Page 10 of The Wandering Season
Niall had things to do around the castle—it still seemed crazy to say “castle”
like it was a perfectly normal thing—so I was left to explore on my own that morning. It wasn’t all that expansive a place as far as castles went. County Mayo had far grander castles, like Ashford, converted to five-star hotels that met even the most starry-eyed princess-crazed little girl’s vision for a proper fairy-tale castle. But Blackthorn hadn’t been expanded in later centuries to be a showpiece the way Ashford had been. It retained much of its original character: small, austere, and easier to defend from hostile clans looking to expand their territory and influence.
The castle’s second floor housed five guest rooms and one larger room with a massive fireplace that had been converted into a library and a small gathering space for guests. I could imagine posh couples from Australia, Japan, Germany, and the US converging here with a cognac after dinner to discuss their adventures traveling to destinations both glamorous and obscure. The space was cozier than any other part of the castle, owing to the fire blazing in the hearth. I was surprised Niall took the time to light it, given that it was just the two of us in residence, but I was grateful for the gesture.
I walked along the expansive shelves of leather-bound tomes, reading the spines in hues of saddle brown, oxblood, and deepest black with gilt lettering. Some had to date back a century or two and were housed on higher shelves, likely so guests would be less tempted to take them from the shelves on a whim. Others were more recent reprints of the classics that could be handled with less delicacy. There were also a number of modern paperbacks that had been left behind by guests for others to enjoy. Many were popular mysteries, and there seemed to be a penchant for anything set in Ireland.
I smiled at the idea of pausing a trip to Ireland to immerse oneself in Ireland through fiction and admired the commitment. I loved the combination of the ancient and the recent housed in one space. A cacophony of shapes and colors that somehow managed to produce a symphony of words.
I grabbed a copy of a Maeve Binchy I’d started in high school and never finished when the ending was spoiled for me by a friend who had seen the movie adaptation. I was about to settle into the posh armchair when the familiar ping of my phone sounded and I felt the vibration in my rear pocket.
Avery: Hey, sis. Everything okay? How’s the B and B?
Me: Um . . . It’s a freaking castle. What’s not to like? Also, isn’t it like 4 a.m. there? Shouldn’t you be asleep?
Avery: I’m getting ready for my 5 a.m. barre class.
Me: You. Are. Insane.
Avery: You know what they say about early birds . . .
Me: Yeah, but I’d rather have a couple more hours of sleep than worms.
Avery: Haha. So seriously, everything is okay? Mom is worried but didn’t want to intrude on your trip.
I felt a tightness in my chest. Mom was an Olympic-level worrier. She’d taken the gold in every games since I was born . . . or shortly thereafter anyway. If she wasn’t texting me, she was still bothered by what happened at Christmas. Which wasn’t surprising—it was a pretty major family bombshell. But she was acting differently because of it. Treating me differently because I knew. Maybe it was easier for her to pretend I was hers when she thought I didn’t know, but now that it was out in the open, maybe things between us would be different.
Me: Yeah, it’s fine. I mean it’s January in Ireland, so it’s cold, dreary, and dark . . . I wouldn’t give up your day job to become a travel agent just yet.
Avery: Well there goes my Plan B . . . but are you at least seeing the sights? Bonding with your countrymen?
I chuckled. I considered telling her about my vision of Aoife the night before, but I had no idea how to broach the topic on text.
Me: I got to see a dairy farm yesterday.
Avery: Ew. Why?
Me: Because those cows make the milk that produces the best butter I’ve had in my entire life.
Avery: So very you. But eating tasty things is definitely a key part of being on vacation, so carry on. Just don’t ruin those new boots stepping in a cow pie. They weren’t cheap.
I admired the sturdy black boots she’d sent with the rest of my travel gear. They fit better than any pair of shoes I’d ever bought myself and were attractive despite being practical. Of course they were expensive. I didn’t want to know how much this little guilt trip had cost her, but it was probably more money than I would have earned in many months. The cold, slimy tentacles of guilt started to slither their way around me, but I warded them off. I hadn’t asked for this.
Me: Will do my best. They’re great boots. The whole care package was perfect.
Avery: Just looking out for you, big sis. Also? I have another surprise.
My stomach dropped. I’d reached my lifetime limit for surprises and had no desire for more. I started typing out a snarky comment but thought better of it.
Me: Oh gawd. What now?
Avery: Nothing bad. Steph and I want to join you in Italy. My results came back too, and it’s the one place you and I had in common. Apparently Mom and Dad both have a lot of ancestry there. And Stephanie wants to tag along for the shopping. We both managed to snag the vacation time and thought it would be fun.
I brightened. Having them tag along for a leg of the journey was a possibility I hadn’t planned for, not that I’d had time to plan much of anything. But there were a lot worse prospects than tooling around Lombardy and eating our body weight in pasta, pizza, granita, and gelato with my best friend and kid sister.
Me: That sounds epic, actually. On the condition your collective diets will be on pause.
Avery: Okay, but bear in mind, not all of us have the metabolism of a hummingbird and actually have to watch ourselves.
Me: Seriously, one week, no food guilt. Can you handle it? It’s good for the soul.
Avery: For you, yes. As long as we get to do some shopping too.
I chuckled out loud.
Me: Fair. If I ask you to indulge my vice, the least I can do is indulge yours.
Avery: I am totally going to get you some new clothes while we’re there. You can be my Barbie. The European stuff will fit you way better than it does me.
Me: Don’t make me regret this before you even get here.
Avery: You’re excited. You just haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.
Me: You can tell yourself that, Stinkerbell. Now don’t you have a Zumba class or something?
Avery: It’s barre. Zumba is so 2010. I hope the rent is cheap under that rock where you’ve been living.
Me: Have fun, brat.
Avery: . . .
Avery: Be sure to text Mom.
I set my phone on the side table. Should I text my mother? Hmm . . . not right then, as a text at two fifteen in the morning would send her to the ER with chest pains, but in several hours when she’d had the chance to wake up and have some coffee. A good daughter would reach out and reassure her mother that all was well. I’d done so, even on my short escapades around the West. But I wanted her to reach out to me. I wanted to know that she wasn’t using company manners with me all of a sudden.
Another part of me wanted to text Stephanie, but while she was the most energetic person in the entire northern hemisphere, even she wouldn’t appreciate a ding in the middle of the night if it wasn’t a life-or-death thing. And it wasn’t. My concerns about my relationship with my mom would hold until after the sun rose in Denver.
And my concerns about my own mental well-being and the visions I’d had of Aoife could hold indefinitely. Steph was the hyperrational sort who would have a million very plausible, scientifically verifiable explanations for the vision I’d had. And I didn’t want to hear any of them. I wanted to believe, if only for a little while longer, that what I’d seen was real. A glimmer of what had transpired here in earlier generations.
Echoes, as Niall had called them, of past events that still reverberated off the stone walls. Sorrows that permeated the curtains and tapestries like smoke from a devastating fire long since extinguished but whose traces still lingered in the air.
Niall hadn’t called me crazy. He seemed to think my visions were somehow perfectly reasonable in the confines of this ancient castle. And for now, I’d cling to that.