Flying by the Seat of My Knickers

by Eliza Watson

  Rachel looked embarrassed to admit we were sisters.

  Tom smiled. “We’re certainly in good hands this meeting, with two Shaw ladies.”

  I plastered on my best perky smile, attempting to brush aside my hurt feelings and the lump of emotion lodged in my throat. After finding out the CEO had peeled me off the pavement this morning, Rachel undoubtedly hadn’t planned to disclose we were sisters. I didn’t want him to know our relationship either. This put a ton more pressure on me to not screw up. Rachel was an event-planning goddess. What if Tom Reynolds now expected this same level of professionalism and experience from me, despite my tripping mishap? What if Rachel wasn’t around and he turned to me for assistance? I could never be alone with Tom Reynolds again. Ever. Rachel’s reputation was at stake. Not to mention, she wouldn’t hire me for her local meeting in two weeks if I screwed up.

  Here I’d thought being a human arrow directing people would be a no-brainer.

  Tom and his wife headed toward the bathrooms.

  Rachel turned to me, her forehead wrinkled with concern. “Did Tom need something?”

  “No, just asking how I liked Ireland.”

  Her gaze narrowed further. “You’re sure he was okay?”

  “Yes. I’m sure.” Was she going to drill me now every time I talked to Tom?

  Rachel’s features relaxed slightly. “Okay. Remember, you need to tell me anything that happens so I’m not blindsided.”

  Her confidence in me was underwhelming. I brushed aside my frustration and nodded reassuringly. “I will.”

  “Everyone will be off on tours soon, so you guys can eat. Make sure you take a tour. It’s supposed to be one of the best castles in Ireland.”

  “How many castles have you been to here?”

  “This is my first.”

  “How many have you been to in the world?”

  Her gaze narrowed in contemplation. “Not sure. Maybe a dozen.”

  I couldn’t imagine not knowing the exact number of castles I’d visited. Guess that was what Declan meant by no longer being wowed. No worries about that happening to me.

  Rachel slipped an energy drink from her purse and discreetly slammed it before heading back up to the dining hall.

  No wonder Tom hadn’t realized we were related. Even when we were alone, Rachel maintained a professional, distant attitude toward me rather than a warm, familial one. I tried not to think about her reaction to Tom discovering we were sisters, assuring myself I’d misread her look. That we hadn’t grown even further apart than I’d feared. We didn’t spend nearly the time together that we once did. I was rusty when it came to interpreting Rachel’s emotions.

  That had to be it.

  But I knew it wasn’t.

  I never wanted to see that look on her face again. I’d always been proud of Rachel. Her career, travels, ambition, and determination. It hurt that she didn’t feel the same pride toward me. She’d think even less of me if I told her how I’d allowed my ex to treat me.

  After the tours kicked off, I went to grab a bite to eat.

  “It’s lukewarm,” Gretchen said. “I’m going to skip it and go find Rachel.” She strutted off.

  Thank God. I’d rather eat alone.

  A waiter seated me in a high-back wooden chair, and I stared down the long, empty table at the flickering candles. I glanced around at the portraits on the walls, envisioning the previous residents joining me for dinner to discuss the menu for an upcoming ball or what flowers to plant in the castle’s twenty-two-acre garden.

  The waiter returned with a china plate displaying a work of art. A filet smothered in gravy made with Flanagan’s beer, salmon drizzled in dill sauce, and Kildare Sausages on a bed of mashed potatoes—called bangers and mash. I snapped a pic of the fancy meal. I merely sampled each entrée, not wanting to waste time eating when there was so much to see.

  Declan walked in during a conversation with my imaginary friends and quirked a curious brow.

  “Thought sausages weren’t called bangers here?” I said.

  He laughed. “We’re a complicated lot, we Irish. If it’s an English dish, they’re bangers. So dining with the castle’s ghosts, are ya? Have you met The White Lady?” He sat down, relaxing back in the chair.

  I shook my head, glancing around.

