Page 52 of Priestly Sins
“Bottle of water? A sword? A live animal?”
She giggles and yet again shakes her head so hard, those pigtails whip her face.
“Okay then. I just don’t want to get arrested for your contraband.”
“What’s contra bad?”
“It means illegal stuff, like things you want to smuggle. Like a pirate.”
“I’m not a pirate, Poppa Sean.”
This conversation gets us all the way to the ticketing agent, who checks my passport and Clara’s and our boarding passes. He’s not very good. Hers is so very fake, but I guess being underpaid also correlates to under-caring so we make it right through.
I finger the knife in my pocket one last time. This knife has stabbed men and sliced throats. It has seen vengeance and justice, but never been out of my sight since I was eighteen. I’m not sad to see it go, though it has been with me for almost two decades, ever since I decided the course of my life. If I were more sentimental, I’d have found a way to keep it. Instead, this is as good a place as any to drop a murder weapon. Knives are confiscated anyway and sold en masse to people who buy them by the pound later. I subtly wipe it down as best I can and grab it with my sweatshirt to drop it in the garbage and follow it with a bottle of water and some gum.
“Sure you don’t have a live animal?” I joke with Clara.
“No, silly!”
That is all it takes. My smile breaks across my face wide and I chuckle.
This is what I needed, what I’ve needed for so, so long.
Our carry-on bags make it through the scanner, and we’re home free as we head to New York. Fastest way out of New Orleans was this morning through Newark. Fastest flights tonight are through LaGuardia.
Clara and I sit in the terminal and download movies onto the new iPad and sync up the earbuds while charging the device as much as possible while we wait. Of course,Frozenis the first one we download. I insist on others but convincing her to try them will be my hardest task today.
We board our first-class seats and take off for New York. It’s Clara’s first flight and we’re lucky enough to have extra time before our next leg that Clara gets to see the cockpit and gets a wings pin. She’s absolutely smitten and now has a new topic to talk about without taking a breath.
I give her a little Benadryl when we’re wheels up to Dublin. Not because she’s not one of my three favorite people on the planet but because she’s going to need a little sleep. We’ll arrive early morning and have a heck of a drive. I need her as rested as possible.
I rest too. No sleep last night makes it easy. I wake two hours before wheels down with my hip being used as a pillow and a little hand holding mine. She must’ve woken during the night and resituated. I stay as still as possible, fully awake, soaking in this moment. Everything will change. Everything is changing, but this moment will be sealed in my memory as perfect.
Wheels down in Dublin means customs but we get through it quickly and grab our rental car. I’m glad I bought and packed the little red coat from Target. It’s a bit too big, but Ireland in November is as different from New Orleans as you can get. She mentions this. Repeatedly.
“I’m cold.”
“I’ll get the heater going and then we’ll go meet your mom.”
“How long until we get to her?”
“Almost twoFrozens. Want to grab the iPad and get it started for us?”
“Okay, Poppa! But I’m hungry!”
Shit! I forgot! “We’ll grab breakfast and then go to your mom, but you might need to channel your inner Elsa because it’s cold here in Ireland.”
“I can do that.”
We find a little grocery shop with fresh breads and cheeses, fresh scones, and some local pastries. We run in, channeling our inner Anna and Elsa. I’ve been named Anna to Clara’s Elsa. I agree because I have no clue what she’s talking about, even though I’ve seen the movie twice now. It’s not half-bad, actually.
We get back on the road and start the movie again. I drink my coffee and don’t ask her to put in AirPods. I listen along and try to sing, badly, for which I am admonished and laughed at. I’ll take that too.
A couple of hours later, we pull up the drive I haven’t seen in eight months. It looks no different than it did then. But where the driveway used to dead end into the cottage, it now splits. I take the right fork and continue around to the house I had built after meeting Killian, knowing I’d need an exit strategy at some point. A strategy that gave me peace and quiet and space. I planned a little three-bedroom house that I’m guessing now will be almost too small, but those are problems for another day.
Sirona is at the end of the driveway at the garage, standing and waving. Killian stands by her side, amusement lighting up his face. We honk and wave and make silly faces, and I see the tears of relief on her face as we come to a stop.
“She’s in the front seat? With no car seat? Sean!” Might as well be one giant run-on sentence with “Clara! It’s Ireland. What do you think? How was the plane? I missed you! Did you have fun?”