Page 38 of An Irish Summer

They might have been onto something after all.

“Brilliant, isn’t it?” Collin whispered, like he was trying to wake me gently from my daydream.

“Seriously. The countryside in Massachusetts looks nothing like this. It’s all grubby old farms and cemeteries and creepy

abandoned houses.”

“So you’re finally seeing Ireland is better after all?”

“Just the countryside,” I said. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Are you sure about that?” His voice was measured, and I knew what was coming.

“I used to be,” I confessed.

“And now?”

“Now I do things like cancel interviews and have summer flings with men who ask too many questions.”

“And how do you feel about that version of you?” He was obviously determined to live up to his reputation.

“It’s unfamiliar,” I said eventually. “This version of myself. If you told me a few months ago I’d be here with you, I would

have said you were insane.”

“And if I told you a few months ago that you’d be moving to Ireland? What would you have thought then?”

“Will I be meeting your sisters today?” I asked instead of answering his question. I didn’t want to think about what my former

self would think about Ireland.

“Yes, but you don’t get to ask any other questions about them until you answer mine.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” I said.

“Nothing’s fair,” he said. “Something else I’ve learned from my sisters.” I could see how much he loved them in his smile.

“I’d have thought you were insane then too,” I answered. “So maybe the insane one is me.”

“Surely there are worse things in the world than being a little insane. That’s what got you here, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but the effects of this whole experiment remain to be seen. This might have been a colossal mistake, and then my insanity

would be working against me.”

“Do you really believe that?” he asked. I knew his tone was hushed so as not to disturb other travelers, but it only added

to the gravitas.

I sighed. “A mistake, no.” I looked back out the window.

“I’m beginning to think it’s going to be a bit harder to go home than I originally planned,” I said eventually.

“I thought I would be running out of here and back to Boston, you know? That I’d be dying to get back to my real life.

But the longer I’m here, and the more invested I get in the Wanderer, it’s becoming harder to even determine which life is my ‘real’ one anymore. ”

“Why does it matter?” he asked. “What’s the big concern with ‘real’?”

“I can’t live in a fantasy,” I said.

“Is that what this is?” I opened my mouth, but he interrupted. “Don’t try to convince me otherwise, Chels. Not if it’s the

truth. I don’t know why you can’t just admit you like it here.”

“Because it wasn’t the plan,” I said, for the first time hating how it sounded. “And I know you think plans are stupid, but

they’re important to me. I had goals. I have goals. And the longer I spend here, the more they feel like they’re slipping away.”

“I don’t think plans are stupid,” he clarified, “but I do think plans can change. And I think it wouldn’t kill ya to go easier

on yourself. Be more flexible, you know? It’s okay to have to adjust your plans.”

I stared back out the window, watching heavy clouds darkening the sky. The weather moved twice as fast here as it did at home,

but everything else moved twice as slow. This made the weather feel even more extreme, and I had a sinking feeling I’d miss

it when I left. There was something cathartic about sudden heaving rain.

The more time I spent here, the less I understood why I was so desperate to get back to my stupid plans. They were nothing

more than logical, calculated, tactical moves I’d attached myself to because I was convinced they would make me happy.

I wasn’t ready to give them up entirely, but I might be ready to alter them. To loosen the reins a little. Consider other

options. Maybe not Wanderer-related options, but options that include flexibility and grace and forgiveness.

“Why couldn’t you stay?” he asked. “Would that really be so bad?”

I leaned my head against the back of the seat, closing my eyes for a few seconds to collect myself.

“It just wouldn’t be realistic,” I said, trying to tread lightly. “It would be a massive change. I can’t just leave my friends

and my family to work at a hostel halfway across the world just because I’ve had a fun summer.”

“Why do you always say ‘work at a hostel’ like that?” His tone took a sharper edge.

“Like what?”

“Like it’s beneath you.”

“Collin, I didn’t mean to,” I said, wondering how many times he’s had this thought before. My heart sped up at the thought.

“There’s nothing wrong with the work you do.”

“I don’t think I’m the one who needs convincing,” he said, and we lapsed into silence while his words settled in my chest

like bricks.

On cue, raindrops began pelting the windows of the train, and I tracked their movements as they raced to the bottom of the

glass. Their paths were erratic. They changed direction halfway down the window, joined together and broke apart, sped up

and slowed down with no real rhyme or reason.