  “The painting of a beautiful woman in a long white dress hung here in the Great Hall for years, her identity unknown. When the last Talbot family member, Rose, sold the castle in the 1970s, she took the painting with her to the family home in Tasmania. The woman’s spirit has wandered the halls here ever since, in search of the painting.”

  Declan told the story in a mysterious manner, like you’d do at a slumber party with a flashlight shining up at your face. A chill slithered up my back, and the hairs on my arms stood up. I glanced around, expecting to see an apparition in a flowing white dress.

  “A lost soul,” I muttered. “Trying to figure out where she belonged.” I could relate.

  “A shame you won’t be here for the castle’s haunted Halloween tour.”

  “You celebrate Halloween in Ireland?”

  “Celebrate it? We started it two thousand years ago with the Samhain festival.”

  “Did you trick-or-treat when you were little?”

  “One year I dressed up like Buzz Lightyear from Toy Story, and my younger sister, Zoe, went as Jessie. I was going through my astronaut phase.”

  “Are you two close?”

  “Not as close as we once were.” He shrugged off a look of regret. “That’s the way it goes.”

  I nodded in understanding. “One year I went as Catwoman, and Rachel went as Batman. My mom said a little girl couldn’t go as Batman. Rachel threw a fit, insisting that was sexual discrimination. That a girl could be anything a man could be. My mom said yeah, except for a man.”

  Declan laughed. “So your mum let her go as Batman, did she?”

  “Yeah, there was no arguing with Rachel.”

  Declan and I were in the middle of eating, when an older lady entered the room. “Would you be wanting to join the last tour?”

  “Absolutely.” I popped up from my chair.

  Declan joined me, even though he’d likely taken the tour so often he could conduct it. The guide led us into the dark wood-paneled room and gestured to a section on the wall. “Behind there is the priest’s hole, a hiding place created to conceal priests during a time when Catholics were persecuted under English rule. Priest holes were specially disguised within a house to hide from search parties.”

  “Too bad I hadn’t known about it earlier when I was trying to avoid Tom.”

  “What happened?” Declan asked.

  I shook my head. “Nothing.”

  “I’m sure it was a bigger deal to you than it was to him.”

  It’d been the biggest deal to Rachel. The look on her face still haunted me more than any castle ghost.

  The tour guide led us into an orangish-peach room, where we joined a group of our attendees. I snapped pics of gilded framed paintings, ornate crystal chandeliers, antique furnishings, and large marble fireplaces. I felt as overwhelmed and awed as Elizabeth Bennett had on her first visit to Darcy’s Pemberley estate.

  “This is a courting couch.” The guide gestured to a cream-colored couch with decorative wood trim. “The couple would sit on it while their chaperone sat on the seat at the end.”

  I had my picture taken by the couch. “I better not show my mom this pic, or she’ll buy one of these couches. After my ex, she’s going to want to approve my boyfriends.”

  A curious smile curled the corners of Declan’s mouth. Panic raced through me. What if he questioned me about my ex? I quickly commented on the intricately carved birds in the ceiling’s crown molding and moved on to the next room.

  I snapped over a hundred pics on the tour. Afterward, we headed outside, and I took a dozen more as we explored the castle’s exterior, illuminated with lights and well-lit paths. We walked past a stone abbey missing its windows
and roof, surrounded by a cemetery with gravestones and Celtic crosses.

  “Omigod, I can’t imagine my family being buried in our backyard. Well, except our cat Izzy and hamster Bruno are buried there. But that’s different. This is kind of creepy.”

  We stopped in the souvenir shop, where I browsed through postcards.

  “I used to send my granny a postcard from everywhere I went.” Declan frowned. “When she died last year, she had almost eighty cards. I kept them.”

  “How sweet,” I said.

  Mom would now have one.

  “The last card I sent her was from Prague. She died while I was there.” Regret filled his eyes. “Sometimes you have to believe there’s something more after death. It’s the only thing that helps you live with a loss.” He walked away.

  Wow, kind of profound for Declan.

  Was that why he hadn’t been home in a while? Mourning his grandma’s death? No, his friend at the pub had mentioned it’d been a few years since whatever had happened.

