Page 8

“You drive, Colm. I’m fair knackered.” Breda tossed me the keys to her car, a baby blue convertible coupe.

I inspected the vehicle, noting the worn tires, polished chrome, and the damaged right fender mirror.

“You sure?” I pushed the driver’s seat back. “Where are we going?”

“Martin’s, in Killybegs.” She snapped her seatbelt into place and settled into the bucket seat.

“A long way for a loaf of bread, Breda. What will Pádraig say?” I nosed the low-slung two-seater through the many parked cars and down the laneway.

“Well, it’s nice to see things haven’t changed.” She shifted sideways, fixing me with a sharp gaze.

“Hmm?” I veered left, avoiding a deep pothole.

“Look at you…a regular pork chop on steroids. Looks like you haven’t missed too many meals. Hey? Are you listening to me?” She huffed.

“Aye.” I chuckled for no reason.

“Why are you laughing?” She shook her head, exhaling exasperation.

“No reason.” I glanced at my favorite cousin.

“Hmph. I’ve been going to the gym with Saoirse. Ciarán’s Saoirse? You know you were rude to her. You weren’t very nice.” She admonished me the way a mother talks to a child.

I flinched at the mention of Ciarán’s name. In one fleeting blink of an eye, I saw Calla’s face—the shock, the denial, the acceptance.

Still, I found myself torn between two opposing forces—wanting to believe and the inherent skepticism lurking within me—the ability to question when others rushed forth had saved my life more than once.

“What was with the ball of flame Saoirse tossed out there? Magic dust from her last seance?” I muttered, unwilling to fully commit to what I saw. The glowing essence floating over my father’s casket proved the Otherworld exists. I couldn’t deny it.

“After growing up Irish, you don’t believe?” She gazed with wide eyes, her voice haunted.

“Has she not found someone? I thought by now.” I chose another topic, my mind racing from one far-fetched reality to another.

“Still wears his ring. Did you know she owns a pub?” Breda stared out the side window, her lips pinned in a straight line. “Her da went in on it. Helped her out, aye? Turned it right around. Trad nights. Cheap Tuesdays. At least she has that.”

The long bonnet dipped, and Breda flinched.

“Nice.” I shifted gears, dropping into overdrive and punching the accelerator.

“I know you and your da… You know, he was looking forward to your visit. It’s too soon for him to leave.” Her voice trembled.

“Oisin will help Mam with the farm. And I’m here now.” Did I say that? Was that what I wanted?

“Oisin? He has enough on his plate.” She leaned back in the seat, lifting her shoulders.

“Aye.” I shifted gears, Calla’s silvery voice echoing in my mind.

I could rationalize her psychic abilities—seers were commonplace in Ireland—but the aura surrounding her was beyond rationalization. Unknowingly or not, she had wielded magic, holding my hardened soul in her hand. She transported me to another place, where she kissed me. I sorted through each moment—the wonder in her eyes, the passion. My thoughts drifted, and I wondered where she was now.

“What about you? Are you still, you know? Talking to the air? Seeing things?” She poked my arm and then grinned.

“That was Ciarán, not me.” I glanced her way. She knew Ciarán had the sight, could see and talk to the Other Crowd. I would keep my suspicions from Breda a while longer. Accusing Ardara’s latest resident of being otherworldly would get me locked up. But if what Calla said was true.

“Jaysus feckin’ Christ, Colm, watch out. You almost hit that car.” Breda jumped in her seat.

“Relax. He’s got brakes.” I smiled, taking full advantage of her good nature.

“Don’t tell me to relax. I’ve ten payments left. Don’t you feckin’ smash it.” She scolded me, her voice undulating with every curve in the road.

I tapped the horn twice and waved, passing a slow-moving farm tractor.

“Jaysus, is your foot stuck on the feckin’ accelerator?” She threw her hand onto the dashboard.

“Shush.” I grinned when the car slid on the wet pavement.

“Don’t shush me, you bastard.” She swept the white strands away from her face. I recalled the day her hair changed from lustrous black to ghostly white. Struck down by Scarlet Fever at twelve years of age, she hung onto life by a thin thread, the effects lingering long after. I have often considered the time she spent in the world of the dead and the toll she must have paid. Once, I asked the question. She responded to my concern with a cold, dark stare.

“You need to drive this thing, Breda. Blow the carbon out. When did you turn into such a Nervous Nancy?” I punched the gas for good measure, fishtailing the back end.

“There’s nothing wrong with me. You, Colm O’Donnell, are the problem.” Her face paled.

“Hmm.” I pondered Breda’s statement.

Rush-filled fields thick with mud stretched in every direction. Dark clouds drifted across the stark skies. A cold chill seeped into my bones.

“Well, I’m glad you’re back. You should stay.” She scrunched her nose and then laughed. “Jaysus, I’ve missed you.”

“I have a life of my own, Breda.” Somehow, returning didn’t hold the thrill it had a day ago.

“Are you thick in the head? Can’t you see, we love you? Why don’t you buy that fishing boat you always wanted?” Her voice rose, her eyes filled with hope.

“Ciarán’s dream.” I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, my mind conjuring up images of the past, of the summer day a long time ago. What a find it had been—a broken-down rowboat washed up by the seas. Of ten-year-old Ciarán, sweat pouring down his brow, affixing a pole-wood mast to the middle beam, and Breda, her pale hair falling into her eyes, painting the prow a vibrant royal blue. Breda—always part of every memory.

“The two of you had such grand plans. Stop this, Colm.” She stared me down.

“Stop what?” I tilted my head toward her, seeking clarity.

“Blaming yourself for Ciarán. You did all you could. So did your da…How long are you going to keep punishing yourself, then?” She peered at me, her brows drawn tight.

“I’ve missed you too, Breda.” I smiled.

We left the main highway, snaking through lush green fields, the landscape rolling with every bend in the road. We passed through small villages and remote lookouts—so many shades of green—bloodied with so much pain.

Everything remained the same, yet everything had changed. Breda had been right about one thing: it was time for me to stop running.