“And if you think the reason we’re all at the Wanderer is for work,” Collin whispered after a moment, “then you haven’t gotten

to know us at all. And if you ever do decide to stay, it will be when you realize it isn’t about the work either.”

Nothing I could have said would have been adequate, so I didn’t try. Instead, I settled lower in the seat and let my head

drop to Collin’s shoulder. His hand returned to my knee, and I was relieved he seemed to understand I had nothing left to

say.

Most of the ride following our conversation passed in a comfortable silence, and he seemed to cheer up significantly as we approached his stop.

“All right,” he said, sitting straight up in his seat and shaking the kinks from his neck. “Remember, Da can be a bit unpredictable,

but it’s nothing personal. He’s harmless, really. Just a bit of an old bloke.” I nodded. “And Aileen is going to act like

my mam, as always, even though she’s younger. And both she and Niamh are going to ask you a million questions that may or

may not be appropriate, so feel free to ignore them. Especially Niamh.”

I shifted uncomfortably, hating the idea of being asked inappropriate questions by strangers but hating the idea of ignoring

any of Collin’s family members even more. “Trust me,” he said, sensing my discomfort. “I ignore them all the time. They’re

used to it by now. But they’re excited to meet you. All of ’em. No need to be nervous. It’ll be grand.”

Something in his voice wasn’t entirely convincing.

The train groaned to a stop beside a small redbrick structure that I’d hardly have described as a train station so much as

a large toolshed. Inside was little more than a pair of turnstiles and an old woman dozing in a ticket booth.

“Welcome to the suburbs.” Collin gestured with his arms in both directions. His wide, lopsided grin eased my increasing anxiety,

and I accepted his proffered hand. “It’s just a couple minutes down the road there,” he said, handing me a newspaper from

a stack near the exit. “And the rain isn’t lashing yet or anything. All right for a walk?”

It was then that I realized the newspaper was to hold over my head to protect myself from the rain.

He was right, it wasn’t lashing, but it was definitely coming down hard enough to ruin my hair.

“You can’t be serious.” I looked at him with disbelief.

“I can’t show up to meet your family for the first time like a wet shaggy dog. ”

“I’ve seen you after a rainstorm,” he said, “and I can assure you, the rain works for ya.”

The knot in my stomach turned to a flutter at the compliment then back to a knot when I realized he was serious. “We can’t

call an Uber or something?”

“Aye, sure, what with all the Ubers in the Irish suburbs. Shouldn’t be a problem at all.” He took out his phone and pretended

to open an app I knew he didn’t have. I nearly swatted it out of his hands.

“All right, all right,” I said. “I get it. Walking it is, then. But give me another newspaper. My hair looks good today.”

Beyond the station, the streets were a mix of paved roads and dirt-covered footpaths. We kicked mud into our shoes as we hustled

in the direction of his house, sidestepping puddles and ducking under low-hanging tree branches. A collection of two-story

homes lined the main road, smoke rising from their chimneys and mixing with the clouds. I wished it wasn’t raining so hard

so I could take a good look around. I imagined every iteration of Collin walking through these streets.

By the time we arrived on the doorstep, raindrops clung to our eyelashes, and our chests heaved with deep breaths from the run.

I tried to get a good view of the house from the step, wanting to remember every detail.

It was a humble whitewashed stone cottage off the main street, complete with window boxes and a thatched roof.

The front garden was unruly; rusty tools littered the wet grass among giant weeds and overgrown shrubbery.

There were only a few other cottages lining the street, and had I not done the walk myself I wouldn’t have believed there was a train station only minutes away.

“It’s not much,” Collin said, watching me study the house. I hated how insecure he sounded.

“Collin,” I said, “it’s amazing. It’s so charming. Every house in my neighborhood growing up looked exactly alike. Every house

in America looks exactly alike, frankly. When you told me your family had a house outside the city, this is exactly what I

hoped it would be.”

“Let’s see if you feel the same after we’re done here.” He smiled. “Ready?” I nodded, and he opened the front door.

We were greeted by the sound of Irish folk music and an intoxicating mixture of smells, both of which felt so homely I forgot

I’d never been here before.

“Is that Collin there?” we heard a woman ask from the kitchen. “No, Da, at the door. You didn’t hear the door? Niamh, did