The next morning, the cat was gone.
After a frantic ten minutes searching for him, I couldn't find where he'd gotten out. All the windows and doors were locked tight. Scratching my head, I began to wonder if he was a mirage like the man at the pub had been. When I opened the front door, double-checking for cat- sized escape routes, I saw a package shoved underneath the cheery welcome mat. Bending over, I slid it out and saw my name written on the orange paper. Glancing around the garden, nothing stirred apart from the odd bird flitting across the lawn searching for fresh worms to feast on.
Taking the envelope inside, I turned it over, but there was no postmark or indicator as to who had left it. It had been hand delivered by someone, and I was positive it hadn't been there last night.
Sitting at the kitchen table, I tore the parcel open and tugged out a stack of papers. It was paperwork for Irish Moon. Robert must've left it. Reading through the various reports and tax returns, I was surprised at the figures. The takings were rather healthy for a little crystal shop in the middle of nowhere even if it was on the so-called tourist trail. Aileen had really built something here, but what was I supposed to do with it? Stepping into my mum's shoes and picking up her life as my own wasn't exactly something that had crossed my mind. It also sounded weird. I didn't want to be Aileen version two. If I wanted to, I could sell up and go back to Australia. I wouldn't have to worry about getting a job straight away, not with the money that now sat in my savings account. Or I could travel for a while and see the world. With nothing and no one to hold me down, I could go anywhere.
The cottage and everything in it would fetch quite a bit considering its proximity to the village. Then there was Irish Moon and its inventory. What was I going to do with that?
"Shoot!"
Scraping the chair back, I grabbed my jacket, phone, and keys and ran from the cottage, slamming the door closed behind me. Hearing the latch lock into place, I legged it through the garden, leaped over the fence, and bolted to the street.
Mairead was leaning against the wall, waiting for me.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I exclaimed breathlessly, fumbling with the keys.
The Goth girl looked rather cute today in a black dress, black boots, and her matching black hair done up in twin French plaits. When I appeared, she smiled brightly.
"It's okay," she said. "Sundays are quiet. Church is in the mornin', and the buses don't usually come until late if they come at all."
"Why aren't you at church?"
She made a face and gestured to her outfit. "Do I look like I subscribe?"
"Point taken."
Unlocking the door, I let us inside. Immediately, I was drawn to the little tubs of tumbled stones—amethyst, citrine, rose quartz, snowflake obsidian, and more—and dug my fingers into the colorful array while Mairead turned on all the lights and busied herself with opening the store.
I wasn't really into running a shop—at least, not right now—but she seemed to really enjoy it here. Maybe I should ask her if she would like to take on more responsibility. At least until I figured out where my heart lay. I thought about it for a moment, and it didn't seem like such a bad idea. She knew the ropes and said she needed the extra cash.
"What did Aileen pay you?" I asked.
"Nine euro an hour," Mairead replied, retrieving a feather duster from behind the counter.
"That doesn't sound like a lot," I said with a frown. "Is that minimum wage here?"
"You can pay me more if you want," the girl said with a grin. "I won't mind."
"Right." I admired her tenacity. "Would you help me out this week, then? Full-time until I can work out what I'm going to do. That should help you out, right?" I did the math in my head. "Four hundred for the week? Then we can talk next Sunday."
Mairead's eyes lit up with dollar signs—or was it euro signs?—and she nodded enthusiastically. "I won't let you down, Skye."
I felt uncomfortable being in the power position, so I just shrugged. "You're helping my clueless ass out."
"If you want to take some time off, I can handle things here today," she added, swatting a large crystal with the feather duster.
Thankful for the chance at a break to gather my thoughts, I left Mairead to handle things at Irish Moon. sun was out today. Finding my way behind the row of shops, I followed a path that wound through a pretty copse of trees before opening up to a lush field and the tower on the hill. Dew glistened on the grass as I wandered, and the sound of water gurgling in the creek followed my footsteps. The air was cold for the turning of the seasons. Summer was only a handful of weeks away, but I was still layering on a jacket before I left the house.
Walking on autopilot, I wandered up the hill, following the path, my thoughts taking on the same rambling pattern. What was I going to do? How long was I going to stay? Did I actually want to know more about Aileen, or was it a perverse sense of duty that was forcing me to hesitate? Nevertheless, there was a deeper question I was avoiding in the shadow of the bad luck of the past month. What did I want to do with my life? The million-dollar question.
Realizing I'd reached the pinnacle of the hill, I glanced up at the ruins as I approached. A sign sat in front of the structure where the path opened up into a little cul-de-sac, bordered with some old railway sleepers that made the whole thing look neat and tidy. The ground was worn, which meant tourists from the buses that stopped in the village came up here to take a photo of yet another ruin that dotted the Irish landscape.
