Page 59 of Road Trip
“I don’t, but maybe you could get Bernie to check the house. Mama used to have this little notebook she used as an address book. Ironically, it was a freebie from the bank. Bernie will remember it. Ask her to check the junk drawer in the kitchen.”
“I’ll do that. And maybe you can ask Maeve if she has Letha’s contact info?”
“For sure,” Therese said. She glanced down at her phone. It was getting late, nearly midnight. Should she be getting worried about her little sister? She walked to the window and stared out at the darkened parking lot.
Worrying about Maeve was an entirely new and unexpected experience for her.
“Hey, Therese,” Scotty said. “What’s Ireland like? I’ve always wanted to go. Dad and I did a golf trip to Scotland a few years ago, but we didn’t make it to Ireland.” His voice sounded wistful.
“It’s green,” she said, laughing at her own inadequate description. “But not just one shade of green. All the colors in the Crayola box, you know, the big one that the rich kids had. Jade and emerald and celery and seafoam… and the light, it’s sort of soft, like rightafter a late-afternoon rain in Savannah. It rains a lot here, but nobody pays much attention to it. And there are these rolling hills, and meadows, with sheep. Like, you’re driving down this country road, and this, like, herd of sheep is just standing there, hanging out in the middle of the road.”
“Don’t sheep travel in flocks?”
“You know what I mean. The flowers, I don’t know the names of most of them, but the roses are amazing, pale pink, and they clamber over fences. Did I just use the word ‘clamber’?”
“I believe so. Maeve the writer must be rubbing off on you.”
Therese peered out at the parking lot. A stray cat slinked through the shadows left by the single light pole. Where the hell was her sister? Who was the guy she was with? She tried to remember his name. Something Irish sounding. Shaun? Declan? Ian? Some rando she’d met at a distillery. She thumbed over to her text history. Nothing from Maeve.
“I hear the people over there are super friendly,” Scotty was saying.
“Mostly, yeah, except for the sourpuss woman who I think knows more than she’s saying about our portrait of Geraldine,” Therese said.
Just then a Jeep-type vehicle pulled into the parking lot. It was filthy, spattered with mud, and looked like it had been put together from a box of mismatched old car parts.
The driver’s side door opened, and a guy got out. She couldn’t see his face, but he crossed around and opened the passenger door and Maeve hopped out. He put an arm around her shoulder, and they began to walk toward the inn’s entrance.
Therese felt herself exhale slowly.
“Hey, Therese? You still there?” Scotty asked.
“Still here. Gotta go. Let me know if you manage to track down that bank teller. Bye, Scotty.”
CHAPTER 26
“Sorry about that,” Liam said as he rushed Maeve out of the pub and toward the Jeep. “You never know what Donal is going to get up to after he’s had a few too many pints.”
Between running and laughing, Maeve was doubled over, hands on knees, trying to catch her breath and not wet her pants.
“It was… fun,” she finally managed. “Closest I’ve ever been to an honest-to-goodness bar brawl.”
“Not sure if that’s a compliment or an indictment,” he said, holding the passenger-side door of the Jeep open for her.
As they pulled away from the curb, the front door of the pub flew open and they watched as the bartender literally booted Donal out onto the sidewalk. The big man sat, stunned for a moment, then somehow staggered to his feet and bellowed “‘Galway Girl’!” before again collapsing onto the pavement.
“Should we go back and help him? See he gets safely home?” Maeve asked.
“Not on your life,” Liam retorted. “The lad’s been kicked out of every bar in Wicklow, and half the ones in the next county over. He can handle himself.”
He looked over at her, his eyes crinkled with amusement. “Are you still wanting a real pub crawl? We could go down to Bannion’s, it’s not far, and I’m sure it’ll be a lot quieter.”
Maeve shook her head. “I guess I’m a second-rate Irishman. I’m afraid I’m still experiencing a bit of jet lag.”
“Plenty of excitement for one night,” he agreed. “I’ll take you back to the inn, shall I?”
Liam had left the Jeep’s windows down, and the fresh, chilly air was a welcome change from the smoke-filled, overheated pub. She leaned her head out the window and looked out at the solid wall of trees pressing close against both sides of the roadway. Above the treetops a huge crescent moon seemed painted onto a night-sky backdrop. It seemed surreal. She was in Ireland, had just narrowly escaped a bar fight, and was in the company of a handsome man who was almost too good to be true. Was this really happening to Maeve Dunagin, career wallflower?
“And what’s on your agenda for tomorrow?” Liam asked. “Ring of Kerry, Dingle Peninsula?”
