Catching the insult, I saw red. “Are you calling me stupid?” I asked. “It’s Irish time,” I air-quoted with my awful Irish accent. “I would have been there if it weren’t for you.”
“He probably left because it’s still prime tourism time. More and more buses are on the roads, and the roads are so narrow cars have to pull over to let them pass. He probably left on time because of the traffic.”
He had a point, I guess. There were so many nuances to this country, I didn’t think I would ever get used to them.
Jaime stood and shoved his hand into his jacket pocket. “I’m going inside to make a call. You want to come, or will you stay here?”
I looked up at the sky. In the garden, blue had mixed with gray, but now gray mixed with black. “I’m coming with you.” I hopped up and swiped my damp jeans. “I can’t believe you did this to me.”
Jaime ignored me, and I followed him back to the Kylemore Abbey entrance. We moved into the gift shop, and Jaime spoke to the attendant in Irish. I watched them closely, trying to infer the conversation based on facial expressions and changes in their voices.
He motioned for me to follow him, and we entered an office behind the registers. I sat in the folding chair in front of the desk, and Jaime dialed. He continued to speak in Irish, laughing, rolling his eyes, and glancing at me mid-sentence. My face flushed, assuming he was talking about me.
He hung up the phone. “I told you it’d be grand. My ma and da will be here in twenty minutes.”
He moved out of the office, and I scampered behind. “What do you mean? Are they picking us up?”
Jaime ignored me until we moved through the crowd. “Yeah, picking us up. They can’t drive us back to Galway until tomorrow, so we’ll stay at my house until the morning.”
My mouth dropped to the floor. “What? I can’t stay at your house.”
He shrugged. “Where else will you go? We’re in the middle of Connemara. You told me earlier you wanted to visit Clifden. Now, I can show you all the local spots. It’ll be lovely.”
I stared at him in disbelief, then marched back to the buses. I would beg a driver to take me back to Galway if I had to.
“Dear, all the Galway buses left already. I could bring you to Cork,” one driver said.
I moved to the next bus and received the same response. It seemed my choices were Cork, Dingle, or Dublin, but where would I stay? Plodding to the grassy area away from the tourists, I clenched my fists and stomped the ground, grunting obscenities. I knew I looked like a toddler throwing a tantrum, but I didn’t know what else to do.
I looked around, considering my options. I have no choice but to follow Jaime back to his hometown. His parents are harmless. Happy and harmless. Or I can hitch a ride to another part of the country. No option felt good, but I was stuck. Alone in a foreign country, with little money and no phone.
I trudged back to Jaime, sitting on a bench near the entrance to the abbey. “You win. I’ll go with you as long as you promise we will return to Galway tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow. First thing.”
After an eternity, a dull, silver Ford Focus peeled into the parking lot. I recognized the woman with the curly, auburn hair behind the wheel.
“Seamus!” She stuck her arm out the window and waved.
“There’s my ma,” Jaime said to me.
“Shay-mus?” I asked.
“That’s me Irish name, Rory. Seamus O Súilleabháin.” My ears heard O’Sool-ih-vahn. Well-versed in Irish culture, I knew there were many vowels, accents, and a ‘bh’ in the word he just said.
“You’ll have to spell that out for me later.”
Climbing into the back seat and smiling politely, I greeted the woman from the airport.
“Ma, this is Rory. She’s me flatmate. Rory, this is me ma. You can call her Deirdre.”
Deirdre whipped her head around. The splatter of freckles and crooked front teeth matched Jaime’s. “Hi, dear. Welcome to Ireland.”
She pulled out of the parking lot, and we rolled through the mountains. Instead of focusing on the fiasco Jaime created with his ‘Irish time’, I looked on the bright side. I was going to Clifden.
Chapter 11
Deirdre pulled into a single-story home set away from the main road. The white painted concrete gave way to miniature windows, and the thatched roof reminded me of a light brown horse’s mane. Images held within the pages of my guidebook flashed through my mind, and elation consumed me. I can’t believe I’m staying in an authentic Irish cottage.
