Page 121 of Road Trip
“Why are you so obsessed… with always being in control? Why are you so terrified of change?”
“I’m not,” she protested.
“What’ll you do if it doesn’t turn up here?”
“I suppose I’ll have to go to the US embassy office in Dublin to see if they can replace it.”
“What a nuisance. I’ll let you have your lunch in peace. Will you at least call me and let me know what happens?”
“I will.”
He walked away, and this time he didn’t stop. Maeve wanted to call him to come back, but she knew it was already too late.
CHAPTER 52
The woman on the phone at the embassy’s office was cheerful but businesslike as Maeve explained her plight.
“We’ll need your driver’s license, and records of your travel arrangements, such as airline ticket and hotel receipts. If you believe your passport was stolen, we’ll need a copy of the police report.”
“It wasn’t stolen. At least, I don’t think it was,” Maeve said slowly. Suddenly, she was thinking about the slashed tires and the near-miss roadkill incident. Could the passport’s disappearance be part of that?
“I’m fairly sure the passport is just missing. If I drive back to Dublin in the morning, can you have the replacement passport ready?”
“Oh no. You’ll need to make an appointment, and I don’t have anything available until… let me see, yes, tomorrow afternoon, say three o’clock.”
“Isn’t there any way to expedite the process? I really need to get back to the States for urgent family business.”
“This is expedited, dear,” the woman explained. “Let me have your contact information, and if an appointment opens up any earlier, I’ll let you know.”
The clerk atthe inn was apologetic when she called. “Wedidlook, Ms. Dunagin. I went up and helped the housekeepers lift the mattress entirely off the bed, but we did not find your passport.”
“I see.” Maeve’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. “I can’t get an appointment at the embassy in Dublin until tomorrow, so I’ll need to stay over tonight.”
“Oh dear. I thought you understood when you were here earlier. We are completely booked with the china painting ladies. I do apologize.”
She wanted to weep. “Can you recommend any inns or bed-and-breakfasts nearby that might have a vacancy?”
“I’m afraid not. It’s the sacred music festival starting tonight at the manor house. Very popular event, the festival is. Everyplace around has been booked up for weeks now.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Wait. Ms. Dunagin?”
“Yes?”
“I’m going to have to ask you to remove your car from the parking lot, which is strictly reserved for our guests.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. I just had a guest arrive and ask about the overflow parking, so if you could move your vehicle, we’d be grateful.”
Maeve disconnected and put her head down on the table. Her predicament would be funny, if it weren’t so pathetic. She was alone in a strange country, had no passport, not much money, and had literally just been told there was no room at the inn.
The irony was not lost on her. This must have been how her great-grandmother felt when she arrived in New York, more than a hundred years ago.
“Stop it,” she chided herself. She hated when people indulged in self-pity. She was not an orphaned eighteen-year-old who’d just been uprooted from the life she’d always known, the way Kathleen was. She was a fully capable adult with a credit card and a cell phone and a somewhat-functioning rental car. If push came to shove, she could always just drive to Dublin and find a hotel there.
Or she could swallow her resolve and call Liam. It would be so easy to slip back into his life, and yes, possibly into his bed, for another twenty-four hours. Which would solve nothing.
