by Sara Cate
“You told me that last night.” He’s sitting in the chair opposite me now, and I feel like a child under his stare, that disapproving expression painted on his face.
“I did?”
“Yes. While I walked you back to your room.”
My spine straightens. He didn’t bring me back. Clint did. I scan my memory, trying to remember whose arm I was on while I stumbled back, but I don’t remember a face. Only an arm, and a sense of safety.
Oh, god.
It all comes crashing down on me like the ceiling just gave out. I’ve only known Clint for a few days. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s a complete stranger. And he has everything of mine. My money, my phone, my credit cards. My passport.
Oh, god. Oh, fuck. Oh, shit.
My eyes travel up to meet the man in the chair, and I can tell by the annoyed way his face twists in concern, he knows what I now know. I am royally fucked.
“But why?” I cry, placing my face in my hands.
“It’s a common scam. Let me guess, you paid for the rental car.”
“Oh my God!” I scream into my hands.
No, no, no. Clint cared about me. We had a connection. I let him come in me.
“I’ll phone the police,” the man says as he stands. “You can report the car stolen. You’ll need to contact your banks and the US embassy to request a replacement passport.”
His tone is almost scolding, and paired with the words coming out of his mouth, it’s like ignition for my tears. Suddenly, I’m sobbing into my hands. This can’t be happening. It’s all a bad dream. This kind of stuff doesn’t happen to me.
I keep waiting to wake up again, and the next time I do, I’ll be curled cozily next to the man of my dreams instead of facing Mr. Tall, Cold, and Stoic. I peek through my tear-soaked fingers long enough to catch the look he’s giving me before he stands up and walks to the desk. It’s the kind of look an adult gives a naive child who didn’t listen when they were told the stove was hot. It’s the same look my much wiser, younger sister gives me everytime I end up broken-hearted after she warned me.
What the hell am I going to do now? I have nothing. No money, passport, car, or clothes. Is this how I end up homeless in Ireland? Are they going to kick me out because I can’t pay them?
Anyone else in this situation might choose to toughen up, face the problem, and figure it out. But me, I choose to cry a little more and avoid looking at the asshole behind the counter.
The police woman has kind eyes, and she keeps touching my arm whenever I start to feel too frantic. She’s been sitting with me in the hotel for over an hour, asking me everything about Clint and his friends. Of course, I don’t know his last name or the names of his friends.
It almost irritates me how nice she is about it.
The woman who checked us in last night finally comes back and gets the story from the jerk in black. I watch from my chair across from the police woman as he tells her everything, and I find myself wondering if they’re married, and I try to imagine how they ended up together. Did she feel the same way I felt about Clint? Starry-eyed and dreaming about a future owning a hotel together? Is he dependable and trustworthy so that she never has to wonder if he really loves her? Is he good in bed or is he a boring fuck who only likes missionary and never makes her climax?
I bet he’s one of those hidden kink guys who likes to be called daddy and walks her around on a leash.
“Ma’am?” the police woman asks, grabbing my attention.
“Sorry, yeah?”
“You’ll need to go to the US embassy. It’s in Dublin. Here is the address. They can get you a replacement for your passport.”
“I…” The words get stuck somewhere in my throat. I’m the most helpless human being in the world. I can’t eat, sleep, or travel anywhere without someone’s help.
“Yes, dear?” she asks, leaning forward with her round blue eyes and freckled cheeks.
“I’ll take you,” a voice bellows from behind me. I turn to find Mr. Green Eyes standing there with his hands in his pockets.
“Ah, thank you, Fa—”
“It’s fine,” he says quickly, cutting her off. I realize at this point that I don’t even know his name, and he wants to take me on a road trip.
“You don’t have to do that,” I reply. I have literally no idea where Dublin is from here, but just the idea of traveling in a car down the road with that dark glare makes me want to cry.
“I know I don’t, but how else are you going to get there?”
He’s got me there. I am literally out of options.
“Thank you,” I say, looking up at him and noticing the way he’s focusing more on the police officer than me. I keep waiting for him to tell me his name, but he almost looks like he’s avoiding me on purpose.
After the police woman leaves, I stand awkwardly in the lobby. I need to call my sister, but I no longer have a phone. Asking to call another continent isn’t exactly an easy request, but even if they let me log onto their computer, I could DM her on Facebook or something.
Luckily, I don’t have to stand around awkwardly for long. The woman leans across the counter and takes my hand. “You poor thing,” she croons with her Irish lilt. “Do you want to call someone back home? Let them know you’re okay?”
“Can I?”
“Of course!”
As she hands me the phone, I hold it in my hand, mentally preparing myself to call my sister. My sweet, selfless, has-her-life-together sister. Three years younger than me and she’s already married with more potential in her future than I could ever dream of. This would never happen to Sunny.
The look on my face must be enough to clue the woman behind the counter in on the fact that I need privacy, so she walks away while I dial the number.
Within a few minutes, I hear Sunny’s sleepy voice as she answers. I forgot about the time difference. It’s only around noon here which means it’s around 4:00 a.m. there.
“Hello,” she croaks.
