Flying by the Seat of My Knickers Page 12

  What did she think was going to happen?

  “Aren’t you going?” I asked.

  “No. Gretchen and I are staying here to work on my November meeting. I need to find a hotel today. We’ll advance dinner at Powerscourt Estate and meet you guys there.”

  Not having the constant pressure of proving myself all day would make the tour more enjoyable. Yet I needed to prove myself.

  “Do you have a copy of the dinner contract and menu?” I asked. “In case you’re stuck in traffic or something.” I said this with confidence, as if I could manage the dinner should she no-show.

  Rachel smiled, looking mildly impressed that I’d requested the contract. She likely assumed I’d filed the hotel BEOs in my binder and never looked at them again. She printed out a copy for me. Would she have higher expectations now that she knew I’d seen the menu and I wasn’t going in blind as usual? That was fine. I had all day to memorize the paperwork. I’d be prepared for whatever she could throw at me.

  Then my confidence took a swan dive.

  Gretchen handled food and beverage. What if Rachel made me tag team with Gretchen tonight?

  Declan walked over with the bags of snacks. “I asked the bus driver to spot a half hour early, so I’m going to see if he’s here.” He looked at Rachel. “Too bad you’re not going on the tour, since your great-granny was from Wicklow.”

  Rachel gave him a questioning look, like how the hell did he know our great-grandma’s birthplace when she hadn’t until I’d e-mailed her late last night.

  “I forgot to mention Declan helped me with the research. He’s a whiz at it. Researched his grandma’s family history.” Why did I feel guilty admitting that Declan and I had been alone in his room last night when nothing had happened? One more reason I was glad I’d woken up in my bed and not Declan’s. “It only took us, like, a half hour. I e-mailed you as soon as we finished.” Check the time on your e-mail!

  “And I e-mailed my mate Peter in Killybog. He might know some Coffeys in the area.”

  “Take lots of pictures for me.” Was Rachel’s disappointed look because she couldn’t join us on the tour or that she thought something had happened between Declan and me? “I wonder how Mom’s doing, finding out she was named after an aunt she never knew about.”

  “Yeah, I haven’t heard back from her.”

  “We should get going,” Declan said.

  We went up to the lobby and exited the hotel’s side entrance, greeted by an overcast sky yet a pleasant temperature. The weather report called for a 20 percent chance of precipitation. Same as it had the other days. Being a weatherman in Ireland would be a no-brainer. Every day held a chance for rain.

  A large bus sat at the curb. “Ah, grand, it’s a thirty-five passenger,” Declan said. “It was a sixty-seven seater, but since our numbers lowered, I requested a smaller bus. Better to have more room on the road than on the bus. The Wicklow roads are fiercely narrow.”

  Great. If Declan lived here and thought the roads were bad, they must be deadly. Luckily, I didn’t get bus sick.

  A twentysomething, petite blonde walked off the bus. She spotted us, and her blue eyes widened. “Declan?”

  “Feck,” he muttered.

  “I haven’t seen you forever. This is utterly mad.” She walked over and wrapped him in a big hug, despite the bags in his hands.

  Quite mad indeed…

  He drew back, looking uncomfortable with her display of affection. “Caity, this is Hannah. We’ve worked together a few times.”

  Hannah’s hand lingered on Declan’s arm, making me question their “working” relationship. Was Hannah possibly one of the several others who’d told Rachel stories about Declan sleeping around?

  “I’ll put these on the bus,” she said, taking Declan’s bags. “Be right back.”

  I raised an accusatory brow at Declan. “Another Guinness Girl?”

  He shrugged. “Not really.”

  What was that supposed to mean? That technically they hadn’t had sex—they’d just fooled around?

  “A Jameson Girl.” He laughed, but the look in his eyes said guilty as charged.

  A sense of relief once again washed over me that I hadn’t slept with Declan. I’d be going berserk right now. I refused to be another Hannah, and especially not a Gretchen. I refused to be a Guinness Girl. And I needed to be able to stand on my own before I became involved in another relationship. A relationship with a guy I could trust to be faithful, to respect me, and who lived on the same continent as me. My trust would never span an entire ocean. Especially when it came to Declan.

