Page 21 of The Irish Goodbye

“Oh, um …” Cordelia searched for the right words, then gave up and told the truth. “Kind of awful. Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. But I’m homesick, and it’s raining all the time.”

Colin was laughing again. “No, that sounds about right for Inishmore. Tourists usually come for the day, or only stay a night or two.”

“Have you been to Dún Aonghasa?” Niall asked in what Cordelia felt was an unnecessarily demanding tone. “Or the Seal Colony? Or taken the ferry to Inisheer?”

“Um, no,” Cordelia stammered. “I mean … it’s been raining. Like, every day.”

“Welcome to Ireland,” Niall said coldly. “Did you think it would be all beaches and sunshine?”

“Jesus, Niall,” Alison said. “Give the girl a break.”

“I’m just saying. She hasn’t even done any of the bland tourist stuff. What’s she complaining for?”

“I wasn’t complaining,” Cordelia said.

“Sounded like complaining to me,” Niall replied with an infuriating shrug.

“Never thought I’d live to see Niall O’Connor defending Inishmore,” Colin said, shaking his head. He turned to Cordelia. “You’ll get used to the rain. And you should go check out Dún Aonghasa—or Dún Aengus, as you tourists call it.” He winked at her. “The views are incredible.”

“Everyone goes to Dún Aengus,” Alison said. “But I prefer Dún Dúchathair. You can even walk there from the cottage, though a bike is faster.”

“What’s a dún?” Cordelia asked, feeling stupid and looking anywhere but at Niall.

“It means castle or fort,” Alison explained. “Dún Dúchathair means the Black Fort.”

“Okay. Well, maybe I’ll go tomorrow then.” She jutted out her chin and added, “Things will be better once my new camera comes. It’s been hard losing the one I brought with me.”

Her eyes flitted to Niall, who suddenly seemed very interested in his wineglass. Well, good. She hoped he still felt bad about the whole situation.

“Yes, when should it arrive?” Alison asked. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Thursday.”

Alison nodded. “Niall, did you know Cordelia is a professional photographer?”

“Grand,” Niall muttered.

She knew Alison was only trying to be nice, but her words left Cordelia feeling empty and insecure.

“I’m not,” Cordelia said. It was her turn to stare into her wine. “Not really. Not anymore.”

There was a heavy pause, and Cordelia wished she hadn’t spoken at all. What did it matter anyway? Let them believe what they would. Let them think she had some amazing life in the city and not the truth of her sad days in her apartment alone, missing her father and doubting herself, living on ramen and true crime shows.

When she lifted her gaze again, Niall was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher. Judging her, no doubt. She turned away.

“Cordelia, I was thinking—when that new camera comes, maybe you’d consider photographing Pátrún,” Colin said. “I’m sure the town can pay you for your trouble.”

“Yes, that’s a great idea!” Alison exclaimed. “You know how Cian Byrne is always saying they need more publicity. He’d blow his load if he could have a famous New York City photographer taking shots this year.”

“Thanks for the image, Al,” Colin said, shuddering.

“What’s Pátrún?” Cordelia asked.

“It’s a three-day festival at the end of June,” Alison explained. “To celebrate St. Enda, the patron saint of Inishmore.”

“There’s music and boat races and tug-of-war and sandcastle competitions and dancing and such,” Colin added. “And food. O’Connor’s is always at its best at Pátrún, right, Niall?”

Niall shrugged and took a drink. “Da will serve whatever he wants,” he said quietly. “As usual.”