Stopping by the sign, I read the inscription, which had been embellished with an artist's representation of what the ruins would've looked like when it was intact.
The White Tower. 1635–1756.
The legend of Mary Byrne is one of the lesser-known tales of witchcraft from the period but nonetheless, one of the most intriguing. She lived in this very tower house, having married Joseph Byrne, the Lord of Diore Dún. Their lands comprised of the village proper and several square miles of wild forest, which still stands today. To the locals, Mary was known as a healer, using herbs and natural remedies to aid the sick and less fortunate. Though, through her kindness, she also found her end.
She was tried for witchcraft in 1756, found guilty, and burned at the stake. In the days after her death, the tower house was said to have mysteriously caught on fire. It may very well be true. Damage to the structure is consistent with high temperatures, and it leaves historians to wonder, was it purely a tragic accident? Or was it retribution from beyond the grave? Snorting, I looked up at the ruins and attempted to pick out the marks the fire had left behind, but there was nothing there. Either I didn't know what I was looking for or time and weather had worn them away. At some stage, someone had set a modern iron gate in the entrance to keep trespassers out of the site. Crossing the grass, the toes of my boots dampening with dew, I studied the exterior of the tower house. The crumbling facade was covered with yellow and gray lichens, and rich emerald moss clung between each slab. There was a wild and romantic feeling about this place that would look great on a postcard.
Curling my hands around the bars, I peered into the darkness that used to be someone's home. The earthen floor, the bare walls...I just couldn't picture it. Nothing stirred. Not even the rustling of leaves overhead penetrated the bubble around the ruins. There was just...nothing. No sound and no movement, just the scent of wet earth and a strange tickling sensation on the back of my neck.
Shivering, I let go of the bars and retreated across the grass, my feet arriving back onto the path. Suddenly, I felt really exposed and shrank into my jacket. Hurrying back down the hill, the ruins at my back, I stopped for a moment to take in the view of Derrydun. From up here, I could almost see the whole village. There was Molly McCreedy's and Mrs. Boyle's house. The pink cottage with the thatched roof was Mary's Teahouse. To the left was the Topaz service station with its little convenience store. The one set of traffic lights was shining green on the side I could see, and while I was standing there, I watched as a car came hurtling up to the intersection with the red light, gave way for a moment, then peeled through. What was with the drivers here? They were just as mad as the inhabitants of Derrydun.
Despit the circumstances that brought me here, I was beginning to see the charm everyone talked about when they spoke of Ireland. The green rolling hills, the local flavor, the good food and drink, the stories, and the carefreeness of it all. Here, in this place, life seemed simple.
To my left, I spotted a red and black checked shirt lying over the stone fence. I found myself lingering when I recognized who it belonged to. Looking out over the field, I saw Boone forging his way through a flock of sheep, wearing a tight black T-shirt and loose-fitting jeans that were torn and dirty on the knees.
When he saw me, he raised his hand in a wave. I did the same, though more hesitantly.
Boone had been nice to me, regardless of his relationship with Aileen, which, by this stage, I was realizing was totally innocent. I doubt he was trying to go after my inheritance and undercut me. He didn't seem the type. Approaching the fence, I decided to drop my bristly exterior and give him a break.
"Is it always this cold in the mornings?" I asked, burying my hands deeper into my pockets.
He closed the space between us. "Aye, it can get chilly in these parts. Best you get used to it."
"I never thought I would miss the Australian summer," I replied.
"You feelin' better today?" he asked, leaning against the fence.
"Yeah. Thanks."
"You're not at Irish Moon today?"
I shook my head. "I gave the helm to Mairead."
His eyes crinkled at the corners. "That's brave of you." "She needs the money for University or College or
whatever you call it here." I waved him off. "She seems to know how it all works."
"Do you like the shop?"
"I'm...intrigued," I replied. "I never knew that about Aileen. That she was into all that new age crystal stuff."
"She spent most of her time in there, that's for sure."
"It feels warm in there. Better. If that's a thing." I shrugged. "People say crystals have all these energies. Maybe it's that."
"Perhaps." The conversation ebbed out for a moment before he nodded up the hill. "You've been up to see the tower house?"
"Yeah." Glancing over my shoulder, I studied the ruins until my eyes began to water. "It's such a sad story."
"The world wasn't always such a nice place for those who were different," Boone said, sounding rather philosophical.
"I suppose not."
We fell into an awkward silence again, and just like last time, he was the one who broke it.
"You're drawn to the older places," he said mysteriously. "The tower house, the hawthorn saplin', the crystals in the shop."
"I suppose," I said with a shrug.