“Sunny.” My voice comes out in a choked sob. Something about hearing my sister’s voice breaks me. It’s a reminder that she’s so far away, and that I am practically on another planet.
“Cadence?” Her voice is full of concern, like she’s suddenly wide awake.
“I’m so stupid,” I say quietly, the tears finally cascading down my cheeks when I squeeze my eyes shut.
“What are you talking about? Where are you?”
“I’m somewhere in Ireland. I fucked up, Sunny.”
“What do you mean ‘somewhere in Ireland?’” she responds. I hear a deep voice in the background quietly asking her questions. Her husband, Alexander, always had me pegged for the least reliable of the two of us.
Taking a deep breath, I try not to sound as shitty as I feel saying these words out loud. “I met someone.”
There’s silence on the line. That’s all I need to say and Sunny knows that whoever this someone is, he’s the reason I’m crying, lost in a foreign country. “Oh, Cadence.”
“He took everything. My money, my passport, my rental car.”
“Jesus,” she mumbles. “Where are you now? Are you safe?”
I glance up at the cozy bed and breakfast. My eyes find the tall man who stands by the front door with the female police officer. He has ashy blonde hair and green eyes, weathered with a little age and a life of hard work. All things considered, I could be in much worse condition.
“Yeah, I’m safe,” I answer. “I’m at a B&B on the beach. I guess things could be worse.” A breathy laugh escapes my lips.
“Stay there,” Sunny answers. “Send me their info. I’ll send them money to cover your expenses while you figure out what you’re going to do next.”
My back starts to shake as another bout of sobs fight their way out. I’ve never felt like such an idiot in my whole life. My sister has to take care of me, why? Because I’m the world’s biggest fuck up.
Something about her words registers. While you figure out what you’re going to do n
ext. Why wouldn’t I just come home? What else would I do?
“Cadence, maybe this is a sign. Maybe you’re alone right now because you need to be alone for a while.”
My tears stop and my brow furrows. “I don’t know how to be alone, Sunny.”
“I know you don’t, but you’re stronger than you think, Cadence. You just spend too much time focusing on someone else when you should be focusing on yourself.”
I have to bite my lip to fight off the tears again. She’s right. Before Clint, it was Fischer. Before him, Liam. A procession line of fuckboys that went back as far as the English monarchy.
I am never alone. The thought makes my skin crawl. It doesn’t just sound boring as fuck, but it’s terrifying. What am I going to find if I look in the mirror? What will I find out about myself if I spend the next two weeks alone? What if I can’t stand myself?
Just then I look up from the counter and see the nameless man staring at me again.
“Send me their information, okay?” Sunny adds before she yawns.
“I will. And I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
“Oh I’m not paying for it,” she says with a raspy giggle, and I know she means that she’ll be calling our dad when she’s off the phone with me. Sunny and Alexander have more money than a thousand dads, but she’s on a mission of retribution when it comes to the man who left us high and dry for a life with his secretary.
“Thanks, Sunny,” I mumble, feeling the effects of the hangover coming back.
“You’re welcome. Everything will be fine.”
Before I hang up, she calls my name again. Putting the phone back up to my ear, I wait for her to speak.
After a heavy breath, she whispers into the phone. “Just focus on yourself. Stay away from the guys.”
Three
Cadence
I spend the rest of the day in bed, sleeping off a physical and emotional hangover.
The next morning, I come downstairs to find a few of the other guests gathering around the parlor for breakfast.
“Oh, there you are,” the red-head hotel owner says as she meets me in the lobby. “We tried to send dinner up to you last night, but I think you were sleeping.”
My stomach growls at the sound. The truth is, I’m starving. I didn’t eat a thing all day yesterday, and the smell of eggs and ham from the kitchen has my body screaming with hunger pangs.
The woman is quick to the kitchen to dish me up a plate of food, and I can barely force out a smile as I sit down and dig in.
“I got your sister’s Venmo last night too.”
My face lights up. Thank God for Sunny.
“It’s enough for at least a two week’s stay, plus extra for food and clothes. Well, that’s what she said. I can give you the extra in Euros after breakfast.”
“Thank you,” I mumble with my mouth full.
“I’m Bridget, by the way. My brother, Callum, has Mass today, but if you want to wait for him, he can take you into Shannon to get anything you can’t get here. But maybe you’d like to explore Ennis a bit.”
Her brother.
I don’t know why that piece of information interests me, but I’m not exactly surprised he’s at church while she’s here. He seems exactly like the stick-up-the-ass church-goer I’d expected him to be.
This breakfast is probably the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten, and along with a cup of sugared-up coffee, it’s almost enough to knock off the cobwebs of yesterday’s drama.
After my belly is full, Bridget takes me by the hand to the back of the house where her room is. She’s being so nice to me, and I’m mortified. My best guess is she’s about ten years older than me, but she’s gorgeous with wild red hair and green eyes, exactly the kind of woman you’d expect to meet in Ireland.
She gives me a clean change of clothes; thankfully we wear the same size. Then, she pulls out the extra money Sunny transferred over in cash and hands it to me with a sad smile.
“It’s a short walk to town. I’m afraid there’s not a lot there, but there’s a store there where you can at least get something of your own.”
