoluted story eases my fury toward Kieran. Instead, my heart breaks for him. For the friend he lost. For the pain and guilt he must have felt. “But what about all the lies?” I say.
“You were lying, too, might I remind you.” Siobhan cocks her head at me. “And what was Kieran to do? Tell you the truth? Drop a load of baggage on your lap—a dead boyfriend with a pregnant ex-girlfriend? You could barely walk, let alone handle that.”
“But once I got better, he kept lying to me.”
“Did you really want to know the truth then?” Siobhan asks.
I deflate, my defenses weakening. I pull over two chairs so we can sit down.
“I’m just so confused,” I say. “I don’t know what’s the truth and what’s just a function of Kieran ‘keeping me safe.’”
Siobhan shakes her head. “Why can’t it be both? Love is never safe, but it’s the truth. He loves you. I saw it with my own eyes.”
I’m not sure any of this matters now. My life in Ireland is over. This story has come to a close, and not in the way I expected. But I can’t pretend my life is here anymore. And as long as Kieran allows his dad to control his life, he’ll never be free or fully happy.
“You should tell James’s parents about the baby,” I say.
Siobhan looks at Lizzy. “I will. Kieran’s right—they deserve to know.”
I take a chance and hug Siobhan. It surprises her for a moment, but then she eases into my arms. “I’ll miss you.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ll miss you, too, my Yankee Muppet. Come visit us.”
“Do you mean that?”
Siobhan nods. “You’ve got Ireland in your blood now. You can’t stay away too long.”
The little baby in front of us stretches her arms over her head as she yawns. She’s so new to this world. So fragile.
“She’ll be OK, won’t she?” Siobhan asks.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “Teeny-tiny girls grow up to be the mightiest of creatures.”
CHAPTER 28
Once we’ve said our good-byes to Stephen in Limerick, there’s nothing left to do but go to the hotel and wait for tomorrow. My dad drops his bag in the room. But me . . . I have nothing to bring home, except the one thing I had lost—my memories.
My thoughts bounce between Siobhan’s revelations about James and my hazy memories of a relationship that feels distant to me now, almost like it was fake. To a certain extent, maybe it was. James was lying to me the entire time. I can’t help but feel the loss of him—the reality that he’s dead. But tomorrow, I have to get back on a plane. Just yesterday, I was with Kieran on a flying tour of Dublin. My mind is so knotted, I worry it won’t ever come undone.
My dad sits next to me, placing his hand on my knee.
“The odds that a plane will crash is one in 1.2 million.”
I cock my head at him. “I think I have pretty shitty luck then.”
He chuckles. “Might I remind you that you survived, Teeny. I’d say that’s the best luck of all. My only regret is that I didn’t get to see much of Ireland. I never even saw a leprechaun.”
I laugh. “They don’t really exist.”
“Or kiss the Blarney Stone.”
“You’re more likely to get herpes than the gift of gab by doing that.”
“And you know that how?”
I say his name flatly. “Kieran told me.”
My dad puts his arm around me. “Can your old man tell you the truth about something?”
“That seems to be the theme of the day,” I huff. “Go for it.”
“I never really trusted James.” He throws his hands in the air. “Not to speak ill of the dead. I can see that you’re hurting right now. The truth is that I was glad he wanted to show you the world, but I didn’t think he was your world. He was just someone in your orbit for a time.”
“That’s poetic, Dad.” I nudge him playfully, but he remains serious.
“His parents didn’t show up at the hospital after the crash, Teeny. I put two and two together and knew my suspicions were right. Any boy worthy of my daughter would have told his parents about you. But he kept you a secret, I’m guessing, because he had secrets.”
I flop back on the bed, fighting tears.
My dad pats my leg. “Well, I think we’ll just have to come back here sometime. You can show me all the things you did while you were here.”
“I went surfing,” I say with a weary smile.
“Surfing? I didn’t know surfing was a thing in Ireland.”
“And I drank some Guinness.”
My dad pokes my knee. “Drinking Guinness sounds like a marvelous idea. Let’s go to the bar.”
