Flying by the Seat of My Knickers

by Eliza Watson

  I opened the elf e-mail. The three years I’d worked at the mall, I’d only run into a handful of people I knew. Even if my former high school and college classmates shopped in Milwaukee, most of them didn’t have kids and wouldn’t stop by Santa’s workshop.

  I accepted the elf gig.

  The sick feeling in my stomach intensified.

  I wasn’t sure if it was at the thought of wearing that elf costume one more year, or the fact that rather than smelling like peppermint candy canes and sugar cookies, I’d arrive at work reeking of manure, wet dog, and tobacco from driving Uncle Donny’s truck. Or even worse, if Andy saw me dressed as an elf, he’d confront me and smugly say, See, I knew you’d regret leaving me.

  A tear slipped down my cheek, and the warm moisture trailed over my jaw and down my neck.

  Why hadn’t I listened to Rachel’s and Ashley’s warnings about him? Ashley hadn’t responded to my P.S. I Love You e-mail. Granted, I’d just e-mailed her earlier today, but she also hadn’t accepted my friend request. I double-checked Facebook to reconfirm she hadn’t. I had fourteen friends. My cousin had posted a pic of her and her hubby on their honeymoon in Italy last month, announcing she was pregnant.

  Another tear trailed down my cheek.

  I deactivated my Facebook page.

  Rachel would probably never speak to me again. She hadn’t talked to me for days after Izzy had swallowed the Barbie dolls’ feet. What about me not speaking to her? She’d made me look like a complete idiot in front of Declan and Gretchen. She had no right to say those things. I eyed the Coffey coaster on the desk. Even the thought of finding Grandma’s rellies didn’t excite me. A big reason for researching our ancestry was to reconnect with Rachel, to bring our family closer together. I flung the cardboard coaster, and it sailed across the room like a Frisbee, hitting the wall, dropping to the floor with a dent in its side.

  I burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably, dropping my head down on the desk. My muffled sobs turned into full-blown wailing. I covered my mouth so my neighbors wouldn’t call security, afraid I was being murdered. Or maybe I’d be kicked out for causing a disturbance.

  I had nowhere to go. I’d have to sit in the Dublin airport for two days, waiting for my flight home. A flight I had to take with Rachel. Hopefully, I could change my seat to the opposite end of the plane. Hopefully, I could avoid her until the flight. Maybe that crappy River Liffey Hotel was within my budget.

  Still crying, I hauled Dad’s worn, brown leather carry-on bag into the bathroom and swept an arm across the counter, dumping all my toiletries into it. I swung my purple floral suitcase onto the end of the bed and unzipped it. I stuffed my laptop into its bag and tossed it into the suitcase. I scooped up armfuls of clothes from drawers and dropped them in. I yanked shirts and pants off hangers and threw them onto the pile. I snatched my travel journal off the desk and whipped it into the suitcase.

  Choking back a sob, I grabbed the bottle of wine off the desk and searched for a clean glass. No clean glass. I uncorked it and drank straight from the bottle. Like a homeless wino on the street. The women at Martha’s shelter flashed through my mind. Not because they were winos but because they were without homes, many without loved ones. Some of the women had lived at the shelter for months, still no better off emotionally or financially than the day they’d arrived there.

  I suddenly couldn’t breathe. Rather than gasping back sobs, I was gasping for air. I slammed the wine bottle down on the desk. I needed air. I grabbed my jacket and luggage, then flew from the room. I rode the elevator down to the lobby and bolted across the marble floor, pulling my large purple suitcase behind me, schlepping Dad’s brown leather bag, the worn strap weighing heavy on my shoulder. My jacket hood pulled up over my head so nobody would recognize me, I made a beeline for the front door.

  “Caity.” Declan’s voice carried across the lobby.

  Shit. So much for not being recognized.

  I sucked in a ragged breath, held it, then slowly released it, trying to calm down as I continued out the front door. A cool wind caught my hood, blowing it from my head. Hair whipping against my face, I peered through a teary-eyed haze, marching blindly down the sidewalk toward The River Liffey Hotel.