  Attendees trickled down and boarded the bus. Kathleen walked up wearing her new brown-and-blue plaid scarf she’d bought on our shopping trip.

  “I just love this scarf. Wish we could do some more shopping. Too bad we leave tomorrow.”

  Tom walked out the door, and my first instinct was to hide. I was no longer supposed to be avoiding VIPs, but avoiding getting fired was a survival tactic. He yawned, and exhaustion weighed heavy on his eyelids, like maybe he’d spent the night on the couch after a heated argument with his drunken wife.

  I unzipped my purse. “Excuse me. My phone is vibrating.”

  I stepped away to answer my fictitious call.

  Kathleen boarded the bus, followed by Tom, who smiled faintly, not his usual dynamic self.

  It was going to be impossible to avoid them when we were on a bus together all day. Besides, if he wanted to fire me, he’d have done it by now, right?

  * * *

  The tour’s first stop was a quaint village where scenes for Michael Collins were filmed. Even though I’d never heard of the 1990s movie starring Liam Neeson and Julia Roberts, it was cool to visit my first filming location outside of Universal Studios. Michael Collins, a historical figure in Ireland, had played an integral role in freeing Ireland from British rule and forming an independent republic. I didn’t do war or history movies. However, now knowing my Irish connection, I made a mental note to watch it.

  The next stop was Glendalough, one of Ireland’s most important monastic sites, with many well-preserved structures, including a small church and a round tower jutting up in the middle of a cemetery. Nestled in a wooded valley with two lakes, the area had been a filming location for Braveheart. Hard to imagine such a violent movie being filmed in the peaceful and serene setting.

  I was traipsing through the cemetery, rounding up attendees, snapping pics of the scenery like a mad woman, when I spotted Tom Reynolds. Besides saying good morning to him and Kathleen, I’d successfully dodged them. I prepared to duck behind a massive tombstone, when he called out my name. I smiled, giving him a wave. My heart racing, I prayed I could answer his question or solve his issue, which hopefully wasn’t about me getting drunk with his wife and dissing him.

  “I wanted to thank you for taking Kathleen shopping and”—he glanced discreetly over at his wife chatting with another wife—“for taking care of her.” I about collapsed with relief that he didn’t blame me for his wife’s drunken state and that Kathleen apparently hadn’t repeated our conversation. “She rarely drinks, but Alyssa going off to school has been tough on her.”

  “I totally understand. I had fun.”

  He smiled. “I’ll make sure to tell Rachel how much I appreciate you spending time with her.”

  Could I have that in writing?

  I had a feeling he’d be leaving out the part about Kathleen drinking, and I wouldn’t be mentioning it either. Rachel had likely kept some dark, blackmail-worthy secrets over the years. A job requirement, no doubt.

  I finally succeeded at herding everyone out of the cemetery, only to have two women wander over to a row of souvenir stands. People were in no hurry to board the bus, so I decided to let them browse a few minutes. Rachel’s spy approached Declan and me.

  “Are we going to be stopping in Blessington?” He directed his question at Declan rather than me.

  I knew this one!

  “Yes, we are,” I blurted
out. I recited our detailed itinerary, having already memorized it.

  The guy smiled at me. “Great. Thanks.”

  I glanced over at Declan. “Sorry about cutting in.” Especially after I’d gone berserk over him taking charge of the walking tour the other day. “I couldn’t believe I actually knew the answer.”

  Declan shrugged. “You’re grand. I didn’t have a bloody clue if we were going to Blessington.”

  I loved a guy who could admit he didn’t have all the answers.

  “I told you you’d get the hang of the job.”

  One correct answer didn’t really make me competent at my job. Yet I was almost giddy with pride. I was on a roll—answering questions, hunting down a lost cell phone, and averting disaster while escorting the CEO’s wife shopping. I’d come a long way since panicking over this guy’s question about the boarding pass kiosk at the beginning of the trip.