“Thank you,” I mutter.
“Alright, take this road up about a kilometer and when you get to the end, turn right and head straight for the church. When you see the church, turn left. Then you’ll be at the row of shops and grocers.”
Looking down at the black leggings and tank top, I search for any semblance of myself. I’m not the kind of girl who throws pity parties for herself, and I throw lots of parties. But right now, even I’m having a hard time not feeling sorry for myself. I fall in love too easily...is that such a bad thing?
As I step out of the house, I’m faced with the breathtaking view of the beach again. Just out the front door of the B&B, there is a grassy yard met with a short drop to the long gray beach. For a moment, I can do nothing but stare at it. I bet Sunny would love this. She’d sketch it in one of her notebooks.
As for me, I just keep reaching for my phone that I no longer own, and it’s making me shake with how much I miss it. On any other occasion, I’d snap a pic, upload it to Instagram with some vanity hashtag meant to appear humble and gracious.
With my sister’s money folded up in the pocket of someone else’s pants, I turn and follow Bridget’s directions, walking along the coast. When the road ends, I make the right turn and see the church far ahead.
Probably wouldn’t hurt for me to stop in there. That’s if I don’t burst into flames when I pass the doorway. I’m not a religious person. I don’t even know if I believe in God, but I bet it’s nice to have faith in something. Maybe if I had unwavering belief that God was by my side, I wouldn’t feel so fucking alone all the time.
When I turn left at the church, I see the row of stores ahead, and like a beacon from God himself, the golden arches at the end of the street shine like the pearly gates of St. Peter. Ireland could have the most delicious food in the world, but right now I want to stuff my face with something that tastes like home.
Yeah, I guess you could call it stress eating, and honestly, I deserve that Big Mac and fries. And while I’m sitting down devouring it without an ounce of guilt, I let my conversation with Sunny replay through my head.
I need to focus on myself for a while, and she pretty strictly said that no guys should be involved. It’s not like I’m listening to my twenty-one year old sister like she’s my mother, but she’s right. That’s what I need. A break from men. A break from constantly trying to find love.
I guess that also means a break from sex, which is the thought coursing through my head as I devour all twelve hundred calories of this lunch. It’s the closest thing I’m going to get to a good orgasm anytime soon.
It really is time to focus on myself.
I laugh quietly to myself and look up just in time to see a young group of guys looking my way. They’re rugged looking, maybe fisherman, but with those strong jawlines and broad shoulders, I could get down with a little ruggedness.
One of the guys waves at me and sends me a smile that could charm a nun.
This is going to be harder than I thought. Quickly, I toss my garbage in the bin and hightail it out of the restaurant.
I find some basic jeans and cheap T-shirts at a little boutique off a side road. Taking my shopping bags, I start to realize just how much more I actually notice when I’m not buried in my phone while I walk. There are birds chirping and ocean waves. Straight ahead, I can hear the simple sounds of hymns coming from the church. The buildings are all different, some looking a hundred years older than the one right next to it, and they’re all squeezed together like someone shoved them into one giant building.
Once I get to the church, where I’m supposed to turn right toward the main road, I stop on the corner and listen to the music for a moment. I can’t understand a word of what they’re singing, as it's accompanied by an organ, which overpowers the voices.
It’s calming as fuck. And right now, I need calming, so instead of going back to the h
otel where I have absolutely nothing to do, I take a seat on the low stone wall around the church.
Once the song stops, there is silence. A long silence. And finally a man says something, and the small crowd repeats something back to him. It sounds like a prayer.
A deep voice says something low and flat. At this point, I almost get up to leave. It sounds boring and I can’t understand his muffled voice anyway, but then his words catch my attention.
“Sir, Son of David, take pity on me. My daughter is tormented by a devil.”
My ears perk up. This just got interesting. As he continues on, it becomes clear that he’s reading a story from the Bible, and I step closer to hear the rest. I’m just inside the front door but out of anyone’s view. As I step into the church, the first thing I notice is the way it smells, like old wood and stone.
The second thing I notice is the way the priest’s voice echoes through the space, bouncing off of every surface inch and pane of stained glass to land directly at my ears.
“But the woman had come up and was kneeling at his feet. ‘Lord,’ she said ‘help me.’ He replied, ‘It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the house dogs.’”
Damn, Jesus. A smile stretches across my face as I listen to the story.
“She retorted, ‘Ah yes, sir; but even house dogs can eat the scraps that fall from their master’s table.’ Then Jesus answered her, ‘Woman, you have great faith. Let your wish be granted.’ And from that moment her daughter was well again.”
A low chuckle slips out through my lips just as the priest’s voice cuts out. It’s a tiny church, and I’m quite sure someone heard me judging by the long silence, so I press myself against the wall and out of sight.
Finally the priest starts talking again, going on and on about this passage and how it can be interpreted, and I wait for my opportunity to step out without being seen.
Then, his voice takes on a deeper tone, and the hair on my neck stands. I know that voice. Peeling myself away from the wall, I peer into the church, past the barely filled pews, and I stare in shock at the man speaking behind a podium.