  I snagged a postcard, planning to send it to my friend Ashley as a peace offering. We hadn’t spoken in over a year. Since she’d called my ex an arrogant ass and I’d insisted she was merely jealous I’d landed a gorgeous older guy with money and a prestigious job.

  Again, this showed how brainwashed I’d been, sounding like my ex’s narcissistic personality disorder had been contagious.

  Chapter Eight

  I returned to my room to find a massive gift basket on my desk. The card read Enjoy a Taste of Ireland. Sláinte! Tom Reynolds & Brecker. Except for disclosing my identity to the CEO, and Rachel’s embarrassed reaction over his discovery, the evening had been one of the best ever. Having merely sampled dinner, I was starving. I unwrapped the basket and uncorked the red wine, toasting a wonderful evening. I ate a piece of Irish whiskey fudge, a Baileys truffle, and a chunk of the Irish cream chocolate bar. Afraid I was going to become wasted off of candy, I opened a box of shamrock-shaped shortbread cookies made of pure butter. Deciding I needed to save the rest for missed meals, I pushed the basket aside.

  Still on an adrenaline high over visiting my first castle, and now an added sugar rush, I wasn’t the least bit tired and decided to update my travel journal. I glossed over the first two days, noting I’d been too crazy busy to write, but had gone to my first Irish pub and drank my first Guinness. I wrote a detailed description of my first castle. Like Declan said, I needed to savor my firsts. However, I still didn’t document my first time playing a sausage.

  I booted up my laptop. No e-mail offering me the executive admin job. However, Mom’s e-mail with the Moto Mart application popped up, as well as one from the temp agency about the elf job. For a few glorious hours, I’d actually been able to forget about my pathetic job prospects and repoed car. I wanted desperately to delete both e-mails. But what if I didn’t have a full-time job soon?

  I found my car insurance card in my wallet and e-mailed the agent to cancel my policy. Insurance on my sporty car was outrageous. Hopefully, the refund paid off one of my department store credit cards, enabling me to close out my first account.

  After locking the door, I once again barricaded it with the desk chair, my suitcase, and the rest of my makeshift security system. I put on my jammies and slipped on the white velvet robe. I grabbed my cell phone and relaxed back on the red upholstered settee. Mom had left me a voicemail when I was on the bus back from the castle. If I didn’t return her call, she’d forget the time difference and call me at three in the morning. In desperate need of sleep, I didn’t want her or hotel security waking me up in the middle of the night. I speed dialed her, planning on keeping it brief so it didn’t cost me a half-day’s pay.

  “Did you get the Moto Mart application?” she asked.

  “Yeah, uh, thanks.”

  “You better not wait until you’re home to submit it. Jobs in town are scarce, so they go fast. Patsy’s son Tyler handed in an application.”

  Tyler was a high school dropout who’d lost his license after parking his parents’ car in the middle of a street in a drunken stupor. It’d be my luck I’d submit an application and he’d land the job instead of me.

  “I know the job isn’t ideal, but at least you’d have a stable income until you can find a better one, which you will. With your college degree, you’ll find a great job.”

  Where were these high expectations while I was growing up?

  “Everything going okay with Rachel?”

  “Yeah, fine. Ireland is wonderful.”

  “I wish I could have gone there with my mother, her being Irish and all. She never talked about Ireland or showed any interest in returning there.”

  I perked up. “Grandma Brunetti was born in Ireland? I thought her ancestors came over, like, years ago during the famine.” I’d only been seven when she’d died, so I vaguely remembered her. “She didn’t have an Irish accent, did she?”

  “She tried hard to hide it. But I must have mentioned at some point she came from Ireland.”

  If Mom had, I couldn’t recall. While growing up, I wouldn’t have been interested in the heritage of a grandma I’d barely known. When you were young, you cared about the present and future more than the past.

  “Her family name was Coffey. They were from County Westmeath. Don’t think I ever knew the town. She was always very secretive about her life in Ireland.”

  It didn’t surprise me that Mom knew little about her mother’s background. They’d never been close, from what I’d gathered. Mom rarely mentioned her. Maybe that was why Mom was a bit overbearing. She hoped we’d have a closer relationship than she’d had with her mom.