  My phone rang. Mom. I let it go to voicemail. I’d call her back on the bus. Hopefully, she wasn’t freaking out over being named after an aunt she’d never heard of. My phone dinged at the arrival of a text from Mom. Call me immediately!

  I stepped away, speed dialing her. “What’s up?”

  “I’m in shock.”

  “Sorry. I thought you’d want to know about being named after Grandma’s sister.”

  “Yeah, that was a surprise, although I think an Ellen might have been mentioned in one of the letters. Several names were, but we didn’t know if they were related. But that’s not what I’m talking about. Rachel called me.”

  Silence filled the line.

  “What did she say?” I asked.

  “She’s never called me while traveling for work. And she didn’t call because one of you was in the hospital, but just to talk. Supposedly to see how I was doing after your e-mail and to thank me for my mother’s photo.”

  “That’s great.”

  “So what’s wrong?” Panic escalated in Mom’s voice. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I won’t tell her you told me. It must be something awful that she felt the need to hear my voice.”

  “Seriously. Nothing bad has happened. I swear to God.”

  I didn’t blame Mom for being suspicious. I’d have been if I wasn’t there to witness Rachel’s keen interest in Grandma’s ancestry. I hadn’t been the best daughter over the past two years, but Rachel had hardly been around since starting at Brecker six years ago.

  Declan waved me over—the bus was waiting on me. Hannah stood next to him, laughing at something witty he’d said. I wanted to be the recipient of Declan’s humorous story. A tinge of jealousy lurked at the back of my mind, and I shoved it aside.

  I marched back toward the bus. “I have to go.”

  “Oh, and Teri found the letters.”

  I slowed my pace. “What do they say? Do they confirm Grandma was from Killybog?” I was confident I had found the correct family in the census, but it would be nice to have a document confirming it.

  “She’s still looking for the naturalization papers, which should have the town my mom was from. The letters don’t mention it. She’s going to photocopy them next week and stick them in the mail.”

  The Pony Express could have delivered these letters faster.

  “Hopefully, she finds the naturalization papers,” I said.

  I promised Mom I’d call her later.

  Hannah was still giggling. A soft, flirty, somewhat annoying giggle. I joined them by the bus.

  “He’s so funny.” She leaned in, touching Declan’s arm. “It’s been too long. Ring me sometime. Same mobile number.”

  I glanced away, unable to watch Hannah blatantly throwing herself at Declan. Did this chick have no shame? No self-respect? Did she not realize she was one of dozens, maybe hundreds? I seriously would not want to be in Hannah’s shoes, waiting by a phone that was never going to ring. Unlike Declan, Hannah and Gretchen had obviously expected more than a one-night stand.

  Had Declan led them to believe he’d wanted more to get them into bed?

  Tom Reynolds poked his head out the bus door. “I think that’s everyone.”

  “Yes, it is,” Hannah said. As if she had a clue. She hadn’t been paying attention to anyone besides Declan.

  I peered over at the two women still browsing the souvenirs. “Actually, we’re waiting on those ladies.”

  “Oh, good catch.” Tom smiled and ducked back inside the bus.

  Hannah shot the ladies an annoyed look, as if it was their fault she’d almost left without them. It sort of was, but it was our responsibility to make sure we didn’t leave anyone.

  Hannah marched over to the women.

  “Have you ever left someone behind?” I asked Declan.

  “More than once. And once it was me.”

  At least I hadn’t done that yet.

  A few minutes later Hannah returned with the women. She boarded the bus, taking her spot at the front, addressing the group on microphone, while Declan and I sat at the back.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  What? Am I acting awkward after our near kiss, while you seem unfazed by it?

  He gestured to my phone, having been referring to Mom’s call. Thank God I hadn’t just said that out loud.

  “It was my mom. Rachel called her.”

  His forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Your mom rang to tell you Rachel rang her?”

  “She doesn’t call much—never when she’s traveling for work. When I called to tell her I got into college, which was big news, she was traveling and didn’t return my message for a week.”

  I wanted to ask him when he’d last called his mom if he hadn’t been home since Easter. Or was she the reason he hadn’t been home? He never mentioned his parents.