“Pub,” I say. “Let’s go to the pub.”
“Pub.” He smirks at my correction. “Guinness still sounds like a good idea.”
The hotel pub is quiet. A few people sit at tables, chatting. We take a seat at the bar. Luckily there are no TVs, but I still keep my head down. The bartender comes over and wipes down the bar. “What can I get you?” I half expect Kieran to be standing in front of me, his face lit up with a flirtatious grin.
But it’s not him. This bartender is older and shorter. He assesses me.
“Do I know you? You look familiar.”
I glance sideways at my dad. He laughs, and we order a Guinness each. When they come, he takes a sip with a sigh. He’s been through so much.
When he sets his pint on the bar, I giggle at him.
“What?”
I wipe away the creamy foam mustache from his upper lip. “It happens all the time.” But as the words come out of my mouth, the painful memory of Kieran hits me.
“What is it, Teeny? Are you sad you’re leaving?”
I nod, done with lying. Exhausted by it, really.
“That boy . . . Kieran . . .” He takes anot
her sip of his Guinness. “I like him.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not happy he helped you escape the hospital or kept you hidden from me. But I’m not sure I could have helped you like he did . . . in the state you were in. And when it came down to it, he did the right thing. I’m not sure James would have. But Kieran . . . I truly believe he only wanted to help you, Teeny.” He takes another drink. “But don’t think I didn’t notice that apartment only had one bed.”
I laugh, but it threatens to come out as a cry.
“Don’t worry,” my dad says. “You’ll fall in love again. I promise.”
I start to think the words, but I’m not brave enough to say them out loud—I think I already have. Instead, I say, “Sure.”
“You will.” He takes another sip of his Guinness. “We’re Clevelanders, Teeny. We’re tough. We wait out the storm, and eventually LeBron James wins us a championship.”
I can’t help but feel better sitting next to my dad, his familiarity soothing my aching heart.
“Is the Tribe really doing well?” I say.
“Teeny, you wouldn’t believe it. We might actually see another World Series in Cleveland this year.” My dad takes a gulp of his beer. “I’m just a little concerned about the Cubs. Those bastards are always more desperate to win.”
Shannon International Airport is bustling with people when we arrive. Stephen was right—Prince Harry has a new girlfriend, and it’s all the tabloids can talk about. People still gawk at me, recognizing me from the papers, but the attention doesn’t bother me anymore. With my life slowly taking shape again, it feels easier to handle the looks.
“Are you nervous?” my dad asks as he hands me my boarding pass.
“A little,” I say. “But planes are built to fly.”
“I’ll be next to you the whole time.”
We make our way to the gate. My dad takes a seat, but I stand at the windows, so close, my nose is pressed lightly against the glass. I close my eyes and live in my memories of Ireland. I know it’s not my home, but Siobhan is right—Ireland is in my blood now. A piece of me will always feel desperate to return.
For a while, watching the planes land and take off gives me comfort. The coming and going . . . a metaphor for life in a way. Nothing is permanent.
“Teeny . . .” My dad touches my shoulder. “It’s time.”
We board the plane and take our seats. Whatever I had here, I’m leaving behind. I distract myself by unlatching and latching the tray table, in a daze. It’s probably better this way, not being fully aware of what’s happening.
My dad gets up at one point, mumbling words I can barely hear. I force myself further into the haze. Numb.
Latch.
Unlatch.
“Please keep your tray table in the upright position,” I say to myself.
Latch.
Unlatch.
“Please take a moment to locate the nearest emergency exit,” I whisper, but my eyes stay on the tray table.
Latch.
Unlatch.
“You know—people always think having red hair is an Irish trait.”
My haze vanishes at the sound of Kieran’s voice.
He’s sitting in the seat my dad was just in—his hair messy under his Paudie’s Pub baseball cap.
“There are more Scots with red hair than Irish.”
My heart beats in my ears. “What about purple hair?”
“Purple hair?” Kieran says, his eyes pointed at the seat in front of him. “That is unique to bunnies.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, practically breathless.