  “She claimed she left Ireland because her family was all dead. Yet after her death, we found letters her older sister Theresa had written to her over the years, along with a letter from Theresa’s daughter after she died, a few years before my mother. The letters were dated, but no envelopes, so we didn’t know where her sister had lived or her married name.”

  My family got on my nerves, but I couldn’t imagine not seeing Rachel for fifty years and not attending her funeral. I feared that might happen if we didn’t reconnect on this trip. Friends came and went, but I’d always believed that family would be there for me.

  Right now, I wasn’t so sure.

  “So her entire family stayed in Ireland?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “Why did she come to the US if her family wasn’t actually dead?”

  “I always assumed she had a falling out with them. Why lie about them being dead if she liked them?” Mom’s tone grew bitter, and I could picture her lips pressed into a thin line. “But she seemed to have liked her sister Theresa. Especially since she named my sister Teri after her, which of course we never knew until after my mother died.”

  “Maybe they were all dead except her sister.”

  “No, one of the letters mentioned her mother’s death when I would have been a teenager. That was just like my mother, keeping secrets and never being open with us. I’m sure she’d have gotten rid of the letters if she’d known she was going to have a heart attack. She wouldn’t have wanted us to find them. Dottie and I wanted to throw the letters away after we read them, but Teri insisted on keeping them, being named after our aunt who wrote them. I would guess she still has them, along with my mother’s naturalization papers, which might note the town she grew up in. Maybe you’re close enough you could drive out and visit it.”

  I barely had time to pee during this program, let alone time to pop over to my ancestors’ homeland. Even though the idea intrigued me.

  “I’m sorry I never told you all of this. I guess it was too difficult to talk about. It really hurt that she lied to us for so many years, and made me angry that we couldn’t confront her when we found the letters.”

  “I’m sorry I never asked about her.”

  I felt horrible that I’d never showed interest in Grandma. She might have been a distant, closed-off mother, but she’d also been a brave woman, moving a
cross the ocean to a strange, unknown land by herself. Why had she left Ireland? Had she been stalked by an ex? Her family had been IRA bombers, wanted by the law? Too bad I hadn’t inherited Grandma’s courage and sense of adventure. I eyed the chair, suitcase, and other items blocking the door.

  I could really use both about now.

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning, I didn’t have to start work until seven, so I washed all of my hair, not merely my bangs, and flat-ironed it. Even though the moment I stepped outside it would be a frizzy mess, there was a good chance I wouldn’t see the light of day. I did my full makeup routine, including foundation. The hotel provided a coffeemaker with an assortment of teas and coffee. I made a cup of tea while waiting for the iron to heat up. I took a sip of the hot golden-colored beverage, happy to discover it was the same tea I’d drank at breakfast yesterday. I ironed my clothes, then reluctantly slipped off the hotel’s velvet robe, got dressed, and put in some black chandelier earrings.

  I headed to the office fifteen minutes early, with a zip in my step, still on a high over visiting my first castle. And Declan was right. I might get the hang of this job. Even though I’d only been a bathroom and smoking attendant, I hadn’t directed anyone down into the dungeon by mistake. And I’d convinced myself that Tom Reynolds had indulged in a few whiskeys and didn’t even recall I was Rachel’s sister. And that Rachel hadn’t actually looked like she’d wanted to forget we were sisters. I had to get over it. Instead, I focused on our Irish grandma and how anxious I was to share my discovery with Rachel, to remind her that we were family, not merely coworkers.

  I walked into the office, and my zip was zapped.

  Gretchen and Rachel sat in front of Rachel’s computer, chatting over coffee, like best buds. So much for some sisterly bonding time. I plastered on a bright smile.

  “Rachel’s showing me pictures of her new condo. Well, I guess it isn’t new. You’ve been there almost a year. It’s gorgeous.”

  I nodded, even though I’d never seen pictures of it or been there. I peered over Gretchen’s shoulder at the digital photos. Copper pots and pans hung from a rack over a large island in the kitchen. Since when did Rachel cook?