  He slipped his phone from his pocket as if reading my mind, preparing to call his mom. Instead, he opened his e-mail. “Still nothing from Peter. He’s a good mate. He’ll get back to me.”

  Hannah directed our attention to video snippets from Braveheart playing on the overhead monitors. “As we drive through Wicklow National Park, you’ll recognize scenery from the movie.”

  Doubtful, since I’d had my eyes closed through three-quarters of the bloody and violent movie so I didn’t throw up my Milk Duds. I snapped pictures, more curious about my great-grandma’s homeland than the movie.

  The bus climbed to a higher elevation, a fairly sharp drop down to the valley. Yet the Wicklow Mountains were more like really tall, rounded hills than steep, treacherous mountains. Although these were my first mountains, so I wasn’t exactly an expert. An occasional burst of red, yellow, or orange leaves exploded among the predominantly green ones. Back home the trees had peaked. The land flattened out into a gently rolling landscape of trees, bushes, stone fences, and a few scattered houses. A herd of sheep grazed along a side road. A bright splash of red added color to their cream wool coats.

  “What’s with the painted sheep?” I snapped a pic.

  “It’s dye. Designates ownership if they wander off.”

  “I’d color mine hot pink or purple.”

  Farther into the park, the bus took a sharp turn and drove up a winding road with an increasing number of houses, as if we were returning to civilization. We rounded a corner, encountering a breathtaking view of a lake below. Hannah held on to a bar, steadying herself.

  “So if that was you up there, you’d have fallen down the stairs, huh?”

  Declan smiled. “In my defense, I popped right back up and continued my talk, earning a round of applause.” He took a faint bow.

  I laughed. “I’m sure you did.”

  Recalling his reference to having almost killed a CEO, I asked him for the story.

  “I was working an off-site dinner, and the restaurant was told no pineapple on the menu because the CEO had a fierce allergy. During dinner, he came to me in a panic that his throat was swelling shut, and we rushed him to the hospital. Turned out some rogue bartender was making pineapple cocktail
s in a blender, which weren’t on the menu, and the fruit was airborne. Lesson learned to always check the bars.”

  “Was the planner upset?”

  “She fired me.”

  “But that wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t on the menu.”

  He shrugged. “I took advantage of a few free days in Amsterdam. Had never been to the Van Gogh Museum. You win some, you lose some.”

  A good attitude to have. After losing my job, I’d stayed in my jammies for two days, watching Animal Planet, my comfort channel, and plowing through two bags of chocolate chips, a container of chocolate frosting, a jar of marshmallow whip, and every other tasty baking ingredient in the house.

  I removed that evening’s dinner menu from my purse and scanned it. The event cost more than I’d spend on my wedding. If I ever got married. Besides food, there were fees for the venue rental, specialty linens, and floral arrangements. The remarks section noted an attendee with a nut allergy and a pescatarian.

  “What’s a pescatarian?”

  “Doesn’t eat meat but eats fish.”

  “All seafood? There’s shrimp and oysters on the menu.”

  He nodded. “Generally.”

  I marked the food restrictions with a yellow highlighter. I jotted down notes as Declan walked me through how to “advance” a dinner, checking everything from no spots on the chairs to testing a microphone. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked for the contract, and kept Rachel’s expectations low.

  We turned down a narrow road and drove up a hill along the lake’s shoreline. We met a small truck, and the bus slowed down, hugging the shoulder, shrubs and tree branches scratching the side of it. My gaze was glued to the truck’s dented hood, mere inches from the bus. After the vehicle safely passed, I let out a relieved sigh, happy I wasn’t driving.

  Hannah directed our attention to a video clip from P.S. I Love You, when Hillary Swank and her friends lost their oars while boating on this lake.

  “Great scene,” I said. “I’d love to have a pair of purple wellies and row around the lake with my friends. What a cool trip.”

  Not only did I need money to do that, but also friends. Sadness, and a sense of longing, came over me. I really missed Ashley and our movie marathons. How we could carry on a conversation solely using quotes from our favorite movies and how people would look at us like we were nuts.