  Declan called out my name behind me. He finally caught up and grasped hold of my elbow. “Slow down.”

  I came to an abrupt halt and spun around, freeing my arm from his hand, my brown carry-on sliding down my arm and hitting the sidewalk with a thud.

  “Where are you off to?”

  “I don’t know. Anywhere but here.” I didn’t want anyone to know where I was staying. I wanted to be alone.

  “I’m sure Rachel will give you your job back.”

  No way was I asking for my job back. Except that would show Rachel that I could stick with something. And I needed money to pay bills this month. More money than the elf job paid!

  “She’ll cool down and get over it. I’ve seen her blow up at staff before when she’s stressed out. She’s gone off on Gretchen. Her golden child.”

  Too bad I couldn’t have seen that.

  “You two are sisters. You’ll forgive each other.”

  “I’m not so sure this time.” I glanced away, blinking rapidly, my tears evaporating in the brisk wind.

  “I’ll see if some of my clients need staff for upcoming programs. Might be able to get you some work. Send me your résumé.”

  “That’s really nice, but I don’t think I’m cut out for this job. I have no clue what I’m doing, and it’s too stressful. I see how it’s affecting Rachel.”

  I was cut out to be an elf.

  “That’s Rachel’s personality. You have the choice to not let the job control you. Besides, as a contractor, when the meeting ends, you walk away, no strings attached. If a client makes me dress up like a feckin’ leprechaun, I don’t work her meetings again. Have control over your destiny, you do.”

  Having control over my destiny without others controlling me was enticing. To be able to choose what I did, when I did it, and for whom I did it.

  “And you do have a clue what you’re doing. Give yourself some credit. Really, what did you do wrong this week? Tripping in front of Tom Reynolds was an accident, and Gretchen gave the wrong room number.”

  “You knew about that?”

  He shrugged, nodding.

  Well, he didn’t know about the garbage meltdown, or my unprofessional comment to Kathleen at lunch over drinks, or me raiding the gift basket…

  “You did a brilliant job tonight at dinner.”

  I wouldn’t say I’d done a brilliant job, but maybe I’d done a halfway decent job this week, considering this was my first meeting. Thanks to Declan saving my ass. My shoulders relaxed slightly.

  “You did grand taking Kathleen shopping, and with the tour today. You took initiative to learn the hotel BEOs. You had confidence in yourself until Rachel started talking shite in the heat of the moment. Then suddenly you think you’re incompetent. Well, you’re not. And Rachel never said you were or that you’d done a shite job this week.”

  Granted, she hadn’t come right out and said I’d done a crap job, but she also hadn’t shown much faith in my abilities. But Declan was right. I’d had more confidence in myself the past few days than I’d had in a long time. I couldn’t allow Rachel to take that away from me.

  “If I’d let people make me feel incompetent, I wouldn’t be doing this job. You should have seen me on my first meeting. I was bloody clueless. I…” A crooked smile curled the corners of Declan’s mouth, and he raked a hand through his hair, gazing down at his shoes. “You probably don’t want to hear another one of my stories.” He let out a heavy sigh. “At least stay tonight. The room’s paid for. Get some sleep, and decide what to do in the morning. I should get to bed. I’m wrecked. I have to be down at four to work departures. And I need your help.”

  I gave him a look that said, Yeah, right.

  He reached out and grasped hold of my suitcase handle, his fingers touching
mine. A warm feeling washed over me. “I’ll have a bellman deliver your bags to your room. Walk it off, and get some fresh air.”

  I reluctantly released my grip on the suitcase, telling myself I was hesitant to let go because I didn’t want to go back inside, not because I wanted to continue touching Declan’s hand.

  He lifted my leather carry-on bag off the sidewalk. “See ya in the morning.” With a hopeful smile, he turned and walked back toward the hotel, pulling my purple floral suitcase behind him.

  I wanted to call out to him. To ask to hear the story about his first meeting. I was going to miss Declan’s stories. How they made me laugh. Picked me up when I was down. Inspired me. Gave me confidence that I wasn’t a complete screwup.