Kieran holds up my sweatshirt—the one Stephen gave me the first day I woke up in Ireland. “You forgot this. I thought you might need a souvenir.” He inspects the sweatshirt. “‘When Irish eyes are smiling, they’re usually up to something.’ Now that is the truth.”
He hands me the sweatshirt, his eyes locked on mine for a long, luxurious moment.
“Is that all?” I ask.
“Well, I’d be lying if I said that was the only reason I came . . .” Kieran is serious now. “And my lying days are over.”
I hold back tears. “Mine, too. But that still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”
“Well . . . ,” Kieran says. “I’ve never not gone through with a dare, and I believe I accepted one from you. I’m here to follow through.”
“You are?”
Kieran nods. “Though I have a minor problem now.”
“What’s that?” The shock of this moment gives way to blissful reality. Blissful optimism. Blissful freedom.
“I’ve spent all my money on a one-way ticket to a place I’ve never been before,” he says. “Do you know anyone in Cleveland? It’s in Ohio. On Lake Erie.” I nod slowly, noticing the light’s back in Kieran’s eyes and the devil in his grin. Right now, I fall in love with him all over again. “Would she be willing to help a poor lost soul who has nothing? A place to stay, maybe? It won’t be long, a week or so. Maybe a little more.” Kieran places his hand on my lap, palm open.
“Maybe forever?” I say.
“Well . . . since you asked so nicely.”
I interlace my fingers with his. The plane’s engine rumbles on. My dad smiles at us from a few rows up. Kieran squeezes my hand tightly, as if to assure me that he’s here, that he isn’t going anywhere.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “Just when you think your life is over, a new story line falls from the sky and lands right in your lap.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I boarded a plane bound for Ireland back in 2002 at the age of twenty-two, ready for an adventure. I had the amazing opportunity to student teach at a small all-girls school in the tiny town of Castleisland, County Kerry, in Southwest Ireland. The months I spent there rooted in me a love for the country (and sparked multiple return trips) that I carry with me to this day. I hope I have done justice to the country that embraced this American so many years ago. I wrote from a place of deep love and gratitude.
Thank you to my agent, Renee, who encouraged me to write this story, who guides me through the wacky world of publishing, and who generally puts up with my crazy. You are a goddess.
Thank you to my friend Sinead for checking and double-checking the Irish side of this story, for helping me with research, for answering my questions, and for inviting me into your life all those years ago when I was a lonely American girl just trying to find her way in Tralee. And for instilling in me a love of Coronation Street, EastEnders, Neighbours, and Home and Away.
A big, gigantic thank you to the students of Overland High School in Denver, Colorado. This book is the product of a brainstorming session I had during a visit to the school. The teachers, students, and staff have always welcomed me so warmly. This book would not be without those students. Thank you, thank you. A special thank you to Kate Carmody, who first invited me to the school years ago. It’s been a pleasure being in your classroom. You are a mighty teacher.
To my editor, Jason Kirk. You are a renaissance man. I am just happy to be in your orbit and, every once in a while, drop a book on your desk. Thank you for your hard work and for championing my novels. I feel so lucky you picked me. Your obedient servant, R dot Crane.
A huge thank you to the entire team at Skyscape—my publicists, copyeditors, proofreaders, author relations contacts—you all work so hard to help make a book successful. I’m so grateful to work with such wonderful people.
I can’t write a book and not thank my beloved Kyle, for always encouraging me, loving me, and dealing with my moments of insanity. You are my best love story.
And to Jessica Park, who picks up the phone when I call, who listens when I have a meltdown, who helps fix my stories when they’re headed for disaster, and who said, “Write the Irish book now, or I will.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2014 Cara Vescio
Rebekah Crane is the author of The Odds of Loving Grover Cleveland and o
ther young-adult novels. She found a passion for this genre while studying secondary English education at Ohio University. She is a former high school English teacher, a yoga instructor, and the mother of two girls. After living and teaching in six different cities, Rebekah finally settled in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains to write novels and work on screenplays. She now spends her days tucked behind a laptop at seventy-five hundred feet, where the altitude only enhances the writing experience.
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