"Don't you think it's curious?" he asked, wiping his brow with his forearm.
"No. Should it be?" I wasn't quite sure what he was getting at. Boone had this mysterious thing going on, but he was starting to speak in riddles. I wondered if it was an Irish thing or if it was his own personal quirk.
"Your mam was the same," he said. "She liked those places."
"Oh?"
We stood in silence for a moment, neither of us knowing what to say. I was never good at small talk, which was probably why I'd always had small friendship groups. All my friends had been Alex's first, so when we broke up the other day, I assumed I would never hear from them again. They knew him longer, so that's how it usually went.
"You and Aileen," I began.
Boone sprang to life. "Ah, I was homeless, you see, and she offered to help me get back on me feet."
"Really?" I tilted my head to the side.
"Aye, she offered me a room in her home, and Derrydun offered me as much work as I was able to accept."
"Okay."
"When she passed... I moved to a little place of me own a mile down from the village center," he went on. "It's a little rough around the edges, but it's comin' along. I like it."
Yeah, I reckon I was right taking back my earlier assumption of him. He seemed genuine, and I felt bad for giving him a taste of my trademark sass.
"It feels so long ago," I muttered, sitting on the fence.
"What does?"
"The day I found out... It was only last Monday. That means..." I sighed. No wonder my inner bitch was raging. "A month ago, I lost my job. Then my boyfriend dumped me last Sunday night, and Robert turned up on Monday telling me about Aileen. Two days after that, I was on a plane to the other side of the world, and then yesterday, Saturday, I buried the mother I never got to know. For the first time, I'm completely alone. That's my life in a nutshell." I glanced at Boone nervously. "I'm sorry, I've been mean to you this whole time."
"Don't mention it," he said with a lopsided grin. "I figured it would be a lot for you to take in. No offense taken."
"Nothing seems to faze you, does it?"
"There's always worry in life, that's how it works, but you can't let it stop you from bein' happy." He sat beside me and cast his gaze over the field. "Your boyfriend is a fool if you ask me. Lettin' a pretty thing like you go?" He shook his head. "Cic maith sa tóin atá de dlíth air."
I narrowed my eyes, trying to ignore the part where he said I was pretty. "What does that mean?"
"It's Irish for he needs a good kick up the ass."
I laughed, slapping my hand over my mouth. "In Australia, we would say he needs a good kick up the clacker."
His smile widened, and he shoved his hand through his wild hair. It was a full-on modelesque pose, and my insides began to quiver. His T-shirt didn't leave much to the imagination, which didn't help, either. Realizing I was staring and developing a crush on the poor guy, I turned my attention to the sheep in the field. They were white with black faces and feet, and every single one had a line of brightly colored paint on their backsides. I wondered what it was for.
"Why are the sheep painted all different colors?" I asked.
"Ah, it's so everyone can tell which one is theirs," Boone replied. "They put them all into the same field, which is our way of sayin' we were too lazy to put up a fence."
I smiled, counting four different colors. There wasn't much artistic value in their markings, just a line of paint haphazardly slapped on each rump. Blue, red, green, and orange.
"Then there's Albert," Boone went on as a ram came into view. Well, I was fairly sure it was a ram since it had horns on its head. "He's a special sort around here."
I snorted as Albert's back end came into view. His backside had been painted in black and white stripes.
"Sligeach," Boone declared in Irish. "County Sligo Football Club."
"You painted a sheep's ass in football colors?" I asked, my mouth dropping open.
"Nay, I didn't," he said, trying to hold in his laughter. "Roy did."
I shook my head, knowing the more I was going to see of Derrydun, the stranger it would become.
"Do you like it here?" I asked, the question coming out of the blue. Boone shrugged. "It's as good a place as any. People have accepted me here, I enjoy me work, and I suppose I've helped in me own way."
"Helped?"
"Small places like this, they thrive on community," he explained.
"I see." I stared down at the village, wondering what it would feel like to be part of something bigger than myself. I'd floated for so long I wasn't sure what it would look like.
"Whatever you choose, Skye, you'll always be welcome here."
My gaze snapped up and met his, surprised at the accuracy of his declaration. It was like he could read my mind or my emotions or whatever. Either that or I was transparent as hell. My heart was stapled to my sleeve, or whatever the saying was.
"That seems rather farfetched," I said, making a face. "You've known me for five minutes. Are you sure you want to invite me into the clubhouse?"
Boone laughed, his roguish smile making my heart flutter.
"Of course," he said. "McKinney blood runs in your veins. You'll always be a part of Derrydun, no matter where you are."
As we sat there on the fence overlooking the village, I couldn't help the feeling of hope that tugged at my heartstrings. It would be nice to belong somewhere even if it was only for a moment.