  I was going to miss Declan’s stories something fierce.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  After standing outside shivering for several minutes, doing yoga breathing to calm down, I headed back inside the hotel. I walked across the lobby, and someone called out to me from the lounge. Tom Reynolds. Ugh. Just my luck. A group of attendees were sitting in the lounge, boozing it up. These guys really needed to go home and give their livers a rest.

  I reluctantly headed over to them.

  “We just wanted to thank you for everything you did this week,” Tom said. The others chimed in, expressing their gratitude, including Martin Brown, whose cell phone I’d found.

  I smiled faintly. “You’re welcome.”

  “Wish I was staying another day,” Martin said. “And didn’t have to leave at five a.m.”

  “Your departure’s at four a.m.,” I said.

  His gaze narrowed. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded, having reviewed the departure manifest I’d copied from Declan. Martin’s name had stood out because of his lost cell phone. I pulled out my phone and opened the updated manifest Declan had e-mailed staff. I showed Martin his departure time.

  “The ground company recommends plenty of time because security can be a nightmare, and you clear US Immigrations and Customs here in Dublin.”

  Martin’s eyes widened. “Shit. Glad I ran into you, or I’d have missed my pickup and probably my flight. My wife would have killed me and insisted I’d done it on purpose to miss her family wedding we have to be back for.” He slammed his pint. “I better get to bed. Thanks again.” He shook my hand, and I smiled, standing a little taller.

  I reconfirmed everyone’s hotel departure times, advising them to be down fifteen minutes prior and that they were leaving from the main entrance, not the side. Pride welled up inside me.

  Declan was right. Maybe I didn’t totally suck at my job.

  * * *

  It was almost midnight when I got back to my room. My bags sat inside my door, thanks to Declan. I poured the wine down the bathroom sink and threw the bottle in the garbage. I took the lavender-scented toiletries off the counter so I didn’t forget to bring them home for Martha’s shelter. Even if I couldn’t be a counselor, maybe one day I could help a woman leave an emotionally abusive relationship. To be at least one woman’s Martha.

  Right now, I needed to be my own Martha.

  When Martha wasn’t around to give me a pep talk, I allowed people to whittle away at my self-confidence, and lost faith in myself.

  If I didn’t have faith in myself, no one else ever would.

  I was right.

  I was strong.

  I was worthy.

  I would land another job. And then quit the elf job.

  I opened my résumé on my laptop. It was pathetic. No way could I send it to Declan. Besides, he’d only requested it to make me feel better. I deleted the babysitting jobs, which I’d only done a handful of times in high school. I kept the elf and gift-wrapping jobs and the executive admin assistant one. Mom guaranteed me my previous employer couldn’t disclose I’d been fired. But I’d only worked there ten months. I had no longevity at any job, except the elf one.

  I added my current position, or rather, the one I’d just quit. Event planner was a bit of a stretch, but I had no clue what else to call myself. I noted a start date of a month ago and no end date. Still no longevity. I’d heard Rachel talk about her job enough to know some of the lingo and how to word my role and responsibilities.

  Assisted VIPs with transportation. And tripped while doing it. Escorted tours. Ran by a tour guide. Executed off-site dinners. Directing attendees to the bathroom and smoking area. However, I’d gained more experience at tonight’s dinner. Hopefully, my skills sounded transferable for jobs other than meeting planning. They demonstrated my ability to take on responsibility and think on my feet.

  I noted Brecker as my employer, but actually the company was my client. Declan was self-employed, with likely dozens of clients.

  What should I call my company? I could give it any name I wanted and show a start date of when my last job ended, three months ago, instead of a month ago when Rachel had hired me.

  How empowering was that?

  More empowering than my Póg Mo Thóin undies!

  I went on Facebook and reactivated my page.

  Then I glanced at my suitcase by the door, and my shoulders sank. I was leaving Ireland in two days.

  What if I never returned?

  A sick feeling tossed my stomach.

  What if I never located my Coffey relatives and never made it to Killybog?

  Even if I was no longer researching my ancestry partly to reconnect with Rachel, I’d do it for myself and Mom.

  I would return to Ireland someday. I’d start an Ireland fund, even if it was only twenty bucks a month.

  I went on Chicago’s and Milwaukee’s Craigslist to sell the diamond earrings from Andy. I still had the blue signature Tiffany box they’d come in. They’d retailed at three grand, so I priced them at half that.

  My chest tightened at the thought of Andy showing up as the buyer, even though the earrings were basic studs, not a unique design. My breathing quickened. I posted the ad.

  No matter what it took, I would make it to Killybog.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The following morning, I dragged my butt out of bed at the ungodly hour of five thirty. Even though I’d quit, I’d lain in bed last night, reviewing the busy departure schedule in my head and picturing Declan’s hopeful smile that I’d be down. He’d seen off the Browns at 4:00 a.m. I was supposed to be to work at six to assist him. It’d be pretty shitty of me to make him handle departures alone after he’d covered my ass this week, even though he claimed he never got stressed out. It would also be more experience for my résumé. Even more so, I wanted to prove to Rachel, and myself, that I wasn’t a quitter. Rachel could send me back to my room if she wanted. I’d hoped to wake up to an e-mail from her, asking me to come to work today. However, I should have sent her an e-mail before bed to make sure she was okay and wasn’t in the emergency room with kidney failure.

  I washed out my Póg Mo Thóin undies in the sink and blow-dried them. I stood in my bra and undies, staring at myself in the mirror, ignoring the dark circles under my eyes.

  I was right.

  I was strong.

  I was worthy.

  I was also running late.

  I pulled my wrinkled black suit and white shirt from my suitcase and got dressed, no time to iron. I tossed my hair up in a clip, gobbed on mascara, and applied my Manic Magenta lip gloss as I flew out the door, repeating Martha’s mantra.

  The lobby was dead except for two front desk staff. Declan wasn’t there, so I poked my head outside the main entrance. No black sedans in the drive and no Declan. A taxi pulled up, dropping off a guy with luggage. The old Caity would have hopped in and escaped to the airport. But not this Caity.

  I also couldn’t avoid Rachel.

  I headed to our office to look for Declan, my stomach tightening at the thought of seeing my sister. Even if she wasn’t speaking to me, I had a few things to say to her.

  I walked in to find her alone at her desk, focused on her laptop. She hadn’t taken time to flat-iron he
r hair, and the natural waves made it look shorter. The bags under her eyes were worse than mine, and her dress more wrinkled than my suit. I’d never seen her with a hair out of place. Had she lost sleep over our argument or the hotel screwing up her contract, rather than kidney issues?

  She glanced up from her computer with a faint smile. “Morning.”

  “Morning.” We stared at each other, awkward tension filling the air. “How are you feeling?”

  She nodded. “Better.”

  “I hope it’s okay I came down.”

  “Of course. I was going to call you if you didn’t. We need to talk.”

  “Yeah, we do.” And I wanted to get everything off my chest before I lost my nerve. “I’m sorry about what I said. But regardless of what you think, I’ve been trying really hard this week. Tripping in front of Tom Reynolds was an accident. Granted, I should have told you, but I was embarrassed after you’d warned me not to screw up. And the spa mess-up wasn’t my fault.” My heart was racing, but I took a calming breath and continued. “I feel like you’ve been judging me based on my past track record, not on how I’ve done this week, positive I was going to screw up. That’s not fair.”

  Rather than telling me to take the next flight home, Rachel’s forehead wrinkled with apprehension, and she nodded in agreement. “You’re right.” I about collapsed with relief, and the shaking in my knees subsided. “And I’m sorry about what I said too. That was really bitchy of me. I don’t know why you lost your job. But I’ll listen if you want to tell me.” Concern filled her eyes, and a sympathetic tone softened her voice.

  Now wasn’t the time or place to discuss Andy, to have a complete breakdown, when Tom Reynolds could walk in at any moment. But I felt when I was ready to open up, Rachel would listen with compassion and at least attempt to understand.